DISCLAIMER: The Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel characters are the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, Lazy Dave, Kuzui, and Fox Studios. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2005 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.
A Place to Stand
by Djinn
Dawn heard the click that
meant Buffy had just locked her bedroom door. She looked at her clock. Eleven
o'clock sharp. Time for the nightly disappearance.
She found her slippers,
pulled on her robe, and hurried to the front door, careful to open and shut it
again as quietly as she could. Tiptoeing through the clumpy grass, she
positioned herself far enough away from Buffy's window that her sister wouldn't
see her as she climbed out.
The window opened; Buffy's
leg appeared, then the rest of her. She hit the ground with a grace that made
Dawn envious. Even though she didn't want to fight all the time and probably
die young, it was still lonely being ordinary here. Being a non-slayer.
Buffy straightened up, then
froze as Dawn said, "There's this thing—a new invention, see. It's called
a door. You can use it when you leave the house to go sleep over at Giles' like
you do—."
Buffy turned quickly, mouth
already moving. "Oh, no. That's so not where I'm going."
Dawn gave her a stern look
and finished what she'd been saying, "Like you do every night."
"This isn't what it
seems like, Dawn."
"You're not acting like
a delinquent teenager sneaking out to see her boyfriend?"
"No?" Buffy was
trying to put on the innocent face that had never worked with Dawn, even if
their mom had usually been snookered by it.
"Buffy, I'm going to
graduate soon—even if you won't let me go to a real school, anymore." School
taught in Italian couldn't be any harder than learning under Reichmasters Giles and Rosenburg. Not to mention Xander's
shop class from hell. And the physical fitness requirement—forget about it. Thank
God they weren't grading on a curve. "And when I do graduate from the home
school on the hill, I'm going to go to college. In a country where you're not. And
guess what...I'll be on my own. So, if you want to get me used to that now by
leaving me alone at night, that's fine."
Buffy crossed her arms.
Dawn crossed hers and looked
down at her older sister. It gave her a great big happy that she was taller
than Buffy. "I know you're sleeping with him, Buffy. So, just stop arguing
and start leaving by the front door like the normal person you so aren't."
Giles suddenly walked around
the corner—rather stealthily for an old guy. Dawn hadn't heard him coming and
didn't think Buffy had either. He smiled when he saw her sister. "Buffy, I
became worried when you didn't—oh, Dawn. Hello." Giles tried to hide the
blanket and bottle of wine he was holding.
"Nice try, Giles. I'm
wise to your sneaky tricks." Dawn moved closer to her sister, pulling her
hand up and holding it. "I, Buffy, do solemnly swear to use the
door..."
Buffy jerked her hand away. "Go
to bed, Dawn."
Dawn took a step back. "You
two have fun."
Giles looked deeply
embarrassed. Buffy just looked peeved—she hated being caught. Dawn could still
remember what had happened when Ted had caught Buffy sneaking back into the
house. Only, that hadn't been real. It had happened, but it wasn't a real
memory for her because Dawn hadn't been a girl then. It was so confusing—the
memory seemed so vivid. Ted and his wonderful little skillet pizzas and those
really good cookies.
"Get into the
house," Buffy said.
"Fine." Dawn
turned, trying to flounce. She shot Giles an amused look over her shoulder,
then winked at him. She knew if it had been daylight, she'd have seen his
cheeks go pink. He was so much fun to tease about her sister. "Good night,
you two. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs run in fear from your activities. Or
the sand bugs, 'cause I bet you're heading down to
the beach."
"Good night, Dawn."
Buffy had her commandant voice on. Which meant Dawn's last zinger had been a
good one—score one for the slayer's sister.
"Sleep well," Giles
said, his voice the same as it ever was, even though he was now her sister's
boyfriend. Which was sort of weird, but mostly just nice. Giles was comforting.
Buffy didn't worry about things the way she had with Riley. Or cry the way she
had with Angel. Or pretend it wasn't happening the way she had with Spike. Or
look sort of distant the way she had with the Immortal, even when they'd been
at their happiest, which hadn't been for very long. With Giles, Buffy just
seemed to be herself. So Dawn was pretty much a fan of
the whole deal. She wondered if her mother would have been. Her mother and
Giles had—oh, that was too weird to contemplate. Besides they'd been under the
influence of those amazingly good chocolate bars Buffy had been selling.
Chocolate bars that Dawn had
never really tasted—it was easier not to think about how none of the memories
were real.
Dawn walked into the cabin,
pulling the door closed and going back into her room to read. She was just
getting to the good part of her romance novel when she heard a knock on her
window, and saw Ingrid outside. The girl held up a plate of cookies, and Dawn
got out of bed, hurrying to open the front door for her.
"New recipe?" she
asked as she grabbed a still-warm cookie off the plate.
Ingrid nodded, her expression
a little nervous.
Dawn bit into one, and was
overwhelmed with the mix of caramel and chocolate and something else she
couldn't quite place, but that went really well with the other two. "Oh,
this is so good." The words didn't come out right since her mouth was full
of cookie.
Fortunately, Ingrid was a
master at deciphering her comments. "I wasn't sure. I liked it, but, you
know, I'm not American."
Dawn grinned. "And it's
important that Americans like this, huh?"
Ingrid looked down. "Well,
there are quite a few of you here..."
Dawn took another cookie and sat
down on the stool. "Xander will love these." She felt a little
twinge. Her crush on Xander had never totally gone away. But she really liked
Ingrid, and she thought Xander did, too, so she was okay with the other girl
wanting to impress him.
"Why are you up so
late?" Ingrid asked.
"Had to catch Buffy
sneaking out to be with Giles. She's a slippery one."
Ingrid laughed. "But you
were successful?"
"Oh, yeah. No one can
stand against the great detective." She laughed, remembering Giles' face as
he'd come around the corner. "Caught Giles, too."
"Really?"
"Yeah-huh. And he was
morbidly embarrassed."
"You are too much,
Dawn." Ingrid took a cookie.
Dawn smiled. "I
know." She got up to pour them some milk, and studied the other girl. "Where'd
you learn to speak English so well?"
"Oh, in Sweden you have
to take another language. And I wanted to open a restaurant in Manhattan and be
a famous person."
Dawn laughed. "So first step was learning the lingo?"
Ingrid nodded.
"You learned Italian
awfully fast, too."
"I'm very good with
languages. And with food." She glanced toward the Slayer dorm, where the
lights were still on. "I'm just not good with weapons or fighting. Some
slayer I turned out to be."
"Is that why you're not
handing these out over at the dorm?"
"I'm not one of them. Not
really."
"I know the
feeling." Dawn smiled at the older girl. "And I have to say, Ingrid. It's
pretty sad for you that I could beat you in a fair fight."
"You could beat me in an
unfair fight, Dawn." Ingrid laughed. "I have a question for you. I
know that you are being taught here at the compound because there is no
American school, yes?"
"Well, not in Sorrento. If
Buffy would let me go to Naples, there's an International School with actual
students and everything. But she and Giles worked out a deal with them where I
take classes here—I think Willow manufactured some bogus teacher certifications—and
I get tested at the end of the year in Naples." She sighed.
"If you need a language
class, I could teach you Swedish?"
"Giles has the language
thing covered. Latin."
"We could just practice
Italian?"
"Since there aren't any
actual Italians here?" Buffy had staffed the whole place with not-so-good
slayers. Gardeners, other kitchen workers to help Ingrid, laundry workers,
librarians, researchers, smiths and armorers and stake whittlers—you name it,
they were all slayers.
"Isabella is Italian. So
is Caterina."
"Caterina is from
Baltimore."
"She's still
Italian." Ingrid laughed, taking another cookie. "So, you think
Xander will like these?"
"Oh, yeah." Dawn
finished up her cookie, watching as Ingrid gobbled up hers, too. She expected
the other girl to get up and leave, but she just sat, staring out the window
toward those other lit windows. "You don't want to go back to the dorm, do
you? Are they mean to you?" She knew if they were, they probably didn't do
it on purpose. Sometimes the cruelest thing of all was to feel like you didn't
exist.
"It's not that. It's
just that I don't fit in."
"Well, you may have
noticed my sister's gone. You can crash here if you want."
"Really? Oh, but Buffy
will not like me in her bed."
"Ingrid, she hasn't
slept in it in weeks. She and Giles are pretty much joined at the hip when it
comes to bedtime." She waggled her eyebrows to show Ingrid she didn't
really mean that the hip was where they were joined.
Ingrid got a silly grin. "If
you're sure it's all right...?"
"It's fine. Now, maybe
before you go to bed, you should take some of those cookies to Xander—I see his
lights are still on, too." Dawn could just make his house out past the
dorm. "I'll leave the door unlocked for you."
"Thank you." Ingrid
got a plate out of their cupboard and put about half of the cookies on it, then
pushed it toward Dawn.
"If you want," Dawn
said softly, "since Buffy's never here, maybe I could suggest that you
move in here and she move in with Giles?"
"Oh, Dawn. What if they
have a fight? Then Buffy will not have a place to sleep."
"They never fight. Trust
me. And if they did, there's this big thing called a dorm across the way. She
could crash in the watchers' suite." Buffy still hadn't assigned those to
anyone. Dawn thought she was afraid the watchers would come back.
"I would like very much
to stay here." Ingrid's accent added charm to such simple words.
"Then it's settled. Plus,
it'll be for a good cause, and Buffy loves getting her own way and spinning it
so she's Ms. Humanitarian." Dawn gently pushed Ingrid off her stool. "Now,
go. Before Xander goes to bed."
"Okay. Thank you,
Dawn."
"I'll see you
later."
Ingrid's step seemed to have
more bounce in it as she left, and Dawn smiled. It would be nice having Ingrid
staying here. She'd never told Buffy, but she was sort of lonely. Not for her
sister—Buffy was making lots of time for her. But for kids her own age. Kids
who weren't slayers. Ingrid was the closest thing to that here. And this
arrangement would work out well for Ingrid, too.
Dawn smiled,
glad it had all come together. She might not be related to Buffy in the
traditional sense, but she did take after her—she didn't mind getting her own
way and spinning it so she looked like Ms. Humanitarian, either.
##
"Check it out,"
Buffy said as she and Giles passed Willow and Kennedy on their way up from the
beach. The two young women seemed caught up in each other and the night, and
barely nodded at Buffy and Giles as they walked on.
"Big copycats,"
Buffy whispered, making Giles smile. She moved in closer. "Did you notice
Xander's latest improvement?"
"I don't believe
so." Then he started to laugh as they neared the tree that stood at the
head of the path through the woods down to the beach. "Ah, so that's what
he meant."
The tree had a hook stuck
into it. Just below that, hanging on another hook, were several bandannas. Buffy
reached for one, looking up at Giles. "Unless you want company while we're
down there?"
"That's hardly my
preference."
She smiled, and looped the
bandanna over the hook. "Not tired of me yet?"
"No. Soon though, I
imagine."
She laughed. It had become
the occasional joke between them. One of them would say some variation of,
"I imagine I'll get tired of you at any minute." Which would usually
be followed by vigorous kissing.
She waited until they were
hidden in the trees to pull him down and kiss him soundly.
"Well, perhaps not that
soon." He pulled her back to him, and she marveled again that she liked
kissing him so much.
She liked doing just about
everything with him. It wasn't what she'd expected when they'd embarked on this
affair. She'd expected that being comfortable with him out of bed would be much
easier than in bed. But being with him in either place was easy.
He started chuckling and she
looked up at him. "Sorry, just thinking about Dawn."
Buffy tried to bite back a
smile. "That was pretty funny when you came around the corner." She
looked at what he was carrying. "Where are the glasses, by the way?"
"I thought you were
going to bring them." He didn't seem particularly concerned. He could play
pass the bottle as well as anyone else she knew. Then again, the only other
person she'd known that did that had been Spike. So maybe it was a British
thing. Only Spike had done it with whiskey, not wine.
"Do you want me to run
back up for them?" she asked, hoping he'd say no. Their days were full
with slayer business; early evenings she liked to share with Dawn as much as
she could, but the nights—those belonged to Giles. Fortunately, he seemed to
get by on as little sleep as she did.
"No, I want you to stay
here with me. Trust me, Buffy, this wine isn't particularly good; it won't
suffer for not breathing."
"Not springing for the
expensive stuff, eh?" She smiled as they hit the beach. This spot wasn't
theirs, but she liked to think of it that way.
"I'm afraid you should
have stayed with the Immortal if you wanted someone to indulge you that way. The
sanctuary's budget is limited, and us having posh wine isn't a priority."
"Especially when we
won't drink very much of it because we'll get all distracted." She took
the blanket from him, opening it out onto the sand, down near the water so they
could see more of the sky.
"Precisely." He put
the wine bottle down, twisting as he pushed it into the sand to make a little
hole for it. Then he pulled her into his arms and eased them down to the
blanket.
They didn't even open the
wine for a quite a while. When he finally reached for it, he stared at it. "Corkscrew?"
"It's in the right front
pocket of your jeans, Giles. It's always in that pocket."
"I know that." His
voice was a mixture of sated and sleepy. "But where are my jeans?"
She found them on her side of
the blanket, had been lying on them—it had probably been the corkscrew that had
been digging into her hip. She dug around in his pocket until she found the
thing, and handed it to him. He opened the bottle with minimal fuss—the
Immortal had always seemed to make a production over a new bottle of wine, what
with the sniffing and the swirling and the tasting. Then again, that wine had
been very expensive and maybe deserving of such attention. Not that she noticed
the difference all that much—she'd never been much of an aficionado. Booze and
slaying didn't go well together. In fact, she knew Giles wouldn't let either of
them drink too much for that very reason.
It was sort of odd, now that
she thought of it, that he'd let her goad him into grappa shots back when their
relationship had changed in Sorrento. Had he known what would happen? Had he
wanted it to?
"What are you thinking
about, Buffy?"
"Grappa. You and me. Drinking
too much of it."
"And thank God for that
temporary lapse of reason." He grinned at her.
She couldn't resist his grin.
It was a different grin than he gave anyone else. Very sweet and just the
slightest bit devilish. "You're a bad, bad boy, Giles."
"Well, don't tell the
girls, or they'll lose all respect for my priggishness. Sometimes, it's the
only thing that keeps them in line."
"I doubt that. You kept
me in line all those years. You would have kept Faith in line, I bet. If Wesley
hadn't come in and messed it all up."
"I've often wondered. How
might it have turned out different if I'd been allowed to train you both?"
"The road not taken. I
guess we'll never know." She snuggled up against him. "And anyway, it
turned out okay. Look at her now. All in charge on the hellmouth—the way she
always wanted to be. She and Robin even appear to be making it work."
"He knows the life. And
his mother was a little bit like Faith in some important ways. Not as out of
control, but very much a rebel. Very much about attitude and sheer power. She
loved to hunt. Or did until he was born."
"A slayer having a
child. I guess I never even thought of that until I found out she'd had Robin. I
mean not as a real possibility. For me."
"Do you think of it
now?" His voice was very soft. As if he almost didn't want to ask her
that.
She turned, leaning on her
elbow so she could see his expression. "Do you?"
"That's not an
answer."
"Giles..."
He took a deep breath.
"In Sunnydale, I had my duty, our mission. The watcher-slayer relationship
was, in many ways, like being a father."
"And Quentin did say
ours was too close that way."
He nodded. "And frankly,
I didn't have that much experience with children. Now that I have more
experience—and I realize it's with teens, who are a different breed—I feel more
disposed to being around young people. Even very young people."
"As in a child." She
waited.
He met her eyes, didn't look
away, but didn't say anything more.
"Do you want to have a
child with me?" she finally asked.
He took a deep breath, but
still nothing.
"Giles, one of us has to
answer the scary question."
"Then you answer it,
Buffy."
"I've thought of
it." Her voice was so soft she wasn't sure he'd heard her, until she saw
his expression relax.
"I have, too."
It hung out there. A weird
thought. A nice thought. A baby. Their baby. She could remember when Dawn had
been a baby—only Dawn hadn't really been one.
"Well, that thought's made you rather pensive." Giles shifted,
rolling so he was lying on his side, watching her.
"Not pensive. I used to
think of it with Angel, actually. But then he made it clear he couldn't have
kids. Did you think of it with Jenny?"
"Yes. Often. And
sometimes with Olivia."
"What happened with her?
She was like around and then poof! she was gone. She was human, right?"
He smiled. "Yes, she was
human."
"So, what happened? Did
she wig over 'the life'?"
"Yes. She
'wigged.'" He sighed.
"Were you in love with
her?"
"I don't know." He
leaned down suddenly, his mouth tender on hers. When he pulled away, he said,
"Certainly not like I'm in love with you."
