Chapter Seventeen
“I like this one,” Xander said, fingering
the thick vellum of the invitation. He touched another. “But this one is nice,
too. When do we need to decide?”
“I’d like to get them ordered right after
Christmas. We have all the details settled that will need to go on them – date,
time, place, whether to use both of my made up middle names or only one. We
just need to figure out how many we need. When did your mother think she’d have
her list ready?”
“Um, next week,
maybe? You should give her
a call. You know she’s a lot better at meeting your deadlines than mine.”
Anya nodded, her eyes on an envelope lined
with teal foil. “She’s afraid of me. It can be very helpful at times. And quite gratifying.”
Buffy and Spike emerged from the training
room, arguing. Giles was just behind them, polishing his glasses and looking
bored.
“You’re both wrong,” he told them, as he
slid his glasses back on. “It was the Attila the Hun and the Sword of Tiew.”
The bickering blonds looked at him,
glanced at each other and shrugged.
“But there were Goths, right?”
“And Visigoths.”
“Yes, yes.”
Buffy looked at the empty tables. “No food
yet?” she asked. “I’m starving.”
“Should be here any minute,” Xander said.
“Or it’s free!”
“I’m pretty sure that only works with
pizza, Ahn.”
“Really? I don’t think I like that rule. It’s clearly discriminatory. And possibly un-American.”
“Work up an appetite today, pet?” Spike
asked Buffy.
“Much training. You did notice that,
didn’t you? Because mostly, I was slamming you to the mats.”
“Yeah, I was around. All. Day. Long. Noticed you
working up a sweat – getting all – hot. Over and
over.”
“Yes, quite.” Giles cleared his throat and
Spike and Buffy glanced at him, their eyes narrowing, but the other man had
already turned to Xander. “Were you able to see
“Yeah.” His face clouded. “I waited until her Long Oblivious but
Suddenly Concerned parents drove off, then let myself
in.”
Buffy sat down at the Scooby research
table. “And?”
“Well, she looks like hell. Messy, with overtones of creepy. And her hair left the
Scare-A-Palooza station about five stops back.
Emotionally, though? It’s harder to say, but I’m thinking – worse.”
He began filling them in on his meeting
with
“…and there’s Amy, standing up in her
cage, staring with her beady little eyes at all the rotting food on the floor.
Thought I’d better clean it up before word got out about this new
One by one, the rest of the group joined
Buffy, taking a place at the table.
“… was no way I
was going to mention we thought Rack might have a partner or partners. The way
she was acting, she’d have probably headed right out to look for him. Or, um, them. Or it.”
“Still no remorse-like signs, huh?” Buffy
asked. “I don’t know why, but I keep expecting her to suddenly appear with a
sad face, major huggage and Willowy goodness.”
“It’s gonna happen, Buff.” Xander spoke
with a resolve
Noise outside the shop distracted them,
and they turned toward the door as it opened to admit Dawn and Tara. The girls
were followed by the food delivery person, a gangly teenage boy whose arms were
laden with bags. Xander stood and began helping him transfer the sacks to the
table.
Dawn draped her jacket over the chair next
to Spike before dropping her hands casually onto the vampire’s shoulders. He
squeezed one of them in response and tipped his head back and to the side to
look up at her.
“Lived through the first day, huh?”
“Yeah, it was completely nuts, but, you
know, good.” She looked at her sister. “It probably
would have been a lot easier to get through if I’d known we were having a
Chinese feast delivered. Instead, I spent the entire day thinking about sitting
down to a supper you cooked.”
Xander shuddered. “Daymares.”
“Major.”
“I can cook!”
All around the room, mouths opened to
disabuse her of such a notion, but Giles, even distracted by paying for the
food, got there first. “Oh, please don’t.”
“Oooh! A zinger from the G-man!”
“I cooked a lot of that Thanksgiving meal.
At Giles'. Remember?”
“’m guessing that’s
the problem, love. They do.”
Dawn laughed and moved to help Anya unpack
the little white cartons of food while
“You were tied to a chair, Fang Boy.”
“All the easier to observe you lot with,
see which tidbits were being hidden under the candied yams.”
Buffy's lower lip jutted. “I have some
‘I’m not going to school’ time right now. I think I’ll dig out mom’s books and
start Betty Crockering.”
Spike straightened in his chair, looking
slightly alarmed.
“I love these,” Dawn grinned, swinging one
of the containers by the silvery handles. “They’re so cute.”
“They’re paper, aren’t they?” Anya asked,
studying one of the cartons more closely. “Can you do that? Maybe we could use
them to put pieces of cake in for the guests to take home. Don’t throw any of
these away. I’ll start collecting them now.”