He'd only recently begun to
say that to her. She thought he'd been holding off until he was more sure of where they were going. It was in his nature to
protect himself that way.
She pulled him back down to
her. "I love you, Giles."
Then they forgot all about
anything but each other for a long time.
##
Waking slowly, Willow felt an
odd stirring at the edge of her consciousness. She sat up quickly, trying to
figure out what was making her so jumpy.
"Willow?" Kennedy
mumbled, but Willow knew she could come alert very quickly if her slayer senses
went off.
"It's early. Go back to
sleep."
Kennedy groaned and pulled
the covers over her head.
Waiting for her breathing to
go back to the slow rhythm of sleep, Willow closed her eyes and used magic to
scan the compound, looking for anything out of the ordinary. She found it on
the road—someone new, walking up the hill to them. She scanned for threats—nothing
bad could have gotten though her wards, could it? But whoever it was didn't
feel evil so much as bone tired.
She eased out of bed and
changed her pajamas for sweats and an old t-shirt. She checked her hair—bed
head, but not extremely so—and pulled on her sneakers, hurrying out of the
house and down the road toward the approaching visitor.
She met him halfway. He was
walking slowly, watching the ground, not looking up. Something about him seemed
completely alone. And his skin—what wasn't covered up by a hat pulled down low
and a too-large trench coat—was very, very green.
"Lorne?"
He looked up, and she was
shocked at how empty he looked. Then a big smile lit his face and he pushed
back the hat. "Sweet pea, I was hoping you'd be here."
She ran down to him, and he caught
her up in a big hug. "Lorne, you're okay! We thought you'd died with
Angel."
She could feel him tense, and
let her magic enfold him, trying to shore him up.
"Oh, peanut. You're even
stronger than before. Have you been working out?"
She grinned. "It's all
the slayers. It's like having a spare generator around." She slipped to
his side, urging him up the hill. As they walked arm in arm, she said,
"Tell me what happened."
"I didn't fight with
them. I had some other things to do—I mean for Angel. So
I wasn't there when it all went down. I showed up later. To try to find
them..."
"They all died? Angel
and Wesley? And Spike and Gunn and Fred."
"Fred died before that
night."
"What?"
He sighed. "She was
taken over by something else. Changed. You'd hardly recognize her."
She realized he hadn't used
past tense. "She's still alive?"
He nodded. "Illyria's a
tough one to kill." He took a deep breath.
"She didn't come with
you?"
"She's not exactly fit
company for man nor beast right now. Went a little off her head when Wesley was
killed and hasn't been right since. I nursed her back to health after the big
battle, and she told me what went down in that alley. But then she took off,
and I didn't feel like getting my head ripped off trying to stop her."
"I understand." Willow
knew what that kind of rage was like—she'd nearly destroyed the world when Tara
had been taken from her. At least Illyria appeared to be keeping her ire
confined to smaller things, or, if not small, at least local.
Willow saw Buffy and Giles
coming out of his cabin. Buffy took one look at Lorne and pulled out a stake.
"No, Buff. He's a good
guy." Willow let go of Lorne's arm. "See, that was a friendly
arm-in-arm thing. Not a 'he's got me captured' thing."
"Sorry." Buffy had
the grace to look chagrined. "Kind of running on instinct this early in
the morning."
"So
you're the slayer." Lorne whistled appreciatively. Then he asked very softly,
"Who's the guy?"
"That's Giles,"
Willow answered just as quietly, still a little surprised to see Buffy and
Giles coming out of his cabin so openly. She'd been even more surprised when
Dawn had convinced Buffy to move in with Giles, and let Ingrid move in with
her. Dawn was getting really good at manipulating—although she liked to call it
"handling"—her big sister. "He was her watcher. He's sort of
graduated into—"
"They're lovers, doll
face. I'm a pro at reading those vibes even without music." He gave a
little bow. "Don't let the green fool you, folks. I'm on the side of the
righteous."
"Willow?" Buffy
didn't seem inclined to take Lorne at his word, but at least she pushed the
stake back into her pants.
"This is Lorne. Remember
I told you about him? We met when I went to L.A. to help them re-ensoul Angel
and pick up Faith?"
"We were told everyone
who fought with Angel died." Giles studied him. "You're Pylean, aren't you?"
"Good call, Mister Tall,
British, and Handsome."
Willow laughed, then bit back
the laughter when Giles glared at her.
"And I survived because
Angel sent me on a special errand that kept me clear of the battle. I'm not
much of a fighter, you see." He took a deep breath.
"So, you weren't
there?" Buffy moved closer. "You didn't see Angel die?"
"No, sweetheart. But
someone else did. He's really dead."
Willow watched Giles as Buffy
took in the news. He reached out, his expression tender and full of pain for
her, his hand falling gently on the back of her neck, squeezing slightly. She
turned and let him hold her, crying softly, and Willow realized her friend had
never quite given up the hope that Angel was still alive.
"I'm sorry," Giles
was saying, over and over, as he held her tightly and stroked her hair.
Willow pulled Lorne away. "Let's
give them some privacy, okay? You must be hungry."
"Not hungry. But I
wouldn't say no to a cup of joe."
"Coffee, it is,
then." Willow steered Lorne toward the dining hall. There were several
slayers already eating breakfast, getting an early start on the day. They
looked startled at Lorne's appearance, but thankfully nobody screamed—or tried
to stake him. "So, why did you come here? Just to tell us about
Angel?"
"I have something from
Angel. That he wanted Buffy to have. But I'll wait until she's had a chance to
process my news."
Willow frowned at the idea
that he was just visiting. Scanning him again, she didn't get a temporary sort
of vibe. "I kinda thought you were looking to
settle here."
"I might be. If I was
welcome." He took a deep breath. "After the fight, once Illyria was
fit enough to go off and do whatever it is she's doing, I was sort of lost. I
drifted, Willow. All over the place. And you know what? I'm tired of drifting. I
thought I was done with the good fight. I thought I could hole up somewhere
new. Open a little club and go back to singing. And I did that for a while. But
I find..."
"That you miss it?"
"Or it misses me. Not
sure, but it won't let me rest—this nagging feeling inside me. So here I
am." He poured himself some coffee. "You think I can stay?"
She nodded. "I'll talk
to Buffy for you, if you want? I think it would be good to have someone who can
read people the way you can." She touched his face, smiled when he closed
his eyes. "We can take care of you, Lorne. You seem so sad."
"I am sad, peaches. Sad
to the depths of me." He sipped at his coffee.
"I know how that feels. It
can make everything else go dark."
He nodded. "Everything."
"Buffy will let you
stay. I'm sure of it." She touched his hand, wanting to give him some kind
of comfort. "You offer a lot."
"And I can sing. Don't
forget that in your sales pitch."
"Giles sings, too. Maybe
you two can do duets." Willow knew her look was probably wistful. Tara had
been a good singer, with her sweet, strong voice. She'd loved to sing in the
shower, and Willow had loved to sit on the counter and listen to her. She'd
leave as soon as the water went off, hadn't wanted to make Tara self-conscious.
She missed the singing. She missed so much about Tara.
Even if she had some little
part of her inside her, reminding her when she was about to go too far. But was
that really Tara? Or did she just miss Tara so much she'd invented her. Maybe
she'd have Lorne read her someday? When she was ready to know the truth. For
now, she wanted to think it was her lover, some part of Tara that couldn't stay
away. But what if she should stay away? Willow wasn't pulling Tara out of
Heaven the way she'd done to Buffy, was she?
"Now who's sad?" Lorne
patted her hand. "Too much of that going around, I think." He drained
his cup. "So where's that crazy Andrew? I need to
say hello to him."
"He's on the road again.
But he'll be back soon."
Lorne yawned, an enormous
"I've been walking for hours" yawn.
Willow stood. "Come on. I'll
set you up with a room in the dorm. It's with the slayers, so you might want to
lie low till we've had a chance to give them a heads up that you're, you
know..."
"A demon?"
"I was going to go for
green. But demony, too." Willow grinned at his
expression. "Come on. We have soft sheets and a private bathroom calling
your name."
"Add in an in-room
coffee maker and you're on."
She grinned. "Tea, I
think. It was supposed to be for the watchers."
"Beggars can't be
choosers. Lead on."
She looped her arm with his,
urging him to the dorm. At least one of the watchers' rooms would be put to
good use.
##
Giles guided Buffy away from
the main area, heading for the back of the compound, where they were safer from
prying eyes. She held him as they walked, her arms wrapped around him, her head
pressed into his side. Her sobs made him hurt inside—for her, not for himself. He
knew Buffy had, for the most part, given up on being with Angel. But he also
knew that she'd always believed they would be there for the other one—she was
crying as much for her failure to help Angel when he needed her, as she was for
her loss.
"He knew you'd come,
Buffy. He didn't tell you for a reason. He and Spike both—they knew you would
come if you thought they were in trouble."
"I could have helped
them."
"Or you could have died.
And you were needed here." She started to pull away, and he gently tugged
her chin up so she had to look at him. "I don't mean by me. I mean by the
other slayers. They need you."
"Andrew told Angel I
didn't trust him anymore." She sobbed. "I told Andrew to tell him
that."
"I know. And you didn't
trust him, Buffy."
"The Immortal had a hand
in that. Always talking about Angel reverting, that his working for Wolfram and
Hart was a sign of that." She looked up at Giles, her eyes so remarkably
sad that he wanted to pull her closer, to keep her safe from such pain.
But he couldn't. This was old
pain—a scar ripped open that throbbed now but would eventually close again. He'd
always known he shared Buffy with Angel. Dead or alive the vampire owned much
of her heart.
It was something he could
live with.
She took a deep breath, and
he saw that she was pushing the pain away, pushing it down, deep into her. He
wished she would push it out, or into him, but that had never been her way. It
was why she had run to L.A. after she'd had to send Angel to Hell. She couldn't
share that pain, could only feel it. It had probably been all she'd been able
to feel. Until enough time had passed, and she could come home.
He could feel a faint echo of
the panic he'd felt during that long summer. Not knowing where she was or if
she was alive. He'd tried to tell himself that she couldn't have died because
another slayer hadn't been called. Back then she hadn't died for a second time,
plummeting off Glory's tower and landing with the sickening crunch of breaking
bones on the bricks and rubble in front of him. Back then he hadn't known that
if she died again, she wouldn't call a new slayer.
He was glad he hadn't known. He
might have given up hope. There had been nights he'd been tempted to drink
himself into a coma—and beyond. There had been nights he'd wanted to slash his
wrists for how he'd failed her.
So he understood something of what Buffy was going
through, even if he hadn't been in love with her back then. He understood what
it meant to let someone down.
"I'm okay," she
whispered, rubbing at her eyes.
"I have no doubt of
that, Buffy. But that doesn't mean you can't hurt for a while." He took a
step away. "Do you want to be alone?"
For a moment, he thought she
was going to say yes. Then she shook her head and held her hand out to him. "Stay
with me?"
He smiled and hoped that she
could read what he meant by that smile. Forever—he'd stay with her forever if
she asked.
They walked hand in hand for
a while, skirting the compound, keeping to the far reaches where they were
unlikely to be bothered.
"Giles, do you think we
can trust Lorne?" His slayer was back, pushing aside the woman who had
just found out her greatest love was well and truly dead.
"Willow certainly seemed
to think so."
"That's not what I
asked."
He shrugged. "Pyleans are generally warriors. Lorne seems very
different."
"Different good? Or
different bad?"
"I'm not sure." He
took a deep breath. "We'll have to get to know him. Keep an eye on him
until we're sure, I guess."
"I don't trust anyone,
anymore, Giles. I've grown too jaded."
"You're not jaded if you
have good reason to distrust people, and I'd say you do. We all do. We've seen
the worst of people." He studied her. "Do you really not trust
anyone?"
She seemed to realize what
she'd said. "Oh, I trust you. That goes without saying. Although from the
look on your face, you want me to say it." She smiled—a halfhearted
attempt, but still a smile. "I trust you, Giles. And that has nothing to
do with our relationship now. I trust you more than anyone."
He smiled, but he could
remember the times she hadn't been able to trust him. When he'd tried to kill
Spike just before the battle with the First. Or during the Cruciamentum.
He racked his brain. Hadn't there been other times? Other betrayals? From him
to her, and vice versa? Buffy had lied to him—or lied by omission to him. But
how much of that had been her basic nature and how much due to the fact she'd
been a teenager in a trying situation?
"Where'd you go,
Giles?"
"Back to
Sunnydale." He smiled, putting his arm around her and heading back up to
the dining hall. "But we're not in Sunnydale."
"Primarily because
there's no Sunnydale to be in."
"Quite." He leaned
down, not sure if she'd want a kiss, but she lifted her face to his, met his
lips with her own. Sweetly. Gently.
"My dearest," he
said, wanting to tell her how much he loved her but knowing it wasn't the time—and
at any rate, she knew that he loved her. He'd told her. He'd shown her.
The best thing now was to
keep quiet and just be there for her.
##
The hellmouth was acting up
again and Faith felt itchy. Although that could be the new soap that Robin had
brought home. He was always doing that, bringing in smelly stuff with too big a
price tag for a bar of soap. Then again, the new duds she was wearing were also
courtesy of him, so she'd deal with the soap. Unlike her, he was pulling in a
paycheck—Cleveland having a high school conveniently close to the hellmouth. A
high school that had gone through its fair share of principals, teachers, and
students until Robin took over.
Faith heard something behind
her, turned and scanned the street. She didn't like to go anywhere near home
base if there were vamps in the vicinity who might carry their address back to
the nest. So she stood waiting, a few blocks from the
house she shared with Robin and the other slayers, holding the bag of food
she'd bought at the mini-mart.
"Come out, come out,
wherever you are," she muttered, shifting the bag so she could reach for a
stake.
Four vamps came out from
behind the house in front of her. She heard the sound of more coming from
behind her. Glancing back, she counted three. Seven to one. As odds went, these
sucked.
But they weren't impossible.
She set down the bag, heard
the sound of something squashing under the large bottle of soda as everything
shifted. Damned undead. Ruining perfectly good junk food.
She scanned the area, turning
and backing the way she'd come for the best ground to fight on. She pulled out
another stake.
"Slayer." One of
the bigger vamps pressed ahead of the others. "We're sick of your kind. This
is our town. You need to be eliminated."
"I take it you're not
from the Tourist Board, huh? 'Cause if you are, your
ad campaign needs work. It comes across a little stilted. And a lot
unfriendly."
"You will die."
"See, that's really not
the approach you want," Faith said, preparing to get down to business.
But then she heard another
set of footsteps coming from behind her fast—very, very fast. She whirled,
ready to stake whatever it was, but she was knocked aside, nearly knocked over
as a thin woman dressed in formfitting leather ran into the fray, attacking the
vamps with her bare hands. She didn't look strong enough to fight one—let alone
four—vamps. She certainly didn't look strong enough to rip the lead vampire's
head off, but that didn't stop her from doing it.
"What the...?" Faith
didn't wait to over think it. Thinking was Buffy's deal. She felt the need to
unleash some violence, so she did it. Jumping into the fight, both stakes
zipping, she took out the three vampires that had come up behind her.
Then she turned to help the
other woman, but she was just standing, all of her vamps dusted. She was
watching Faith fight, nodding slightly, the streetlight causing her hair to
glow strangely—or was it really blue?
"You fight well,"
she said, looking Faith up and down as if Faith was a pit bull she might buy
for the ring.
"I do my part." Faith
moved closer, got a better look at the woman's face—not only was her hair blue,
her skin kind of was, too. But she looked familiar. "Do I know you?"
"You knew my
shell." Suddenly the blue woman in leather was gone, and a not-blue woman
in a t-shirt and skirt stood before her.
Faith sucked in breath. It
was Fred? Not that she'd gotten to know Fred all that well, but well enough. "You
killed her?" She was reaching for the stake she'd just jammed back into
her pocket.
"In a manner of
speaking." Fred was gone; the blue woman was back. "I am
Illyria."
"I don't care who you
are, you're so going down." She wasn't sure why she cared about this. Maybe
she just wanted to make something pay for having taken down Angel, and this
woman and what she'd done to Angel's friend was good enough.
"I fought with
Angel," Illyria said, her voice casual, as if she was not at all afraid of
Faith.
Faith stopped, waiting.
"That last battle. In
the alley. I fought with him and Spike and the others. I survived it. Barely."
"You look okay to
me."
"I was tended well. And
time has passed. This body heals faster the longer I'm in it."
"Does that mean I can
get you out of it and bring Angel's friend back?"
"No. If you hurt me
enough, I will die. But she will not come back." Illyria moved forward and
Faith flinched, then she realized the woman was walking toward her sack of
groceries.
"Hey. Those aren't
yours."
Illyria pulled out a bag of
cheese doodles—wrestling it free from underneath the Coke Faith had bought for
herself. "These are worthy of a god."
Faith took them back; they
were Robin's favorite. "Look, blue girl. Not that I don't appreciate the
assist, but what are you doing here?"
"I have no purpose. I
wander, committing random acts of violence, but it does not quiet the voices
inside me."
"Uh huh." Faith
thought it sounded a bit like herself before she let the cops put her in jail.
"The hellmouth drew me
here. You and the other slayers drew me here—I could feel your power from miles
away."
"We'll have to work on
that." Were they broadcasting to every unnatural thing?
"I want to know why I
fight. I want to..."
"Make a
difference?" Faith crossed her arms.
"Altruism has some
ability to still the pain of uselessness."
Faith decided that was a yes.
"And you think joining us is the answer?"
"I do not know."
"And I'm supposed to
trust you?"
"I would not if I were
you." Striking like a snake, Illyria grabbed the bag of cheese doodles and
tore it open, pulling a large puff out and eating it with an almost blissful
expression on her face. "I will steal your food. I will not take orders. I
may disappear when you least expect it. I fight on my own terms for my own
reasons."
Damn. She did sound like
Faith back in the day. No wonder everyone had always been so pissed at her. Illyria
was wicked annoying.
Faith moved past her,
grabbing up the groceries and walking toward the house. She could hear Illyria
behind her, crunch-crunching on the cheese doodles. Following faithfully like
Old Yeller, only blue.
When she got to the house,
Robin looked up from his research in the kitchen. He smiled at her, then the
smile died as Illyria came around the corner. "Hello?" he said, and
Faith could see him transforming into "the principal," confronting
this strange new student with the weird blue hair.
"Her name's Illyria. We
can't trust her, but she can pull the heads off vamps without hardly trying, so
I'm sort of in favor of keeping her around."
"Keeping her?"
Illyria looked up at him. "I
have nowhere else to go. I choose to fight on the side of good. I will be
useful to you." She walked out of the kitchen, still munching on cheese
doodles.
"Okay, but we're going
to have to have some ground rules about the doodles," Robin said, glaring
at Faith. "Why'd you let her take them?"
"I didn't let her. She
just did." She reached into the grocery sack, pulled out another bag of
cheese doodles. "Here. They were buy one, get the
other half off."
"Ah, Faith, I love
you."
She laughed. But it felt
good, sort of made her warm all over, to hear him say that to her. He said it
so casually. As if it didn't have to be anything big and dire. As if, with him,
love wasn't going to mean things that hurt and made her want to run away.
She thought the Mayor would have approved of him. Well, except for Robin's
tendency to fight on the side of good, but then Faith had gone off the tracks
as far as that was concerned, too. She missed the mayor. Knew that she couldn't
explain it to anyone who'd thought he was evil incarnate, but he'd been the
first person to love her with no strings. And it had felt really good.
"Uh, Faith. Where did
she go?"
"Back to Sunny D. Guess
I should go check on our houseguest, huh?"
"That'd be my
recommendation. You need some help?" He was digging into the doodles, not
looking anywhere near ready to assist.
"As if." She
hurried out and saw that Illyria was standing in the living room, staring at a
picture that had been in the house when they rented it. It was a dark scene, a
landscape but sort of creepy. Dark shadows over the hillside, the moon rising a
sickly yellowish green.
"This looks like my
domain. Where I was king."
"King, huh?" Illyria
looked like a chick to her. A kind of sexy chick.
"And a god. I ruled with
an iron fist. If I squeezed my hand, the blood of those who displeased me ran
through the streets of my kingdom."
"Good times, huh?" Faith
resisted the urge to back away slow and find the nearest weapon.
"Yes. I miss it."
"Yeah, well, I miss
Boston sometimes, too. But you know what they say. You can't go home
again."
Illyria nodded, and the
movement came off as sad. "I tried; I failed."
"I didn't try. Easier
not to." Faith tried to turn Illyria away from the picture. It was like
trying to move a mountain. "Jeez."
"Why are you touching
me?"
"To show you the
basement. You can sleep there." She could see Illyria was about to
protest, so she said, "It's where kings sleep in my world. Really."
"It is not. I have been
here long enough to know that. But it will do." Illyria turned, clutching
the cheese doodles to her as if she needed comfort. There was a crunch-cracking
sound as she did it, like someone had just popped a whole sheet of bubble wrap.
"So much for that
bag," Faith said, hoping Illyria wasn't going to go after Robin's.
Not that Robin stood a chance
against her if she did.
"Listen, Illyria, there
are other girls living here. They're going to be a little freaked 'cause you're blue."
Illyria morphed into Fred. "I
don't have to be."
"Stop doing that. It's
wicked creepy."
Illyria changed back. "I
did not mean to offend." She frowned. "Not that I need to apologize
for that. I offend or not, as I will. It is not for you to say how I will
appear or what I will do."
"Okay, I sense a speech
coming on, and I'm dog tired. Howzabout
you practice it down here?" She opened the basement door and turned on the
light. "And we can all enjoy it in the morning?"
"We will kill more
things then?"
"Probably not till dark.
But you never know, we might find some daytime monsters."
Illyria looked as if she
would make sure they did.
Faith watched her walk down
the stairs. "You want this shut?"
Illyria turned. For a
god-king or whatever the hell she was, she looked a lot like a little kid, sleeping
alone for the first time.
"I'll leave it
open," Faith said. "There are blankets on the shelves."
Illyria nodded, disappearing
into the basement. Faith waited until she heard her getting settled on the
couch before she went back to the kitchen.
"So, uh, what is
she?" Robin was still chowing down, so Faith helped herself to the cheese
doodles, too.
"Some kind of demon, I
guess. And she thinks she's a guy."
"She sure didn't look
like a guy."
"I know. She, uh, sort
of killed this friend of Angel's and took her body."
"And we've invited her
into our house, why?" He started to get up.
She pushed him back down. "No.
It's okay. I mean, it's not okay what she did. But, I
don't get the feeling she had much control over that."
"Faith, there are times
you're just a little too forgiving of the evil set."
"Don't lecture me about
the Mayor." It was a surefire way to get into an
argument. Then again, the making up part was always fun. She pushed the bag of
doodles out of the way, settled in on his lap. "She may have saved my life
tonight. Seven vamps followed me, and she came out of nowhere and took four of
them down wicked fast. On the balance sheet, I'd call it a wash."
"I guess I would,
too." He pulled her down and kissed her. For a long time, not moving on to
anything more right away, just happy to kiss her. That had been hard for Faith
when they'd first gotten involved. She was a pro at sex but wasn't used to this
kind of closeness. Kissing had never been high on her list of things to do with
a guy. And when she had kissed them, it had usually been in an angry, rough
way. This tender, sexy sharing of lips and tongues was new to her. New, and
really nice.
Faith heard footsteps coming
down the hall, then they stopped. She slowly pulled away from Robin. Illyria
stood, a blanket around her shoulders, cheese doodle dust on her lips and
fingers, and a very sad look on her face.
"Couldn't sleep?"
Robin asked.
The god-king shook her head. It
was a truly pathetic site.
"Want me to tell you a
bedtime story?" Faith asked, mostly to be flip.
But Illyria nodded, her look
wistful. "In my court, those who wished to solicit favors would entertain
me with song and saga."
"If Faith tells it,
it'll be a bloody saga," Robin said.
"With many deaths and
betrayals? I would like a story about entrails."
"Entrails, huh?" Faith
thought about that. "Well, there was this time I strangled a Vicashu Demon with his own intestines."
"Yes, that would be
pleasant."
"Oh, yeah." Robin
said under his breath as Faith climbed off him. "This is going to be big
fun having her live here."
She grinned at him. "Actually it is. None of you ever want to hear those
stories." She handed him the cheese doodles to keep him company while she
was gone. "Come on, Illyria. One tale of blood and gore coming up."
Illyria smiled. A very
creepy, almost-serial-killer, smile. But still an improvement over the mopey 'tude from before.
Faith told her the intestine
story and managed to come up with a few more before Illyria finally fell asleep
on the couch. Faith stood over her for a moment, then she settled another
blanket around her and went back to Robin.
But for the rest of the
evening, she found herself listening for the sound of lonely footsteps coming
up the stairs.
##
Xander sprawled on the grass
next to the swing he was building for Will and Kennedy. He found it sort of fitting
that Buffy, by moving in with Giles, had given his first creation over to
Ingrid and Dawn. He didn't plan on making her a new one until everyone else had
theirs first. And maybe some folks in town had some, too. Or possibly all of
Italy.
Sure, it was petty. But it
made seeing Buffy and Giles together tolerable. Almost.
"Xander?" Ingrid's
accent made his name sound exotic. And her voice was so sweet.
He sat up, took in her bright
blue eyes and lightly tanned skin. She had a basket in her hand.
"Ooh, food?" He
patted his waistline. "You're spoiling me. And turning my once studly bod
into something a bit more rotund." Not that she'd done that all by
herself. Settling down with Anya had added the poundage. Post-jilting blues had
added even more. He sure wouldn't want to get into a speedo now.
She smiled. "You can
train with me. Work it off." She sat down next to him. "Besides, in
Sweden, we like our men big."
"Right. That explains
all the gorgeous Swedish hunks."
"Well, I like my men
with some meat on their bones." She opened the basket, dug out some
sandwiches with ham and some kind of cheese that maybe was Swiss. Ingrid didn't
go in for the really out there cheeses Anya had loved,
and he was grateful. He hated seeing green and blue bits in his cheese. That's
why God had made American cheese, after all. No surprises—also probably no
actual cheese, but there were always tradeoffs.
Taking one of the sandwiches,
he asked, "What else you got in that basket, little girl?" He was
hoping for cookies. She made the best damn cookies in the world. Well, actually
Ted's had been better, but then he'd drugged his so he had to be disqualified
for doping. As far as Xander knew, Ingrid was cooking clean.
"Maybe a treat for you. If
you're a very good boy." She bit into her sandwich, staring across the
compound to where some of the slayers were training with Buffy and Kennedy.
"You glad you're not
over there?"
She nodded. "But I'm a
failure."
"Uh, my taste buds
vigorously disagree." Other parts of him chimed in, too. He didn't think
most cooks looked quite that wholesomely sexy in an apron over a white t-shirt
and jeans.
"I'm a slayer, Xander. I'm
supposed to want to do that."
"Au contraire, Ingrid. Buffy
never wanted to do it."
"She didn't?"
"Nope. Buffy wanted to
be normal. But the slayer thing called and she had to do it. They played that
'One girl in all the world' tape over and over until she bellied up to the bar
of destiny and said, 'Sign me up for some violence.' But she did not want
to." He thought of another slayer: the girl—was Faith ever really a
"girl"?—he'd lost his virginity to. "On
the other hand, there are some who take to it like a fish to water."
Ingrid was still watching
Buffy. "She's so confident, though. Like being a slayer is the most
natural thing in the world to her. If she didn't want to, then how did she get
that way?"
"She's just strong. Buffy's
probably the strongest person I know. She's been through crap that would break
a normal person."
Ingrid looked at him. Then,
very slowly, she leaned over and touched where the elastic from his eye patch
ran over his eyebrow. "So, I think, have you."
She didn't pull away, and he
didn't ask her to, even though he didn't like anyone to touch his face anymore.
He had too many nightmares of Caleb poking out his eye, the calm way he'd done
it, then the overwhelming pain as Xander had realized how badly he'd been hurt.
And how badly he could be hurt again.
Ingrid pulled her hand away. "I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to bring back bad memories."
"Can't really get away
from it." He touched the patch. "Always with me."
She didn't look away, her
expression one of sympathy, but not pity. Then she looked down at his sandwich.
"Eat."
He decided to obey her.
"Dawn has told me of
your life. Of all your lives. I know that you lost someone you loved in your
final battle with the First."
He'd hated leaving Anya in
the school, hadn't seen her among the fallen. There'd been no time to look for
the dead. And Andrew had seen her go down. But what if Andrew had been wrong
and she hadn't died instantly? Xander hated thinking of his crazy Anya lying
there dying slowly, wondering why he'd deserted her again.
Ingrid sighed. "And once
more I have raised old ghosts."
He nodded. "I'm
sorry."
"No, I am sorry. I
should learn to keep the conversation light." She looked down. "I
have never known loss, Xander. My parents are alive and healthy. My
grandparents, too. I can't understand what that must have been like for
you."
"Well, that's the thing
about life. It ends. So sooner or later, you're going to understand."
Ingrid looked down. "If
Buffy hadn't pulled me out of training, I would have probably died on my first
assignment. And then my parents would have had to grieve for me."
"Well, you're not going
to have to fight. So they won't have to."
"Buffy is kind. To look
out for me and the others she's pulled out of the ranks."
"Buffy isn't kind. She
just knows what's right. And sending someone to die, just because that's how
it's always been done, is not her style."
"You don't think she's
kind?"
Xander looked away. He could
still hear her voice that morning he'd caught her and Giles on the beach
together. Neither of them had been kind that day—so cold in their certainty
that he had no right to judge them. That they weren't doing anything wrong.
He was getting used to them. He
accepted that he'd lost out again, and Buffy wasn't going to love him. But he
didn't like it. And he never would.
"Now, you have a
different look. Now, you are angry."
He shrugged.
"Dawn told me you had
strong feelings for Buffy once."
"Dawn has a big mouth
sometimes."
"Xander? Are you still
in love with Buffy?"
He shrugged again. Cordy had
hated how important Buffy had been to him. Anya had, too.
"I think you are. That
must be so hard for you, Xander. She's here and she's with Giles. And they seem
quite happy."
"They are quite happy. No
seeming about it." His voice was tight—the "hurt Xander" voice
he knew he shouldn't fall back on, but did anyway.
He could see Ingrid shutting
down, her bright smile dimming. "Well, I better get back to the
kitchen."
She started to get up, and he
reached out.
"Don't go."
"I'm not Buffy. I never
will be. Perhaps you should wait for her?"
"Nyah.
I'll be waiting forever. I'm one of her best friends. But I'm not her
type." He moved his hand down Ingrid's arm, taking her hand. "Wasn't
there anyone you had a crush on? Someone you could never have?"
She nodded. "Mister Agardian. He was our next door
neighbor. Tall, dark, and exotic. I was in love. But he found another." She
smiled ruefully. "I was twelve years old. He didn't even know I was
alive."
"Well, I'm not
twelve."
"I know. That is my
concern." She let go of his hand, dug in the basket and pulled out a
cookie. "I don't know that I should give this to you, now that I know your
heart is taken."
It was heart shaped, with the
inside pressed down so some kind of pink filling could be pressed into it. He
took a bite and the taste of raspberry and something else, something wonderful,
filled his mouth.
She was watching him, a sad
look in her eyes. Then she pushed herself up and grabbed the basket, hurrying
away.
Xander watched her go,
chewing thoughtfully on the scrumptious cookie. He saw her pass Willow,
ignoring her when Will said something. Willow watched her go into the dining
hall, then she turned and looked straight at him. Even from far away, he could
tell she was glaring at him.
She made short work of the
distance, standing over him, her hands on her hips. "If you upset her enough
that she can't cook, you're going to have a lot of angry slayers on your hands.
Not to mention me."
"I didn't mean to upset
her."
Willow sighed. "I guess
Buffy finally came up, huh?"
He looked down. "What if
I can't love anyone but her?"
Willow sat down next to him. "Xander,
has it occurred to you—like ever—that mostly you just want what you can't have?
You snuck around with Cordelia, enjoying bucking the in crowd until that was
acceptable, and then you cheated on her. And who with? Me. Who you never wanted
until suddenly you were taken and so was I."
"I wasn't exactly
stalking you, Will. Your lips were pretty eager."
"Oh, I know. But I'm
just saying. You didn't exactly pursue me after Cordelia broke up with her and
I was temporarily single. You tried to get her back."
"Well, you were trying
to get Oz back."
"And that would have
stopped you if you'd really, truly wanted me and only me? I don't think so. And
now you want Buffy because you can't have her. She's the last frontier."
"That's crap, Will. I've
wanted her since the first day she walked onto campus."
Willow sighed. "And you
wanted Faith because she was all cool, bad girl. Forbidden fruit again."
"And how do you explain
Anya?"
"Well, other than
picking a demon"—she saw his look—"ex-demon, she was actually a good
choice on your part. She was your most normal relationship. She was different—not
forbidden. I think that's why she got so far with you. She wasn't like the
others."
"There's a point to all
this, I suppose?"
"I'm getting
there."
"Good, 'cause I'm rethinking giving you this lovely swing."
She gave him her stern look.
"Oh, fine. You can have
it. What's your point, Will?"
"That Ingrid really
likes you, and I think you really like her. And now you're trying to ruin this
before it even starts."
"Buffy and Giles—"
"Buffy and Giles are in
for the long haul, Xan. I'm sorry, but that's how I see it. And even if they
weren't, she..."
"She wouldn't pick
me?"
Willow nodded, not meeting
his eye.
"Wow. This sure is a
feel-good conversation. You should sign up for motivational speaking gigs,
Will. I see a great future for you in it."
She sighed but didn't move. "Go
talk to her."
He thought she meant Ingrid,
but she was looking over at where Buffy was stretching, taking a break while
the girls ran laps.
"Go talk to her about
what?"
"About the two of you. If
she's ever even considered it? If she would? I think you need to know. If
you're ever going to move on. Go on. Do it."
He pushed himself up, not
sure what Will expected him to do. He imagined what he might say as he walked
across the compound. "Hey, Buffy. What're the odds on our future happiness
if, say, old Giles should have a heart attack while you're screwing his brains
out?" Yeah that would go over big.
He settled for, "Hey,
Buffy."
"Hey, Xander." Buffy
was doing pushups, the real way not the half-assed way they let girls do it in
P.E. He was pretty sure she could do the clapping thing if she wanted to, but
she didn't tend to show off for no reason anymore.
"Can we talk?" he
asked.
"Sure." She pushed
back, turning the push-up into a crouch, then was on her feet with a grace that
still thrilled him. She was so amazing. The way she moved. The way she looked
when she moved.
He could only imagine what
she was like in bed.
"Can we walk while we
talk?" He wanted to get her away from anywhere Giles might come out.
"Okay." She sounded
wary. As if she was expecting an attack, and that made him feel bad. She moved
to his side—his bad side—and he wondered if that was deliberate.
As soon as they were clear of
the houses, he turned her toward the bottom of the hill, managing to get on the
other side of her. Then he realized they were heading toward the path to the
beach—not good. He turned them again, so they were skirting the property line. "I
need to know something."
She stopped walking, turning
to look at him.
"If you and Giles weren't
together—or if you, for whatever reason, broke up—would I even stand a chance
with you?"
She studied him. "Xander,
I thought this crush you had on me back when we were first in high school was
over."
"So
did I. But then you broke up with the Immortal, and I guess I started to
hope." He shut up. Needed to make her talk. Or maybe neither of them would
talk, and it would be the most uncomfortable non-conversation in history.
"Xander, you've been
there for me. You've fought at my side. You've sacrificed so much for me. You
are one of my very best friends. And I love you with all my heart. But I'm not
interested in you that way. I'm sorry."
He felt just like he had when
he'd asked her to the dance back in sophomore year. Like she'd pulled out her
steel-toed slayer boots and kicked him as hard as she could in the gut. She
turned to go, and he stopped her.
"What if I were the last
man on Earth, Buff? What then?"
"You're not." She
looked back at him, her face full of sadness and some kind of mix of
resignation and quiet anger.
He could feel hypothetical
slayer boots again jamming into his gut. Only he imagined her words were
designed to hit lower, to kill that part of him that wanted her so badly.
"I'm sorry," he
said. "I probably shouldn't have asked."
"No, you probably
shouldn't have." She took a deep breath, and when she exhaled, he saw her
face harden. "You know, Andrew's been on the road awhile now...?"
"You think I should make
myself scarce and relieve him?" He saw her mouth tighten at his tone. "How
long am I exiled?"
"You don't have to go,
Xander. But maybe it would be better? If this is hard for you...?"
"I'll deal. This
conversation was probably good. Like cold water to the face, or a knife to the
gut." He turned to go, and this time she stopped him.
"Do you hate me?"
she asked, and there was misery in her voice. "Am I losing my friend over
this?"
He wondered if she would call
it off with Giles if he said yes. Then he turned and saw that the tired look
she'd worn so often during the fight with Glory, and later during the long
battle of wits with the First, was back.
He was hurting her.
"I'm sorry." He
didn't want to be the cause of her going to those dark places again—places
where she felt alone.
"I'm sorry, too. I wish
I could make you happy and me happy at the same time. I wish I could be the
girl you want. But I'm not."
"No. You're the woman
Giles wants." He touched her hair. "Maybe I will go away for a little
while. Andrew deserves a break. But I'll be back. I'm not deserting you."
"Okay." She gave
him a quick hug, then turned and walked away.
He walked back to the dining
hall, slipped around to the back, to the kitchen door. Ingrid was fixing
chicken for the evening meal, tearing the birds apart into the familiar wings
and thighs and breast with a lot of force. Slayer strength was killer in the
kitchen. Plus, she looked like she had some hurt or maybe anger to work out. Emotion
he'd caused.
He walked in. "Hey."
"I'm a little busy,
Xander."
"I know. Listen, Ingrid.
I'm going to go away for a while."
She didn't look up, but she
did sniff a little, and he realized she'd been crying and was trying to not let
him see that. "That's probably a good idea."
"I don't know when I'll
get back."
She shrugged. But still she
wasn't looking at him.
He moved closer. "I need
to get my head back on straight. I need to close some things out."
She kept ripping chicken.
"But when I get back, if
you're happy to see me and you want to start over from that moment before our
lunch went south, then give me one of those cookies you made. The heart
ones."
She looked up at him, and her
eyes were red. "And what if I'm not happy to see you? What if I don't want
that?"
"Then give me something
old and moldy."
She smiled, and he could tell
she didn't want to. "Okay."
"I'll see you in a bit,
all right?"
She nodded, and he turned to
go. He'd taken a few steps toward the door when he felt something hard hit his
head.
"Ow." He turned
back to look at her.
She had a look of delighted
disbelief on her face. "I actually hit you with that."
"Anger is good for your
aim." He picked up the projectile—a chicken neck. Trust her to not waste
any of the good parts. "You want another go at me?"
"Yes." She stalked
over to him, looking more like a slayer than she ever had as she reached out
with chickeny hands. But she didn't take the chicken
piece. Instead, she pulled him close and kissed him. Thoroughly. Passionately.
Then she drew away. "Something
to remind you why you might want to come back. If you get over your infatuation
with the unattainable."
He pulled her back to him. "One
for the road?"
"Just one. Then go away
and solve your problems. I don't want anyone who thinks he's settling when he
gets me."
He nodded. Not caring that
she was probably getting chicken bits in his hair as their lips locked again. For
a very long time.
Man, those Swedish girls knew
how to kiss.
##
Buffy watched as Giles sat at
one of the far tables in the dining hall. He had papers spread out, was working
a big calculator and writing out checks. Every so often he'd take his glasses
off, rub his eyes, start putting the bills in some kind of new order, then
write another check out.
Lorne sat down across from
her, turning to see what she was watching. "Now that looks like a cranky
watcher."
Buffy felt the need to defend
Giles, and turned to Lorne, ready to slay him with words. But then she saw the
gentle look in his eyes and realized he meant no harm, was, in fact, just
picking up on what most people at the sanctuary didn't get—that they were
dangerously low on funds.
"Having a tough time
making ends meet?" His look was full of sympathy.
She nodded. "It wasn't
easy before, but the Watchers' Council would throw enough our way to tide us
over."
"And before that, you
had the Immortal's wealth at your beck and call."
"Yes, we did." She
glanced over at Giles and saw him rub his forehead the way he did when they
faced a particularly hard-to-define evil. "Now, it's just us. And this
place is so big, and none of us are bringing in a salary. Although, we may need
to change that."
"Hold that thought,
sweetheart." Lorne dug into his pocket, bringing out a laminated card with
a series of handwritten numbers on it.
"What's this?"
"I'm not here just
because I need a place to crash, Buffy. I have one more thing to do for Angelcakes before I can rest. And this is it."
She picked up the card,
turning it over. "This is? Okay. What is this?"
Lorne watched her; he seemed
to be assessing her. "You know there was bad blood between Angel and the
Immortal, right?"
"I didn't when I met the
Immortal. But yeah, I'm aware now."
"Angel wanted you to
have this once you were free and clear of the Immortal. Given your relationship
with the grumpy bill-paying man over there, I'd say you're free and
clear."
"I'd say so, too." She
put the card down. "And this is...?"
"It's the number and
access codes for a Swiss bank account that contains a nice little nest egg of
Wolfram and Hart money. Scrubbed clean, you might say."
She could feel her mouth drop
open. "Angel embezzled this."
"Well, actually, Fred
did. She had the biggest budget, felt she could siphon
some off and nobody would notice. Had a lot of 'price overruns' in her
department. Eve loved to lecture her on that."
"Eve?"
"Liaison to the senior
partners. Not a nice girl." Lorne looked very far away. "Anyway, Fred
thought we'd need the money in the future, when we finally left Wolfram and
Hart." Lorne looked down, his voice growing shaky. "She thought she
had a future, poor little thing."
"I never met her. I'm
sorry that I didn't."
Lorne nodded. "You'd
have liked her. Everyone did." He took a deep breath, as if pushing the
memory of Fred away. "Well, anyway, this is for you. Once Angel knew that
we wouldn't be using it, he wanted you to have it. If you aren't extravagant,
this should fund your operation for a nice long time."
She met his eyes and realized
how utterly gentle his were. He reminded her a little of Clem. "Thank you,
Lorne."
"You were the love of
Angel's life, Buffy. I read him enough times to know that. No matter what else
happened to him, you always came first." He leaned in, touched her hand. "And
I think it was that way for you, too."
She nodded.
"But you've found a nice
man—although I guess 'found' isn't the word. You two have been partners for a
long time."
Buffy looked over at Giles. He
was staring out the window, his lips pursed tightly. "A very long time. And
I think I need to go tell my partner to quit worrying about our serious lack of
moolah."
"Probably a good
idea."
She pushed her chair back and
rose. Looking down at him, she said, "What are your plans?"
"I am a man with no
plan." He shook his head, as if embarrassed at the rhyme.
"Stay with us. You'll be
safe here. And Willow said you can read people. That might help us with some of
the newer slayers. Some of them come in pretty—"
"Warped?" He
nodded. "I remember Dana. What happened to her?"
She looked down. Dana had
been their biggest failure.
"Buffy?"
She forced herself to look
him in the eyes. "We thought we were reaching her. But we weren't. She got
out one night, killed several of the Immortal's servants before he caught up
with her. He wasn't known for his patience."
"He killed her?"
"He wounded her. She
jumped out a window to get away from him. A very high window. She didn't land
well." Buffy touched her neck.
"I wish I could say I'm
sorry, but that girl was beyond help."
"No one's beyond help,
Lorne. I have to believe we could have saved her."
"Why? Because if you
couldn't, you had no business taking her away from Angel?"
She could feel a flush
crossing her face. "We did what we had to do."
"You broke his heart
that day. I think you should know that."
She felt as if his words were
knives, stabbing into her heart. "We weren't clear on his priorities. It
looked..."
The fire in Lorne's eyes died
down. "I know, pumpkin. I'm sorry. I just get defensive. They were my
family, and I loved them."
She nodded, looking down at
the card he'd given her. "Stay as long as you want, Lorne. Maybe this can
be your family, too?" Then she left him alone and walked over to Giles'
table. "Trouble with the books?"
"It's not a laughing
matter, Buffy." He had his extreme grown-up face on.
She put the card down on top
of his papers. "It actually might be."
He picked it up slowly,
studying the numbers. "Is this what I think it is?"
"It is if you think it's
a Swiss bank account." She saw his frustration turn to relief. "And
how do you know what their account numbers look like?"
"The Council uses
them." He looked up at her. "Where did you get this?"
"Angel sent it. Via his
big green messenger guy."
"Angel?" Giles
looked so happy she thought he was going to cradle the little card to his
chest. "This could solve all our problems."
She sat down, smiling at his
enthusiasm. "This could solve all our financial problems."
"Well, yes, if you want
to be very particular." He grinned at her. "At any rate, it's very
good news. I wasn't sure how we were going to buy food this month."
She put her hand over his. "No
worries now."
His grin was so immediate
that she realized that the situation had probably been even worse than he was
saying.
"Yes," he said,
going back to his bills with a much lighter expression than before. Then he
looked up at her, the bill payer gone. The man who loved her in his place. The
man who could probably see some lingering pain in her eyes over Dana and what
she'd done to Angel to get the girl to Italy. "Are you all right,
Buffy?"
"Lorne just...he said
some hard truths."
"About?"
"Angel. Dana. You know,
bad calls."
"They weren't bad calls.
You made the best decision you could on the evidence we had at the time."
"But, Giles. The
Immortal didn't like Angel. What if I listened to him too much?"
He shook his head, his eyes
very calm. "You were also listening to me. Do you think I'd have let you
do something just to spite Angel? Especially if it was going to benefit
'him'?" He gave her a stern look.
"I forgot that you're
the founder of the 'I Hate the Immortal' club."
"Not the founder, but
the current chairman." He winked at her. "And hate might be too
strong. Very intense dislike, I think."
She laughed. Then she
remembered what they'd been talking about. "I still was pretty harsh with
Angel."
"Buffy, I'd be willing
to bet all the money in this lovely bank account that his last thoughts were of
you. Harsh or no, he never stopped loving you. I'm sure of it." He touched
her hand, his skin warm on hers.
"Thanks, Giles."
"That's what a watcher's
for."
"That's not what that
was." She leaned across the table, pulling him up to meet her and making
his neatly arranged bills go all over the table. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Buffy.
But this isn't very discreet of us."
"It sure isn't, is
it?" She kissed him again, then let him go.
He went back to his bills. "Don't
you have a swordsmanship class to teach?"
"Oh, yeah." She
watched him for a moment, then she got up and walked to the door, smiling at
Lorne as she passed him.
His answering grin was very
sweet, as if he heartily approved of her and Giles. She liked that. He wasn't
afraid to share hard truths or to acknowledge the good things. Seemed very
equal opportunity of him.
Kennedy was standing by the
weapons shed, waiting for her.
"Something on your
mind?" Buffy asked.
"I saw Giles in there. Being
bill guy."
"Yep."
"He seemed sort of
concerned."
"He was. He's not
now." She pulled out some of the wooden practice swords.
"So
you don't need me to talk to my dad?"
Buffy turned and looked at
her. "Would you have?"
"Yeah. For us—I mean all
of us—I would have."
"That means a lot. Now,
don't you have a crossbow class to go teach?" She sounded just like Giles
chiding her a few moments before.
"Yes, mein commandant!" Kennedy gave her a very stiff
salute, but ruined it by laughing as Buffy rolled her eyes.
Buffy watched her go, then
took a deep breath and went off to train some slayers.
##
Giles took a break from bills
that were no longer so daunting now that they had funds to pay them with. He
looked over where Lorne was standing. The demon was staring out the window,
watching the slayers train, wearing an expression that on a human would be
tortured—Giles wasn't certain what it signified for a Pylean.
He turned back to the waiting
expenses, singing "Blackbird" softly under his breath. He heard a
quick intake of breath, and looked up to see Lorne watching him intently. Remembering
what Willow had said about Lorne's ability to read anyone who sang for him, he
bit the song off but could tell it was too late.
He rose slowly, walking over
to where Lorne stood. The slayers were going all out, wooden swords clanking as
Buffy put them through their paces.
"How much do you see
when you read us?" he asked softly.
"A lot." Lorne
turned to look at him. "You've got a nice voice, by the way. Willow said
you did."
"Flattery isn't going to
distract me. And thank you."
Lorne smiled, and some kind
of tension seemed to go out of him. "You remind me of Wesley."
At first Giles felt insulted,
had to consciously work to think of the man Wesley had grown into, not the
great ninny he'd been saddled with. "You were friends?"
"I like to think we were
family." He looked down. "You've done some dark things, Rupert."
It sounded odd to have
someone calling him that. Odd, but nice.
"Or do you prefer
Giles?"
"You brought us that
little card with the magical Swiss numbers on it, so I think you can call me
anything you like."
Lorne laughed. "Now
who's distracting?" Lorne nodded toward Buffy. "You killed for her. And
you don't know what she would do if she ever finds out. But you don't regret
that you did it." He sighed, a deeply resonant sound for such a mundane
act. "I wish you could read me."
"Why?"
"Because I killed for
Angel. And I hate myself." He turned to Giles. "How do you live with
it so easily?"
"Because I know why I
did it. I know the world is a safer place because I did it. And I have an absolute
certainty that the god trapped inside the young man I murdered would have come
after my slayer. And I couldn't have that. I wouldn't."
Lorne nodded.
"She died anyway. Despite
my action. She died, and it might never have mattered."
"She's not dead
now."
"No. Not now." Giles
sighed. "And Glory was the kind of evil that never stops. She would have
found a way to hurt Buffy, even if it was years later. I knew I couldn't kill
the god, but I could snuff out the boy's life. And without a vessel, she was
nothing."
"So
you did it. End of story." Lorne pointed out to where Buffy stood. "What
makes her worth it?"
Giles sensed it was a very
serious question. "She's good. She's strong. And she fights evil." He
shrugged. "She had already saved many more lives than the one I took. A
life she wouldn't have taken, not even to protect herself. That's why I could
do it. She could show mercy, so she had to be preserved—no matter what the
cost. Maybe that's why you did it for Angel?"
Lorne laughed bitterly. "No,
I did it for Angel because Angel asked me to do it for him. There was very
little that was merciful about him at the end."
"Don't tell Buffy
that." Giles felt a pang, remembering the conflicted young man Angel had
always seemed—when he wasn't evil and torturing people for fun. "Let her
remember him as he was. She already feels guilty enough for not trusting him at
the end."
"Was that your doing?"
"She didn't need me to
tell her to think twice when it came to Angel." He saw Lorne was about to
protest and beat him to it. "Try looking at what Angel and the rest of you
were doing from our perspective, and you'll understand why we didn't trust
you."
Lorne closed his eyes, as if
the words hurt him. "We thought we'd be able to do some good."
"From the belly of the
beast?"
Lorne didn't have an answer
to that.
"What did you
kill?" Giles finally asked into a silence that was becoming uncomfortable.
"Not what. Who." Lorne met his eyes, as if he wanted to see every
reaction Giles was having. "A man. I shot a man who was helping us, but
who would probably have betrayed us again. And I believed in it at the time. But
now I wonder..."
Giles just waited.
"It upset Lindsey so
much that I was the one who did him in. Angel knew that it would hurt him, too.
Angel was too smart not to know. I feel, I don't know, I feel..."
"Used?"
Lorne nodded. "Angel was
my friend. But he did that to get back at Lindsey. He made me kill..."
"Held your hand to the
trigger, did he?"
Lorne shot him a hurt look.
"I mean it. What kept
you in the game? Why didn't you walk away?"
"I couldn't. I had to do
it."
"Why?"
"Because it was the
right thing to do." Lorne sighed. "But it's killing me."
"Did you come here to do
penance?"
"Maybe. I don't
know." He looked around the dining hall, as if desperate for a diversion. "Hey,
who's for a sea breeze?"
Giles settled a hand on
Lorne's shoulder. "It'll get easier. Or at least further away." He
knew that from experience. All the darkness with Eyghon
had given him nightmares for years, nightmares that had come back when Eyghon had manifested in Sunnydale in the bodies of his
friends and the woman he loved. But the nightmares had subsided again.
To be replaced by other
nightmares. Death and torture and more death. Being alone, having to leave
Sunnydale, having to leave Buffy in the ground. Praying she'd found peace. Dreaming
that she hadn't. That she'd fallen through the portal and somehow her soul had
been caught up in the hell dimension Glory had been trying to bring over to
their world. That Buffy had been suffering unimaginable torment by friends of
the god he'd killed.
There had never been a lack
of fodder for nightmares.
"Hey, come back from the
wacky dark place." Lorne tried to smile, but his lips barely curved up. "I
used to be the comic relief. Really."
Giles smiled tightly. He'd
used to think of Xander as that. Until Xander had proven that he was never
going to quit, despite having no real power against evil. Of all of them,
Xander was probably the bravest. Even if he'd fled the compound again. Buffy
had told Giles about their discussion, and he'd felt bad for the other man—even
as he'd felt irritation that Xander would put Buffy on the spot like that. Maybe
some time away was for the best?
He forced his mind off
Xander. "Go get some of the sea air, Lorne. Watch the slayers. You'll feel
better—or at least a good deal safer."
Lorne nodded and headed for
the door. Just before he got there, he turned around and said with a smile,
"She's a lucky woman."
"Feel free to tell her
that." Giles grinned, knowing that Buffy didn't need to be told.
Neither of them did.
##
The half-moon shone through
the trees, giving little light as Faith followed Robin down the path that led
out of the cemetery. Freakin' vamp had risen way too
early. The sun had barely set, and he must have been clawing his way out of the
ground.
"So, there is no monster
to fight?" Illyria sounded seriously cranky.
Faith knew she wasn't the
poster child for upbeat herself. "Not yet, blue velvet. But we'll find
him."
"You two together sure
make for a fun evening." Robin stopped as the path gave way to city
sidewalk, nearly causing Faith to crash into him. He shook his head. "And
what am I doing? I can't tell which way the vamp went."
Illyria pushed past them
both. "I can." She set off toward the part of town that was heavy
with the clubs, and Faith followed. Figured this was where he'd go—vamps being
such party types.
"And how can you
tell?" Robin was following, too, even if he was skeptical guy.
"I can smell them."
"Them?" Faith
asked, while Robin frowned and asked, "Vampires have a certain
smell?"
"There were others with
him. And yes, a certain smell. All things do."
Faith decided not to ask what
humans smelled like to Illyria. Most questions like that involved deep
reminiscing about Illyria's realm, and words Faith would have to ask Robin
about later like offal and crepuscule. Illyria was expanding her vocabulary in
a big way, but it wasn't with words that Faith was likely to use around her
buds.
Then again, Faith wasn't
overloaded with buds, these days. She spent more time with Illyria than she did
with anyone her own age. The other slayers—they weren't buds; they were
responsibilities. Lives she had to preserve, talents she had to hone, spirits
she had to try not to break. It pretty much sucked a lot of the time.
But she'd never felt more
needed—more useful—in her entire life.
And there was Robin. Who hung
back now as they followed Illyria past the first two clubs.
He winked at Faith, his hand finding hers for a quick squeeze. Then he nodded
back at one of the clubs they'd passed. "That band sounded good. We should
go back sometime."
She smiled. "Sure."
"Cool." He smiled,
and then it faded, and he was back on the case.
She loved that about him. How
he could leap out of the moment and make it not about slaying and all about
them. And then leap right back. She supposed he might have given a more normal
girl whiplash, but she respected it. Plus, it lowered the pressure on her. She'd
never done well in a relationship, never lasted much longer than three nights
with any guy, and that had been early on. Her latest conquests had been just
that. A notch to add to a belt, a body to satisfy a post-slayage
itch. Nothing serious. Nothing deep. Not until Robin.
And she knew that she owed it
to Angel that she could even relate to Robin. Angel and the Mayor. Two men
who'd loved her in their own ways. And who hadn't taken advantage of her the
way she'd been used to. They'd wanted her mind and her heart and her spirit,
not her body. Robin wanted all of that and body, too, and she was finally ready
to see if she could work the complete package concept.
"What are you thinking
about?" he asked.
"Slayer stuff."
"Ah." He rolled his
eyes. He knew an evasion when he heard one. She thought it was from being a
principal. And from being a slayer's son. In his world, slayers spun the truth.
They might do it for your own good, but they lied.
"The vampires are
here." Illyria stood in front of a Goth club.
"Oh yeah, we'll
blend," Robin said.
Of all of them, Faith was the
closest to fitting in with black jeans and a black leather jacket over a dark
red t-shirt. Illyria didn't seem eager to ever trade in her leather catsuit for
more normal clothes. And Robin looked way too GQ with his jeans, steel-toed
Italian leather boots, and white shirt.
The very tall bouncer took
one look at them and said, "Go stand behind the rope."
There was no rope. It wasn't
the kind of club that had a rope.
Illyria didn't even look for
the rope. She grabbed the man by the throat and threw him into the street. Fortunately,
there were no cars coming.
"Go right in," he
said, his voice raspy.
"Hey, thanks,"
Faith said, amazed that for once she got to be the good girl. "Okay,
listen, god-thing. Chill with the tossing of people into streets."
"Why, because he might
have been hurt?"
That was mostly the reason,
but Faith knew it would hold no weight with Illyria. "No, because I would
have had to save him, and that would waste time, and then the vamps you want to
kill would be gone."
Illyria considered that. "I
will aim for a parked car next time."
"Super," Robin
whispered.
Faith just grinned at him and
shrugged. Illyria was a bad ass. What could she say?
The club wasn't very full,
but it was a week night. Faith pulled Illyria back, whispering, "You can't
just go crazy in here. We don't leave witnesses." Not that Faith had ever
cared that much about witnesses back in the day, but in a way, Illyria was just
another one of her charges who needed to be taught. "And we don't hurt
normal people. I know it's a suck rule, but deal with it."
"There are too many
rules here that I have not written."
"Welcome to my
world," Faith said as she spotted the vamps. She didn't need Illyria's
sense of smell to find them; the newest one was still in his burial wear and
had dirt all over him. The chick he was trying to hit on didn't look thrilled
with his hygiene.
The other two vamps—a guy and
a girl who were standing a bit away from him and watching with proud
expressions as if he was their little baby taking his first steps—were dressed
in something more modern. And Goth. Were they natives that had been turned by
some new vamp? Or were they just blending the way Faith and her crew weren't?
"Can I kill them?"
Illyria asked. She definitely sounded perky at the thought.
"Not in here,"
Robin said, using the principal voice.
Amazingly, Illyria always
seemed to respond to it. "Where, then?"
"What is the first rule
of vamp hunting?" Faith gave Illyria a stern look—the god-thing was even
worse at paying attention than Faith had been back in the day.
"Alleys, back rooms,
cellars."
"Very good." Faith
was trying to make it easy on her. The A-B-Cs of slaying. Eventually they'd
work up to D.
The newbie vamp was striking
out big time. Faith saw the other male work his way to the woman who'd turned
down his fledgling. He apparently made a lot more progress, because a few minutes
later, the young woman turned and walked away with him.
Another young woman jumped in
between them and the door to the alley, smiling and acting as if she wanted in
on whatever fun they were headed for.
Faith caught a glimpse of
wood sticking out from the pocket of her jacket. "What the...?"
"There is a
problem?" Illyria said, looking ready to move.
"Rogue talent." She
scanned the room, saw a man wearing way too much tweed sitting in a back booth.
"Or competition."
Illyria followed her gaze. Her
whole expression changed, becoming softer. "Wesley?"
Faith realized he did look
like Wesley. But like the macho Wesley her ex-watcher had become, not the girly
jerk who had tried to take her back to England. Then the man turned, and he
didn't look like Wesley, anymore. But he did look very British.
He saw Faith and the others
and started to get up.
"Go. Alley. Now." Faith
said, and Illyria was already on the move.
The watcher reached the door
just as Illyria did. She looked up at him, said very softly, "No."
When he kept going, she
jabbed him in the neck, just above the collarbone. He went down like a stone.
"What were you telling
her about normal people?" Robin asked.
"Hey. Points for not
killing. And he's not normal. She has Fred's memories. She knows all about the
Council."
"Right. Forgot."
They rushed through the door,
saw that the woman who'd joined the group was fighting the newbie vamp. She
staked him quickly, the Goth girl screaming and running for the street as her
attacker turned to dust.
The two older vampires moved
on the slayer, and Illyria was about to jump in, but Faith held her back. She
knew Illyria was letting her do it; no way she could have stopped her if
Illyria had been really intent on getting into the fray.
"Wait."
"Why?" Illyria
asked.
"I want to see what
we're up against. If she gets in trouble, you can go crazy on their
asses."
"Then I hope she gets in
trouble." Illyria's tone was sour, but she held.
Faith realized that the
god-thing actually accepted her as the leader. Her life just kept getting
weirder.
The slayer looked over at them
once, then leapt into the fight, taking the offensive to the vamps. It was a
mistake. The female went flying back, but the male grabbed the slayer, throwing
her back against the fence.
"Now?" Illyria
asked.
"No."
Illyria let out a short,
impatient puff of air.
"It's sort of like
having a Doberman," Robin said quietly. "Or an armed surface-to-air
missile."
Faith laughed.
The slayer fought hard,
managing to knock the male back with a combination of moves. It was easy to see
her training at work—it was also easy to see that the trainer had limited
experience, because her guard was down and her defenses all wrong when the
female vamp came flying in, knocking her into the male.
"Now?" Illyria
asked.
"Now." As Illyria
unleashed a god-thing-sized can of whup ass on the vamps, Faith leaned against
Robin and said, "She really is a thing of beauty when she fights."
Illyria was a thing of beauty
other times, too. She had the sexy thing going on, although Faith didn't think
Robin felt it as much as she did. She didn't plan on enlightening him that she
felt some eensy attraction. Besides, she always felt
some when it was a pretty girl. Didn't mean she tended to play that way if she
had a choice.
Illyria hit the female vamp
hard, back against the side of the building, then ripped her head off.
Faith turned to look at
Robin. He was standing with his mouth open. This was his first time seeing her
do that. "I know you said she could do it, but it's something you really
have to see for yourself."
"You wanna
sit down or something?"
"Oh, no. I'm good."
He thought about it. "I suddenly feel a whole lot safer—and a whole lot
not."
"Believe me. I
understand."
The male vamp threw the slayer
away from him and he ran like hell, Illyria in hot pursuit. Faith heard him
yell something, then there was only silence.
Robin helped the slayer. "Up
you go." Then he frowned. "Callie?"
She looked up at him, a
little shaky on her feet. "Principal Wood? Uh. Right. I can—I can explain
this."
"You don't have to. Those
are vampires; you're a slayer." Robin steadied her as she seemed to wobble
again. "First hunt?"
She nodded, and he took a
deep breath, and Faith wondered if he was about to go into lecture mode.
"Unhand her," a
very pissed off British voice said from behind them.
"Guess your watcher woke
up," Faith said, grinning at the girl. "Callie, huh?" She stuck
her hand out. "I'm Faith. Head slayer these parts."
The girl looked at the
watcher. "Mister Rowsom, you said I was the only one—"
Faith glared at him. "You
still feeding them that line? Get with the twenty-first century." She
turned back to Callie. "Whatever he said, he probably lied. Watchers do
that." Faith glanced at the watcher. "Didn't know you guys were back
in business."
"I imagine there are
many things you don't know." He moved out of the doorway, walking over to
Robin and jerking the girl loose. "Come along, my dear."
"You are sure I can't
kill him?" Illyria was smiling dangerously as she stalked back toward
them.
"The vamp's down?" As
if Faith needed to ask.
"Too quickly."
"Bummer." Faith
turned back to the Callie, ignoring Rowsom. "Look. Mister Stick-Up-His-Ass
here is obviously doing the best he can training you. But your moves lack a
certain, shall we say, skill?" She could tell Callie didn't like that and
held up her hand. "Not that you don't have talent, kid. Just that talent
alone isn't going to cut it. I've got a much better training camp than this
schmuck does. And, if you haven't noticed, this game is played for keeps. So if you want to stay alive, you might think about changing
teams. And I think you know where to find us."
Faith glanced at Robin, not
eager to let the watcher know that he was Callie's principal if the man hadn't
already caught on to that fact. She noticed Callie didn't seem eager, either,
since she just nodded very slightly. Faith imagined the girl's watcher would be
grilling her once they were on the road.
"Callie, we're leaving. At
once." Rowsom looked at his watch, as if they were making him late for
Benny Hill or something.
"Yeah, he's a gem,"
Faith said.
Illyria walked up to Rowsom, moving
so she could look at him in profile. "I should kill you for looking like
Wesley."
"Wyndam-Pryce,
you mean?" Rowsom laughed. "I heard he died and I have to say—"
A hoarse growl sounded, and
Faith realized it had come from Illyria. Something changed in her expression—she
looked very old and very much a god.
"I'm thinking you want
to shut up right about now," Robin said. "You really don't want to
piss her off."
Rowsom turned slowly, saw
something in Illyria's eyes that made him gulp. "And I have to say that it
was a tragedy." He looked like a man who knew he was standing on the
cliff's edge. "A great tragedy."
Illyria's expression didn't
alter. She lifted a hand, and the man actually whimpered. "Have a
care," she whispered, touching his throat. "I was merciful the first
time."
"Very, very careful. Yes.
Quite so."
Illyria backed away, her nose
wrinkling. "You have wet yourself. It is disgusting." Then she
smiled. It was the single creepiest thing Faith had ever seen.
"You want me to work
with her?" Callie whispered to Faith.
"She's actually pretty
cool. If you don't rank on her boyfriend." If that's what Wesley had been
to her? Faith wasn't exactly clear on that.
"Oh. I get that."
"Let's go, Callie."
Rowsom didn't wait for her, hurrying out of the alley to the street, probably
hoping no one else would notice the dark stain on his pants.
Callie looked at Robin. "I'll
stop by tomorrow? I have second period free."
"Sounds good."
"Score one for team
slayer," Faith said, watching the girl leave. "I wonder if B knows
the Council is recruiting on its own?"
"They will once you tell
them," Illyria said, taking a deep breath. "Are there are no other
things to kill?"
Robin handed Faith a scrap of
paper. "Demon gang. Down by the airport." He grinned at Illyria. "Figured
you might need to work off some steam."
"You figure well." Illyria
gestured in what was unmistakably the sign for him to lead on to the car.
"Guess I'm driving you
two there?"
"Her on mass
transport?" Faith asked, picturing Illyria taking on the turnstile—and
winning. "I'm thinking not."
"Good point." He
handed her his cell phone. "It's breakfast time in Sorrento."
She smiled and dialed the
number. Buffy was not going to be thrilled to hear that the Watcher's Council
had jumped into their game.
##
As Xander's driver Manuel
maneuvered around another pothole big enough to swallow their jeep, Xander
watched the people of this neighborhood of San Salvador as they shopped and
talked and ducked into bars and restaurants on their way home from work. The
women were dressed like European women—not a sneaker in sight—and he enjoyed
the sight of so many curvy hips and shapely legs.
"Your first time in the
city?" Manuel asked, his English perfect. The great thing about having
Wolfram and Hart money meant Xander could hire interpreters and drivers to
facilitate collection of a slayer. Not that they hadn't done that before, but
they'd had to hire anyone desperate enough to want to work for what they could
afford. Now they could get people who actually understood what was going on. Vetted
by Giles or one of his in-the-know friends.
"Yep. But I just came
from Quito and Brasilia."
"Slayers there,
too?"
It still felt weird to talk
about it to virtual strangers. "Yep. More slayers. This one is pretty
young. Maribel Gutierrez."
Manuel nodded. "My uncle
was a watcher. He trained Maribel's mother."
Xander frowned. "It can
be passed along family lines?"
"Apparently so. Haven't
you seen it before?" Then Manuel shook his head. "Of course not. Most
of the diaries from those watchers whose slayers were never called were kept at
Council Headquarters. And it went the way of our power stations during the war.
Ka-boom." He added sound effects—really good ones.
Xander smiled in appreciation
at that kind of skill. "Just exactly."
Manuel turned down a smaller
street, then down another, barely big enough for their jeep and the big black
van that went barreling past them. He stopped in front of a building where a
black Mercedes sat parked.
"Oh, no way,"
Xander said, already getting out of the car.
A woman stood leaning against
the car, watching him.
He walked over to her. "Well,
if it isn't the watcher woman?"
Clara Davies moved closer to
him, her perfume rich and deep, her thin blouse plastered to her under all that
wool. It was way too humid for traditional watcher wear. "Why, Xander. What
a surprise. Are you looking for Miss Gutierrez?"
"Gosh, how did you work
that one out?"
She smiled, and it was a sexy
smile. "I'm smart that way."
As he was about to go into
the building, she said, "The early bird gets the worm, my dear."
He stopped. "Slayers
aren't worms."
"And I'm not a bird. But
that doesn't mean the saying isn't fitting." She looked very complacent,
as if she didn't care what he did or said, and he realized Maribel must have
been in the van that had sped by them.
She seemed to be following his
thought processes. "Tell Rupert that he can't win
them all, anymore. The Council is back on the case."
"The case? You're
talking about a girl's life."
"I'm talking about a
slayer's life. It's entirely different." She moved even closer. "We
should be on the same side."
"We should? I don't even
speak Watcher."
She laughed. "You're
young and strong. How did you put it when we met? The 'token normal' man?"
"Yeah, that's how I put
it." But he'd forgotten, until he went on this trip, that he was pretty
supernatural when it came to convincing families to part with their daughters. His
eye patch positively screamed "white slave trader," and yet they let
their girls go with him. Possibly because their girls had begun acting
strangely, maybe breaking things or getting into fights? But it could also be
because he was proving to be as skilled at bullshitting as he was at
construction. Was there a magical term for a BSer?
He looked at Clara. If there
was a magical term, he imagined it applied to her, too. She smiled at him and
then, in what sounded like perfect Spanish, said something to the man behind
the wheel of her sleek, dark car. The driver leaned down, popping open the
trunk. She walked over, opening a cooler and asking him, "What's your
poison?"
"I'm laying off poison
these days. Trying to watch my figure."
She pulled out two cans of
Coke, and carried them over to him, handing him one as she opened the other for
herself. Drinking deeply, her head back, he couldn't help but notice how creamy
white the skin of her neck and chest were. She seemed to be arching a bit so
that her chest was easy to spot.
She sighed, as if the Coke
were the sweetest nectar, and asked softly, "Are you sure you wouldn't
like to work for the Council? With me?" Her eyes were soft and inviting. "I
don't have to leave for Quito until morning. Perhaps we could spend some time
together?"
He could feel himself
responding to her suddenly very overt sexuality. But then a vision interrupted
his naughty thoughts. A slayer. Blonde. Sweet. Not Buffy—Ingrid. His Ingrid. A
girl that loved him, or thought she did, anyway. Not someone who just wanted to
use him to get back at Giles. And probably at Buffy.
"With you? Or against
Giles and Buffy?"
She shrugged, her eyes
half-lidded, as if she wanted him very much. "You defended them last time.
That was admirable. But they're not here. They're back at their little love
nest, aren't they?"
"We just call it the
compound." He looked at her. Really looked at her and knew that pretty as
she was—tempting as she was—she was what he could become if he didn't let go of
his anger toward Buffy and Giles. It might always hurt him a little that she
didn't want him, but he didn't have to become like this woman. Bitter. And
alone. And coming on to near-strangers in faraway lands just to make himself
feel better.
"You know what? I've got
friends waiting for me back at the ranch."
"You're not going to
Quito?"
He realized she thought he didn't
know about Elena Hernandez. "Hadn't planned on it."
Her look was smug.
"Or Brasilia
either." He smiled. Elena and Sonia had both already arrived safely at the
slayer sanctuary, and he was glad he'd decided to start the trip in the south
and work north.
Clara's face fell. "Brasilia,
too?"
"'Fraid
so. Now who's the early bird, hmmm?" With that he handed her back the Coke
he'd never opened, stalked back to the jeep, and in Spanish said, "Let's
get the hell out of here."
Manuel looked confused.
"Did I just order a
tractor or something?"
"Actually, you
propositioned me and my sister's goat—only my sister does not have a
goat."
"Oh. Damn. I mean about
the getting it wrong thing, not the lack of goat. What I was trying to say was
let's get while the getting's good."
"No slayer?"
"No slayer. The Council
beat us to it."
Manuel frowned as he turned
the jeep around in the narrow street. "My uncle doesn't trust the Council.
Not since Maribel's mother Lucia wasn't called. They wanted him to put her
through this test, but he refused."
"Oh, that test. Yeah,
they did that to Buffy." Actually, Giles had done that to Buffy. And she'd
forgiven him.
Manuel took a deep breath. "He
would kill me if he knew I'd told you this, but the Council fired him for his
disobedience. Lucia they left alone, and she got
married a few months later. And then Maribel was born. We never had an inkling
she even had the potential and then one day she suddenly seemed different."
"Presto, change-o. Nothing
like a nice Wiccan spell to upset the balance of a life, eh?"
"A witch did that?"
"A very powerful one. And
she had help if I understand what happened. Mystical, godlike help."
"Interesting." Manuel
suddenly turned the car.
"Isn't the airport back
the other way?"
"Yes, but your flight is
not for some hours, is it?"
"About six."
"Then we have time for
you to meet my uncle. He may have information that would be valuable to you. And,
if nothing else, it will raise his spirits to know that the Council has
competition."
"Well, I don't mind
being the bearer of 'neener neener"
type news." That was the kind of statement that Giles would have been all
over, but Manuel let it go. Xander realized he sort of missed the G-man and his
snipes, even if he was really mad at him for reasons that started with Buffy
and ended with Summers.
##
Willow looked over at
Xander's cabin, wishing he was in there and not back in the Western Hemisphere.
She missed him. And it was hard not to be a little mad at both him and Buffy. Maybe
she should do a teensy spell to make them all get along?
"Willow..." Tara's
voice was welcome and loving, and Willow closed her eyes and tried to let Tara
fill her.
"It's just they should
be able to work this out without all the drama," she muttered.
"The way you worked my
death out?"
"Fine. Be right, why
don't you?"
"Who you talking to,
Will?" Buffy gave her a funny look as Willow whirled guiltily. She hadn't
known Buffy was behind her or she'd have cooled the talking to dead people bit.
"No one. Except me. And,
uh, my goddesses."
"Oh. Okay."
"You want to go down to
the beach?" Willow asked, suddenly needing to have some private time with
Buffy.
"Sure." They walked
slowly, enjoying the nice day.
"You usually go down
here with Giles," Willow said as they passed the bandanna tree. She shot
Buffy a knowing look.
"I'm allowed down here
in other capacities, too." Buffy grinned. Then she frowned. "Am I
starting to talk like him?"
"A little."
"That's so not
good."
"That sentence was a hundred percent Buffy."
Buffy laughed. She kicked off
her slides and waded into the water. "You know it's awesome to swim down
here." She sort of blushed. "I mean in a
clothing-optional sort of way."
"I know. Kennedy and I
do that, too." Willow sat down in the sun, watching her friend play in the
mild surf. "You can see the lights from town if you swim out far
enough."
"I know." Buffy
waded back in, plunking down in the sand next to Willow. "You really love
Kennedy, don't you?"
"I really do."
Buffy looked over at her.
"What?"
"I don't know. You just
didn't sound completely committed."
"No. I am. I'm crazy
about her." Willow frowned. "I know you don't exactly like her,
Buffy, but I do and—"
"Okay, Will. I didn't
mean to—" She sighed. "It's just you sounded as if maybe you weren't
sure?"
Willow studied her friend. "Well,
if I asked you about Giles...?" She saw Buffy turn away. "Buff?"
Buffy didn't answer for a
long time. Then, in a very small voice, she said, "I can't stop thinking
about Angel."
"Well, yeah. 'Cause he's really dead and you have to deal with
that."
"I thought I had."
Willow touched Buffy's hand. "I
don't think you ever gave up hope that he got out of that alley. I mean he got
out of Hell, right? What's an alley in L.A.?"
"Right." Buffy's
voice was very small, as if she was trying not to cry. "I do love
Giles."
"I know." Willow
took a deep breath. "Earlier. When you asked me who I was talking to? It
was Tara."
"You talk to her? How?"
Buffy looked like she thought maybe Willow could put her in touch with Angel.
"It's not a spell,
Buffy. Or even anything I do consciously. She's just there sometimes. Usually
when I'm thinking of doing something a little iffy magically. I can hear her. She
talks to me. Not for very long or anything. But...enough." Willow pushed
her hair back, nodding and smiling, as if to try to show Buffy she was not a
crazy person. "And I can feel her, when I do deep magics.
I learned with her, after all. I got strong doing spells with her. It started
after I did the spell to call all the slayers."
"You didn't say
anything."
"It started really
gradually. At first I thought I was just imagining it.
But it was real."
"Does Kennedy
know?" Funny how Buffy could always cut to the heart of a matter.
"No. And I don't want
her to. She's a little threatened by Tara."
"Right." Buffy
turned her hand, so that she was holding Willow's. "If Tara came back,
which of them would you pick?"
"Tara's not coming
back."
"So
Kennedy wins by default."
Willow pulled her hand away. "That's
a really negative way to look at it. For Kennedy—or for Giles."
"Sorry, but it seems
like a truthful way to look at it." Buffy sounded more thoughtful than
mad.
"Buffy, I once thought
that Xander was the only guy I'd ever want. And then Oz came along. And when I
almost lost him and felt so bad, I knew he was the guy I had to be with. And I
knew nothing would ever replace how I felt for him. I thought I was going to
die when he left me. But then I met Tara. And once I had a choice, I chose her
over Oz. Because that's what we do. We move on. We grow in different
ways."
Buffy turned to her, eyes
like gray-green daggers. "So if Tara came back
today? Truth, Will."
"I'd choose her." Willow
could barely get the words out. Could feel them going out into the ether, as if
they were a betrayal of Kennedy. "But don't you see, if she were alive,
Kennedy and I would never have even started. And it's the same way for you and
Giles. Because I know you, Buffy, and I know he's what you're obsessing
over." She moved her hand over Buffy's, let her friend choose to take it. "Not
that you'd ever obsess."
"Will, I love Giles so
much, but am I being fair to him?"
"Maybe you shouldn't be
asking me? Maybe you should be asking him?" She squeezed Buffy's hand,
then pulled free. "Saying you loved Angel more
than Giles, or that I loved Tara more than Kennedy, well, that might not be
saying much. I mean are we saying the Master wasn't much worse than Glory? Or
are we saying that Ted wasn't much worse than the First?"
"Ted was maximum
evil."
"Okay, I guess invoking
his name was a bad call on my part." Willow laughed. "But it's a matter
of degree, and I know you get that." She held her hands out, leaving a
great distance between them. "Angel and Giles?" She moved her hands
closer, until only an inch or so separated them. "Or Angel and
Giles?"
"Where are Tara and
Kennedy?"
"That's for me to know. You
have to figure out where yours are." She rose, brushing sand off her
pants. "I'll leave you to that."
"Will."
She turned.
Buffy was twisted around,
smiling at her. "Thanks."
"I'm glad we're together,
Buffy. There are things I tell you I can't tell anyone else."
"I know. Same
here." Then Buffy turned back to look at the water.
Willow left her, and when she
got to the bandanna tree, she hung a blue one up so that nobody would disturb
Buffy. As she got to the top of the hill, she saw Kennedy putting away the
practice swords. "Good training session?"
"Really good." Kennedy
grinned at her. "Wanna go into town? I promised
I'd take the three left standing to Carlo's."
"I'd love to."
Kennedy smiled and started to
turn away, but Willow pulled her back, kissing her.
"Mmm,
Red. What's gotten into you?"
"You." She put her
hand over her heart. "Right here. And it feels good."
Kennedy looked like she might
cry, and she hardly ever cried. "Right back at you." Then she pulled
Willow to her and kissed her hard.
"When do we have to
leave for town?" Willow asked.
"We have time." Kennedy
pulled Willow after her, going fast, nearly at a run. "If we hurry."
They could have more time if
Willow did a little spell to pull them out of time...
"Willow..." Tara's
voice was gently amused.
With a grin, Willow hurried.
##
Buffy pulled at a weed,
trying to work it out of the ground. She'd left the beach—taking down the
bandanna Willow had so thoughtfully hung for her—and moved to the grass outside
her cabin, but she was still thinking over what Willow had said.
"Weeding? I thought
you'd turned some of our slayers into gardeners?" Giles sounded hoarse; he
got that way after training the obstacle course. So many slayers and just one
Giles.
She turned, staring up at
him, then smiled as she saw what he was carrying. "Where did you get ice
cream?"
"Our ill-gotten gains
from Wolfram and Hart funded this indulgence."
"Gotta
love evil law firm funds. Especially when they buy vanilla chocolate swirl. You
did get that kind, right?"
"Of course." He
walked over, handing her the ice cream cone. "I was afraid it would all be
gone by the time you came in."
She noticed he didn't sit
down next to her. "You have an elsewhere to be?"
His smile was very gentle; it
was the smile she loved best. "No. You just seemed lost in thought. I
thought you might want some time. Alone." He held up his cone. "And I
have ice cream."
Strawberry, she thought, from
the look of it. "That's not an approved Buffy substitute. Sit."
He sat down next to her. They
ate their cones in silence, and she reached over, resting her hand on his
thigh.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Just thinking. Remembering."
She turned to look at him. "Do you still think of her?"
He didn't ask who she meant. "Sometimes."
"Did you love her more
than me?"
"I loved her
differently." He put his hand on top of hers, a solid warm presence—as
he'd always been in her life. "Buffy, are you worried you don't love me
enough?"
"What if I don't?"
He took a deep breath, not
answering. That was one of the reasons she loved him. At times like these, he
didn't get mad, didn't react. He was thinking. Considering. Her Giles. Wanting
what was best for her.
"Do you love me,
Buffy?" he finally asked.
"Yes." She leaned
her head against his shoulder. "In the old way. In the new way."
"Well, then I don't see
a problem." He took a deep breath. "For a while now, you'll probably
think of Angel. I know that. I know you loved him first. He was, perhaps, your
soul mate?"
"Maybe." She
sighed. "It just hurts, Giles. So much."
"I know." He kissed
her slowly, gently and tenderly. Very little passion in the mix. "What is
it you really need to know?"
"I couldn't be there for
Riley. Or for Spike. Even for the Immortal. What if I'm not there for
you?"
"I haven't been
complaining."
"I know." She took
a deep breath. "What if I'm like Xander? What if I can't commit to anyone
because of how I feel about Angel?"
"For what it's worth, I
think Xander will move on."
"Here's hoping."
He held her, not answering
for a while. Then he said, "I have an idea. Do you trust me?"
She smiled. That was the easy
part.
"Wait here."
"Does this involve more
ice cream?"
"No." He kissed her
again, a more possessive kiss this time. As if he wasn't worried. Or as if he
was trying to show her he wasn't. Then he got up and
walked back toward the dining hall.
She watched him go, then
turned around and went back to worrying at the weed's roots until she heard
footsteps coming. Letting go of the weed, she waited.
"So, sugarfoot,
you need some Uncle Lorne therapy?"
"Huh?" She turned
around. "This is Giles' big plan?"
Lorne sat down next to her. He
wasn't eating ice cream. But he was drinking something that smelled pretty
alcoholic.
"Sea breeze, mamacita. You choose your poison; I'll choose mine."
She studied him. "So now
what?"
"You sing."
"Sorry. I don't
sing."
"Everybody sings. Most
people don't do it very well, but that's not an impediment to my ability to
read you."
She looked down. "I'm
not sure."
"You need to understand
how you feel, Buffy. And so does the nice man with the sad face."
"Giles is sad?"
"No, he's doing
cartwheels that I'm better company for you right now than he is." Lorne
sipped at his drink. "Pick a song. Any song. Except 'The Greatest Love.' For
the love of all things holy and not-so, please don't sing that."
She smiled. "Cordy sang
that at the talent-less show."
"Cordy sang it another
time, too. Just don't choose it." His eyes were shuttered, and Buffy
wondered just what he'd seen when he'd read her old schoolmate.
"Okay. But don't
laugh."
He held his hand up—even
demons knew "Scout's honor."
"Macho, macho man,"
she sang. "I want to be a macho man." She watched as his face
changed, went slack a little, then he started to smile.
"Wow. That's some torch
you carried for my Angelcakes."
"I loved him so
much."
"He loved you too,
sunshine." Lorne leaned closer. "And now you think you're betraying
him. You're finally with someone you can really trust and lean on. Maybe you're
even letting Angel go a little bit?"
She looked down.
"You love Giles. Very
much. And you've loved him for a long time. In different ways, but he's been
the one you ran to when you weren't running to Angel."
"He's been so important
to me. In so many ways."
Lorne patted her leg. "Moving
on's not a crime."
"Why do I feel like it
is?"
"Because you need some
closure. You never had that. Even once Angel wasn't part of your life, he
always managed to show up when you needed him. You were never out of his mind,
not for a second. And you knew that."
She nodded. "I wasn't
there for him, though. Not at the end."
"He didn't want you in
that alley. He wanted you to live. That's what we want for those we love."
She was about to say
something, but he kept going. "It was why he sent Nina away."
"Nina?"
"Pretty woman. Sweet. Werewolf,
but hey, nobody's perfect, right?"
"He was with someone
else? A werewolfy, Nina someone else?"
"Yes. With." He
held his fingers up, putting quotes around the "with" part.
"He made love to her? He
told you that?"
"He didn't have to. Had
a bad habit of humming around me. He really liked this girl. Maybe even would
have grown to love her. He did love Cordy. Did you know that?"
She shook her head. She'd
been giving Angel that stupid cookie dough speech and he'd had the hots for women
who weren't her?
"Sing me another song,
Buffy."
"You want to do a
temperature check?"
"Something like that. Humor
me. Pick something...sad."
"Will it change the
reading?"
He grinned. "No. I just
don't want to hear 'Macho Man' again."
She thought a moment. Tried
to remember the song she'd sung when Giles had sent her out to face the dancing
demon alone. "I touch the fire, and it freezes me. I look into it, and
it's black."
Lorne had his head cocked to
one side, looking like a green, horned version of the RCA dog.
"And your verdict?"
Buffy gave him her impatient slayer face, but it didn't faze him. "Lorne?"
He smiled slowly. "You
have an enormous capacity to love."
"Meaning...?"
"Let this thing with
Giles happen as it will, cupcake."
What was it with this guy and
the nicknames? "Did I change? I'm all over Angel, now?"
"Hell, you aren't even
close to being over him. But Giles knows that. Now you know it, too, and you
can quit worrying."
"Because I'm going to get
over him. Right?"
He shook his head, his look
very sad. "Buffy, don't you know by now we never get over some people? We
just find a way to deal and move on." He took a deep breath. "I lost
all the friends I had in the world. One by one, they fell. Some of them in that
alley that night, some before. I'll never get over that loss. But I'll make new
friends, and my heart will fill back up, and maybe I won't feel so empty and
alone."
"I'm sorry." She
took his hand, and he looked at her in surprise. "I can be sweet. Just
because I could rip your head off, doesn't mean I'm not sweet."
He laughed. "I'll
remember that." He started to get up, but she stopped him.
"Did you read anyone
today? I mean the new slayers?"
"A few. They're fine. That
is what you wanted me to do?" His voice was all business, the comfort part
done.
"Yeah. I don't want
another Dana. Or Faith."
"I met Faith. I liked
her."
"You met the new and
improved Faith. You wouldn't have liked the old one."
"Maybe not. Would I have
liked the old Buffy?" His smile dared her to make a smart comeback.
"You must have seen her
when you read me. You tell me?"
He smiled softly. "I'd
have liked her. I'd have wanted to borrow her clothes, too."
Buffy laughed.
"Can I go now and let
the watcher man come back?"
She nodded.
He got up without spilling a
drop of his drink and took a step, then stopped and turned to look at her. "And
for the record. You do make a difference. And this place. It's good, Buffy. It's
a good thing."
"Thank you."
He nodded and walked away
fast, as if he was afraid he'd get sucked into things
that made him sad. She waited until she heard familiar footsteps coming and
pushed herself up.
"Don't leave on my
account." Giles was smiling at her, the gentle look back.
"I'm not leaving. Just
thought we could walk." She held out her hand. "So—green guy: pretty
effective.
"Yes?"
"Oh, yeah. Did you know
Angel was seeing a werewolf?"
"He was?"
"Yep." She felt him
pull her closer, dropping her hand so he could put his arm around her. "Making
love with abandon."
"And how do you feel
about that?"
"Pretty damn
pissed." As if her tone couldn't have told him that? Although it did give
her some satisfaction that this Nina woman couldn't give Angel a moment of
perfect happiness. Buffy stopped, turned into Giles and pulled his face down to
hers. When she finally let him go, she whispered, "And I'm feeling a whole
lot less conflicted over us."
"Good."
"How about you? How are
you doing?"
"I'll survive." His
eyes, though, were dark and possessive. "Let's go to bed?" he asked,
his voice very tender, but his hands were hard on her as he pulled her back for
another kiss.
She let herself enjoy it—the hard
and the soft parts of how they related to each other. It was what made them
work together; they both shared that.
"Yes, let's go to
bed," she said.
They were here and living and
they loved each other. It was what it was. And it felt really good.
##
Dawn looked for Buffy and
finally found her sitting on the grass, watching some of the newer girls as
they tried out Giles and Willow's new and improved obstacle course. Occasionally,
Buffy yelled something at one of the participants, but mostly she just sat back
and let Giles do the work, although she yelled at him every now and then, too.
"Check out the video
game come to life," Dawn said as she plopped down next to her sister. Willow
had added the live element. Or the "moving as if alive" elements. The
things popping out at the slayers were actually magical constructs that looked
like vampires and demons and other creepy things. "How strong is Willow
getting that she can make stuff that goes bump in the night out of thin
air?"
"Only this goes bump in
the day." Buffy was grinning, didn't look worried at all about Willow and
the magic. "And not out of thin air. It's force of will and all the slayer
power, too. The mystical inside us, she uses it for energy. You, too,
probably."
"Sounds a little too
much like what she did to Rack." Dawn had never forgotten how terrified
she'd been of Willow during those awful days when she'd turned down the path to
pure evil.
"It's not." Buffy
glanced at her. "Trust me. She's not draining us or anything. She's not
even taking that much. A little from everyone, but mostly from the gestalt of
all of us being together. And yes, I do know what that word means."
"You've been hanging
around Giles too long." Dawn laughed at her sister's expression. "You
really like him, don't you?"
"I really do."
"Not that you didn't
like him an awful lot before you two upgraded to doing the nasty."
"I'm not discussing sex
with my baby sister."
"I'm seventeen. If we
actually had any boys around here, I might be getting horizontal, too."
Buffy turned a look on her
that was pure Joyce Summers.
"Or not."
"Not. Extremely
not." Buffy shook her head. "How's it working having Ingrid for a
housemate?"
"Good. Although she's
kind of quiet now, what with Xander going away." Dawn watched Buffy's face
carefully and saw her grimace slightly. "He left because of you, didn't
he?"
"He left because of him,
Dawn."
"Okay. But because of
you, too...?"
Buffy sighed. "Yes,
because of me, too."
"I miss him."
"So do I."
Dawn heard someone running up
behind them. Running kind of spastically. She turned around and saw Andrew trip
over a clump of grass and almost fall before catching himself. He slowed down. "Hey,
Summers girls."
Buffy actually gave him a
real smile. "Welcome home, Andrew."
He beamed. "Thanks. The
road's a harsh mistress."
If Andrew even had
mistresses. Just when Dawn decided she'd figured out which way he played the
dating game, he'd surprise her again. Like he'd seemed awfully interested in
Lorne, when he'd been reunited with the demon in the dining hall, but then he'd
also been giving Julia, one of the older slayers, the eye.
"Hey, Dawnster." He'd taken up Xander's nickname for her,
which made her miss Xander all the more.
"Hey, Andrew."
He sat down, then dug into
his pocket, pulling out a small package. "I saw this and had to get it for
you."
She opened it. Spelled out in
little dark blue stones set in gold was her name in pretty cursive letters. She
hooked it around her neck.
Buffy looked over at it. "Nice.
It looks good on you."
"They didn't have Buffy.
I looked. And I wasn't sticking around Bangkok long enough for them to make one
for me."
"It's okay, Andrew. I
don't need gifts."
"Or if you do, I guess
our Mister Giles will be giving them to you, no?"
Andrew hadn't spent much time
on the compound with them since Buffy and Giles had "come out."
Using a big hug and loudly
voiced "Thank you. I love my necklace," as a smoke screen, Dawn
whispered in his ear, "She's kind of touchy about the whole Giles thing. Xander's
been giving her the hard way to go."
"Gotcha," he said,
much too loudly.
Buffy turned to look at them.
"I can hear you, you know? Both of you." She
took a deep breath, turning back to the obstacle course, where Frannie was taking her turn. "And I'm not
touchy."
"Very, very
touchy," Dawn mouthed to Andrew, and he spoiled it by giggling.
"Do I need to separate
you two?" Buffy suddenly pushed herself to her feet. "Frannie, watch your left. They don't always come from the
right." Striding over, she proceeded to shadow the girl on her run.
"She's taking to this
instructor thing really well." Andrew was watching Buffy with undisguised
worship. But also affection. Somehow—Dawn wasn't sure
when or why or who had started it—Andrew and her sister had begun to feel some
kind of genuine fondness for each other.
"She is. She's really
good at it, in fact."
He watched Buffy and Frannie for a second, then asked, "And on the
non-slayer education front? How's the home schooling going?"
"It's going." She
should say more. For all his silliness, Andrew seemed to be able to read her
really well. She sighed. "I'm learning lots."
"But you're missing
school?"
She nodded. "Actually,
no. School I have, and then some. I miss people. I miss friends my own age who
aren't lethal killers."
"I hated school. Couldn't
wait to get out. Of course my stupid brother and his
stupid prom-hating hell hounds didn't help my chances of a carefree time at
high school."
"Yeah, but your class
had to be bussed to a bunch of different schools where they didn't know
you." Dawn was trying to find the bright side. "Think how hard it
would have been if Sunnydale High hadn't blown up."
"If it hadn't, we
wouldn't be having this conversation because the mayor would have eaten us
all."
"True." She sighed.
"Now there's no Sunnydale, at all."
"Kind of glad to see it
go."
"I wasn't. Mom was
buried there. Now we can never go back to see her." Or get coffee at the
Espresso Pump. Or go to the Bronze and dance with older boys. Or nearly get
eaten by some monster or other. "Sorrento is way boring."
"Don't say that, Dawn. You'll
jinx us." He shook his head. "I was in a little village on a very old
hellmouth in Senegal when I found Masuba. I'd
forgotten the constant feeling of someone watching you."
"Then again it could
have been that you were in a little village in Senegal and were the only one
with blonde hair. And trying to take away one of their daughters." Plus the weirdness factor that Andrew brought to just about
any occasion.
"True, young one." Andrew's
attention was caught by something, and she followed his gaze. He was looking at
Buffy and Giles, who were standing very close.
Giles put his hand on Buffy's
back, leaning in to say something quietly, probably so the girls clustered a
few feet back couldn't hear them. He and Buffy talked intently for few minutes,
then she said something that made him throw his head back and laugh. She
touched his arm, the move both sweet and very intimate.
Andrew smiled. "They
make a nice couple. I wouldn't have thought of them getting along romantically,
but they seem really comfy."
"Yeah, they do." Dawn
thought of all the times Giles and Buffy had worked together, how seamlessly
they could interact when they planned and executed a mission. She smiled at how
she was thinking of their work. In Rileyspeak terms. "They're
happy."
And God knew her sister
hadn't known much of that over the years. If she was happy with her older guy
in this boring place, then more power to her. Dawn pushed herself up, tired of
watching the slayers. "How are you at chemistry, Andrew?"
"Well, pretty good. You
want some help with your schoolwork? Or do you want to make a potion of some kind?" His eyes gleamed at the idea of
being even a little bit naughty, and she laughed.
"I have a quiz in a few
days, and I could use a new perspective."
"Consider me in, sister
of the slayer."
"Thanks, brother of the
homicidal maniac."
"Okay, I know better
than to call you that. I just like to go for dramatic effect." He got up,
his movements a little clumsy. "Speaking of dramatic effect. What do you
think of Lorne?" He took her arm, prompting her for every little thing the
big green guy had been up to.
She laughed, realizing she'd
missed Andrew's goofiness. He brought a lightness, even if it was a straight-up
weird one, that had been missing from Slayer Central lately. A lightness that
Xander usually brought. She hoped he'd get over his Buffy fixation and come
home soon.
She knew Ingrid did, too.
##
Xander stood in the shade at
the Sorrento train station and wondered who would pick him up. Maribel the
Slayer should have been with him, but she was on her way to England, if not
there already. Xander had called between flights to tell Buffy about the
encounter with Clara, but she'd already heard about the Council's wacky new
recruiting campaign from Faith.
"Just get back
here," Buffy had told him. "We need to regroup."
And he'd been only too happy
to get on the next plane. He was homesick for the compound, for his old
friends, and for one lovely Swedish cook.
He was surprised to see
Andrew at the wheel of Giles' car. Andrew pulled to a stop in front of him—a
little jerkily after narrowly missing two planters full of blooms—and bounded
out of the car, nearly getting run over by the car behind him who'd decided to
go around. There was much yelling in Italian—bad Italian on Andrew's part—and
clenching of upraised fists.
"Keys," Xander said
as he threw his luggage in the back seat.
"How will I learn, Obi
Wan, if I do not try?"
"Do or do not, there is
no try," Xander said. "And for you, there's barely any do. Now key
me."
Andrew grudgingly tossed them
over and climbed into the passenger seat. "That was Yoda's line, not Obi Wan's."
"I know that." Xander
sometimes hated that he got what Andrew was saying. Buffy and Giles and the rest
would just nod and smile with an expression that said, "I have no idea
what you're talking about, but since you get the job done, I'm not going to
worry about it." But Xander got it. More times than he actually admitted
to anyone, especially Andrew.
"So," Andrew asked
as Xander started the car. "Are you over Buffy?"
"That's not why I
left."
"Sure
it is. Rumor mill is rife with speculation. I feel bad for Ingrid,
mostly."
Xander glanced at him. "Ingrid's
not okay?"
"Oh, she's fine. But for
some unearthly reason a babe like that wants you. And you left, and she's
seemed sad. Stooooo-pid of you, if you ask me, to
leave someone like that behind."
"I didn't ask you."
"Well, maybe you should
have. I have insight, you know?"
"Yeah, you're a regular
Doctor Ruth."
"And you're like Doctor
Bashir on Deep Space Nine. You can't see what's right in front of your face. All
it is for you is Jadzia, Jadzia,
Jadzia. Till one say you wake up and realize, 'Hey,
there's this cool chick named Ezri.'"
"They were the same
person. And one of them had to die."
"And Buffy died. The
Buffy you knew is gone. And now the Buffy she's become...oh. Never mind. It
doesn't really work as an analogy."
"No duh, Andrew."
They drove in merciful
silence until Andrew started playing with the automatic window opener, driving
Xander crazy with the sudden gusts of wind and noise.
"Do you mind?"
"Well, you didn't seem
to want to talk about Buffy."
"I don't."
"'Cause
you're over her?"
"Yes, dammit, I'm over
her. All right?"
"That's all you had to
say."
It wasn't precisely true that
he was over her. But he'd spent enough time on the road to make the latest
conversation between them not hurt so badly. And it had probably helped that
he'd run into the pretty lady watcher who reminded him that it was one thing to
hurt, but it was another to turn that pain—and the need to get back at those
who you thought had caused it—into your life's work and pleasure.
Xander drove the rest of the
way a little faster than was probably safe, but Andrew didn't complain. In
fact, he went "Wheee" couple of times when
Xander took a dip too fast and left their stomachs in the air.
As he pulled into the
compound, Xander saw Buffy and Giles coming out of the main classroom building.
They both smiled when they saw him, their expressions genuine, if a little
wary.
Giles waited for Xander to
get out of the car, then asked, "Any trouble?"
"Yes. Xander wouldn't
let me play with the window opener," Andrew complained, then saw their
faces. "Oh. Okay, fine. Never mind."
He saw Lorne coming out of
the dining hall and ran after him, calling his name. Xander couldn't tell if
green guy was glad to see him or not, but he waited for Andrew to catch up.
Turning back to Buffy and
Giles, Xander said, "Nope, no trouble. Other than having the Council as
our new opponent on the 'Find the Slayer' game show."
"I can't believe you couldn't
make a better case than the Council," Buffy said, and she gave him the
kind of smile she usually gave Willow after a great spell.
Xander realized she thought
he was good at recruiting—so she hadn't sent him away just to send him away. This
was something he could do better than anyone—except, scarily, Andrew, but
Xander didn't want to think about that. Buffy didn't tend to put people in
roles that didn't suit them. He felt much better about himself—and her—suddenly.
"Sorry, Buff, but I couldn't
even get near Maribel. Clara had her in a van and out of there before I could
talk to her. I think we missed her by a few minutes only." He grabbed his
bag from the back seat. "It was a good thing I started in the south and
headed north. I got Sonia and Elena out of Brasilia and Quito before she got
there."
Giles pursed his lips, his
eyes dark. "I should have expected this."
"Yeah, you really should
have. Work on that, will you?" Xander ignored the twin glares he was
getting. "Oh, and I've got a new ex-watcher in San Salvador who's dying to
become a free agent. Now, if you two don't mind, there's a young lady I need to
see."
Buffy's glare turned into a
small smile. "She's missed you."
"We all have,"
Giles said, his voice the gentle one that Xander had always found soothing back
in high school. Now he just imagined how Giles must use it on Buffy in bed. But
thoughts like that were bad. Thoughts like that led to Clara-dom. And he didn't
want to live in her warped world.
He walked quickly to his
cabin, dropping his bag near the bed and hurrying to see how bad he looked
after a gazillion hours traveling. He looked more or less Xanderish,
so he splashed water on his face, made sure he didn't have dust or
airplane-seat lint on his eye patch, and brushed his teeth. Then he headed to
the dining hall.
He didn't go around back this
time. He walked through the front door, wanting everyone to see where he was
headed. As he passed, he heard the buzz of slayer talk stop.
"I'm back, girls."
There was a chorus of
"hellos" and "we missed yous" and
then the buzz stared up again, but he thought some of it was probably about him
heading into the kitchen.
Ingrid was sitting at the
small table by the pantry, her back to him, headphones on, singing along to
something new and modern as she leafed through a cookbook.
He snuck up behind her,
putting both hands over her eyes. "Guess who?"
He was suddenly airborne, her
hands on his pulling him over her and onto the table; his back hit the wood
hard. He couldn't help but notice the table didn't even wobble much—nothing
like good Harris craftsmanship—even if his spine screamed in protest.
"Xander?" She was
pulling her earphones out, pushing her chair away, checking him for fatal
damage, which felt amazingly good the way she was doing it.
"Hi, Ingrid. I'm
back."
"I can see that. And I'm
so sorry."
"There was probably some
deep karma in all of this." He thought his grin was more like a wince as
he slowly sat up. "And Ingrid, you may be a failed slayer, but I pity the
mugger who takes you on."
"Sneaking up on me was a
very stupid thing to do."
"You'll get no argument
from me." He moved gingerly, trying to make sure nothing was broken. "But
see, there's this girl I had to see. Just couldn't wait. And I got all excited
and wasn't thinking that my plan was very lame—and potentially life
threatening."
Her smile was very big. "And
this girl, is she glad to see you, too?"
"I'm not sure." He
brushed her hair back, noting that she was tanner than when he'd left. Her blue
eyes sparkled even more against golden skin. "You're so beautiful."
Her smile was slow, but very
happy. He'd never told her that? How stupid was he?
"So, is this girl happy
to see me, Ingrid?"
"I thought you wanted me
to tell you that with a cookie."
"Well, I did. But
cookie-ese would mean you'd have to make some actual cookies, and that would
involve waiting. And I'm not up for that."
Pulling him with her, she
walked to the big freezer in the pantry and grabbed something tucked into the
side. He took it from her, saw it was one of the heart cookies, wrapped in
plastic.
"She's very happy to see
you, Xander."
He looked at the cookie. It
was just like the one she'd given to him earlier, only she'd added an
"X" and an "I" in white frosting. It either was the way
they said "Xander plus Ingrid" in Sweden, or it meant
"eleven," which only made sense if she was a huge Spinal Tap fan. He
decided she probably wasn't, though for all he knew, she had the lyrics to
"Big Bottom" and "Sex Farm" down by heart—in Swedish. The
nice thing was that now he could get to know stuff like that. Now he was ready
to get to know everything.
She touched his face, tracing
around the eye patch. He smiled, liking her touch there. He always had, even
when he'd let no one else touch him there, and he should have been smart enough
to realize that meant a hell of a lot.
She looked down at the cookie.
"I froze this when you left. I didn't want to wait, either, if you came
back. As long as you came back with a new appreciation of me, of course."
He laughed. "I don't
deserve you."
"Probably not. I'm a
very nice person."
"I know you are." He
kissed her softly. "I'm sorry I had to go to another continent to realize
just what I was walking away from."
"Me, too." She
studied him. "But you know that now? You're ready to move on?"
He nodded.
She kicked the pantry door
shut and pulled him to her. "Then let me show you just how nice I
am."
"Oh, yes, please,"
he said, as he lost himself in the utter niceness that was Ingrid. It wasn't
just kissing that Swedish girls excelled at.
Dinner was very late that
night. But absolutely no one complained.
##
Giles sat out on his porch
steps drinking coffee, enjoying the morning—the only time it was this quiet on
the compound. Normally there were the shouts and grunts of slayers training to
become lethal killers. Now he could hear birds, and the occasional sound of
cars on the road, and the shower inside his cabin as Buffy got ready for
another day. He'd become accustomed to having her here like this. Loved living
with her. Loved having her so close, having walls that could shield them when
they wanted to play. God help him if she ever got tired of him, because he was
falling very deeply in love with her.
The shower cut off and, a few
minutes later, she came out in a long white bathrobe, a cup of coffee in one
hand as she combed her wet hair with the other. She had minimal makeup on, and
her hazel eyes seemed to sparkle in the early morning light.
Sitting down next to him, she
said, "I love it here."
"I do too." He
smiled. "And we're all here for once. No lost chicks."
Well, except for Faith and
Robin and their brood, fighting the good fight on the hellmouth. None of the
slayers they'd sent to Faith had been lost, a testament to the training they'd
gotten from Buffy and him, but also to the leadership abilities Faith was
finding in herself. Plus the help of a very powerful
former god-thing, if Giles fully understood what Lorne had described Illyria to
be. Having that much strength on your side couldn't hurt—so long as it stayed
on their side.
"You have worried
face," Buffy said softly.
"I was thinking about
Illyria."
"Faith said she likes
her." She shook her head. "Then again, Faith doesn't always have the
best taste. Do you think they party together?"
He laughed, as he so often
did around her. She made him smile, she made him laugh, she made life just a
little brighter.
Good God, he was turning into
a complete sap. Thank goodness for Ripper's inherent bad influence, or he'd
probably bore Buffy to death in seconds.
"Where'd you go?" She
was watching him with a smile on his face. "It was a good place, and then
it wasn't."
"You can tell all that
from my expression?"
She nodded.
"Then I'll have to watch
my expression."
"Don't," she said,
putting her coffee and the comb down, and pulling him toward her. She tasted
like coffee and toothpaste and heaven.
When they pulled away, he
forced himself back to topics that were not about kissing her. "The only
other god we've known was Glory. She would not have made much of an ally."
"Well, from all
accounts, Illyria's not crazy. Or not that crazy." Buffy shrugged. "I
talked to Robin, too. He's okay with her staying there. Says she's sort of
bizarre but a lot of help—her being big with the violence."
"Well, for all we know,
Glory didn't start out crazy." He thought about it. "Glory's host
didn't die during the process as Fred did. Maybe that's the difference?"
"Fred may have been the
lucky one. Ben had that thing inside him the whole time he was trying to do
good. Can you imagine living like that? Knowing that you can stop the crazy god
thing, but only if you kill yourself?"
"No. I can't imagine
that." He looked down. "Buffy, I—" He took a sip of his coffee.
"You what?"
"I don't have many
secrets from you, anymore. You do know that?" Long, post-sex conversations
had taken care of most of the things he'd never shared with her about his early
life, back when she'd been his charge, not his lover, and even before that to
his Ripper years and his childhood. He wanted her to know him, to understand
who he was and where he'd come from.
"I know." She
looked up at him, moving the comb once more through her hair—hair that was dark
now, but would shine like gold in the sun once it dried.
"I do have a secret,
though," he said. "And I need to share it. Before another day
passes."
"Okay." She put the
comb in her lap, sipping at her coffee as she looked at him with patience and
trust.
"You chose not to kill
Glory."
"I hurt her badly,
though."
"Yes, you did."
"But not enough to kill
her." He couldn't tell if it was a question. Decided it wasn't. Unlike
Faith, Buffy had always had a sense for when to stop when it came to lethal
force.
"No, not enough to kill
her." He took a deep breath. "And, as you just said, to kill her, you
would have had to kill the host."
"Ben."
"Ben." He took a
deep breath. "Ben is dead."
"I know." At his
look, she smiled, but it was an unhappy smile. "After Willow brought me
back, I had a lot of nightmares. Fighting Glory was part of that. What she did
to Tara, what she tried to do to Dawn...she haunted me."
"You never said."
"I never said a lot of things
back then. I was half dead inside, Giles. No warmth, no love, no hope. Just the
loss and the fear. And feeling totally out of place." She took a deep,
shuddering breath. "I went to find Ben, Giles. I'm not sure what I planned
to do. I didn't take any weapons, but we both know I wouldn't have needed one
if I'd wanted to kill Glory by killing him. But he wasn't at the hospital. And
when I asked about him, the nurse told me he was dead." She put her coffee
down. "Did you kill him?"
"I did. That night. When
you'd gone to help Dawn, I killed him."
"I thought it was
probably you." She didn't look at him. "How?"
"I suffocated him. It
wasn't particularly quick."
"You did it for me,
didn't you?"
"Yes. I was going to
tell you. I didn't want you to think you'd done it during the fight with Glory.
But then you died and it didn't seem to matter." He took a breath, and
this time it was he who shuddered. "And when you came back, you weren't—"
"Just say it—I wasn't
quite right." She shook her head. "And there were larger concerns. Bills.
Dawn. Living."
"Yes. Quite." He
reached for her hand slowly, ready to stop if she pulled back or flinched, but
she didn't. "Are you angry at me?"
"The time to be angry at
you was back then, when I found out he'd died. I should have asked you, but I
didn't care. As soon as I knew he was dead, that Glory couldn't get me, the
nightmares stopped. Well, those nightmares stopped, others took a lot longer to
go away. I needed you, Giles. I couldn't afford to be angry when you were the
only thing propping me up."
"And then I left
you."
"And then you left. And
I didn't care about Ben, I just wanted you to come back. To take care of
me." She looked up at him, her eyes so full of pain that he had to hug her
close.
"Buffy, I had to
go."
"I know that now. But
back then, all I could feel was hurt." She wrapped her arms around him. "One
or both of us may pay someday for what we did to him." She was making it
their act, not his. "But it's over. It's in the past. And I know why you
did it, and so do you. It doesn't give me nightmares, even if it should." She
pulled away. "Do you have nightmares?"
"Not about that." He
closed his eyes. "A body crashing onto rubble makes a horrible sound. And
in my dreams, you screamed my name on the way down." He decided not to
tell her that he still had that dream, only not always of her falling from that
the tower. Losing Buffy had been his greatest fear both as her watcher and now
as her lover.
"I called your name in
my dreams, too." She pulled back, looking up at him, her smile very small.
"You've always been so important to me, Giles. Our world is crazy, but I
think I know what's right and what's not. Ben wasn't an innocent. He had the
chance to do something, or to get help, or even just to tell us what was going
on. Every time Glory gave him back his body, he made a choice not to do
anything. Maybe I should feel angry at what you did, but I can't."
"Then we won't discuss
it again."
"Good." She smiled
at him, but her eyes were sad. "Sometimes I hate our world, Giles."
"Sometimes, I do,
too."
She cuddled up against him,
drinking her coffee in silence until the door opened to Xander's cabin, and
Xander and Ingrid hurried out, making their way to the dining hall.
"Breakfast will be a
little late again." Giles found himself very tolerant of the tardiness. But
then he had his own kitchen if he got hungry enough to use it. The slayers might
not view the wait with such acceptance.
"Ingrid and Xander seem
happy together," Buffy said softly.
"They do."
"You were right. But
then you usually are." Buffy turned to him. "And if you're right that
breakfast is going to be delayed...?"
He grinned, pulling her up. She'd
tied her robe in a slip knot, and he waited until they got inside to pull it. They
didn't have much time, but they made great use of what they had.
As they were getting dressed,
she looked back at him in the mirror. "Why are quickies so much fun?"
He walked up behind her,
hugging her and kissing her neck. "I don't know. But they are, aren't
they?"
"I mean we've got all
night to make long, luxurious love. But I'll be thinking about this all
day."
"As will I." Which
would lead to more long, luxurious love. He kissed her again before letting go
of her. "I believe it's the unexpectedness of it. The spontaneity. And
it's one thing to make love when there's plenty of time, it's quite another to
be wanted so much that even a quick fix will do."
"You're so smart." She
smiled at his reflection as he nuzzled her neck. "And we're going to be
late for class."
"We can't have
that." He let go of her, following her out of their cabin to the dining
hall. "I am deeply concerned about the Council, Buffy."
"I know. We'll figure
out a plan, and then we'll implement the hell out of it." She took his
hand. "We won't let them win."
He smiled, but could feel it
was half hearted. "I can't help but feel
responsible. Clara's involvement may not be spurred by simply being dedicated
to the Council's cause. She may, in fact, be urging Ernest on in most of
this."
"I know. She's out for
revenge and not getting over you any time soon, I guess. Damn you, Giles, for
being such a babe." She grinned at him, and he knew she was trying to
lighten his mood.
"Yes. A babe."
She let go of his hand after
a quick squeeze. "I'm less concerned about your attractiveness than about
the slayers who end up with the Council. We may need to start some kind of
underground railway to liberate them."
"Yes, we may."
She shook her head, and the
look on her face wasn't just one of past irritation toward the Council, but
real worry. "This is where the slayers should be. With other slayers. Not
with the Council and their stupid tests." She touched his hand. "Do
we have anyone on the inside we can use?"
"Perhaps. I'll have to
put out feelers."
"You do that. In the
meantime, I'm going to ask Will and Andrew to figure out a way to find the
slayers faster. We can't let the Council have them."
"We won't, Buffy." He
saw her throw off her worried look as they got ready to walk into the dining
hall. She was the leader again as she opened the door, and he knew he was his
normal controlled self. The girls wouldn't suspect how worried they were about
this. Not until they had to know, and they might never have to.
But Buffy was right. Something
had to be done. It wasn't just about winning; he didn't want the Council
getting its hands on any more slayers.
Not if he could help it. Buffy
looked back at him for a moment, a small smile on her face, as if she could
tell what he was thinking.
He knew this wasn't a battle
he'd have to wage alone.
FIN