Dawn and Tara exchanged ‘eeeww’ glances.
“Wouldn’t you have to eat, like, tons of
fried rice, between now and June to have enough?”
Anya’s head bobbed as she mentally
calculated. After a moment, she nodded and smiled,
eyes bright. “It might be a challenge, but I think Xander and I are up to it.”
“Um, okay, whatever.” Dawn sat down and reached for a pair of chopsticks.
“We’ll expect your help, of course.”
Buffy was still focused on her cooking
skills. “It can’t be that hard.” She opened one of the food containers, looked
inside, made a face, and passed it to Spike, who handed it to Dawn. “People do
it. I’m people. I am, therefore, I
cook.”
“I
think I might start having daymares now,”
Dawn nudged her plate close to
“Who’s Liza?” Xander helped himself to
some Kung Pao Chicken.
“You know – Emily. My
new boss.” Dawn looked at Spike. “Before I forget, she told me to tell
you that you left that book you borrowed last night sitting on the counter by
the cash register. She said to just stop in anytime and pick it up.”
“Thanks, bit.”
“What sort of job?” Giles asked. “Is there
shrimp? I’m sure I ordered shrimp.”
“Teaching.”
“Lemon Chicken?” Anya asked Giles, reaching out. “Buffy isn’t qualified to be a
teacher. Are you? I need the eggplant, too, and the veggie stir fry.”
“No.”
“Duh. Like anyone would actually consider Buffy for a teaching teaching
job. This is, like, aerobics and self defense and stuff. At
the
“Really?” Buffy's brows rose as she passed another container to Spike
without helping herself to any of the contents. The vampire barely glanced
inside before dumping some of the Yangchow Fried Rice
onto the Slayer’s plate. He added some Moo Goo Gai Pan from another container.
“Really?” Giles echoed, looking as intrigued as Buffy. Unable to locate
any shrimp, the Watcher settled for something unidentifiable from another
carton.
“Oh, yum, Ginger
Beef!” Dawn snatched it up
as soon as Giles finished with it. While she was adding some of the meat to her
heaping plate, Dawn passed on the sketchy details Emily had given her.
Xander maneuvered a piece of pork to his
mouth with his chopsticks. “This is perfect for you, Buff,” he said around the
mouthful of tender and spicy meat.
“I don’t eat a lot of pork.”
“I mean the job.”
“She’s the Slayer,” Spike dismissed. “She has a job.” He bypassed the chopsticks
and pushed a plastic fork into Buffy’s hand. Once she began to eat, he slouched
back in his chair.
The confusion of getting food onto plates
settled down at last, and Xander expanded on his enthusiasm for the potential
job.
“I know Ahn said you’ll be okay
financially, but –”
“I believe I said ‘one step away from
abject poverty’.”
“Your idea of abject poverty would seem to
be slightly different to mine,” Giles said.
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Anya agreed.
Xander went on. “So, okay, maybe you could
use the extra bucks. Forget that part. Physical coordination, aerobic
endurance, fighting – all Buffy Summers strong points. And you’d be teaching
people to protect themselves, one of the
would-be-handiest-to-have-so-why-is-it-almost-totally-nonexistent?-skills on
the Hellmouth. Then…” he glanced around the table, making sure he had
everyone’s attention. “Check it out. The better people are at protecting
themselves, the less they need the Slayer, resulting in more nights Bronzing for the Buffster! Dating, dancing, and imbibing in the Nectar
of the Gods!”
Giles pointed look had him quickly wiping
the anticipatory grin off his face. “Okay, maybe not so much with the
imbibing,” he said. “But this is definitely a win, win, and win again
situation.”
“It does seem tailor made,” Anya said. “So
long as you don’t accidentally throw your students through walls, or break
their fragile human bones while you’re demonstrating how to incapacitate a De’ Vilpi Glet demon.”
Dawn nodded. “We are so totally on the
same wavelength here, Ahn.”
“What a perfectly frightful thought.”
“He zings again.” Xander paused. “Hey! Are
you zinging my girl?”
“Be sure to teach your students how to
kill those little Spichert demons, too.”
“Spichert?”
“You know – those furry grey things, about
a foot and a half tall that run around the parks in town after dark screaming.”
“Are you sure you don’t mean teenaged girls?”
Dawn glared. “Very funny,” she said.
“They’re pretty harmless, aren’t they? Didn’t the comedian here,” she nodded to
Giles, “Look them up a couple of months ago and decide we didn’t have to worry
about them?”
“I don’t remember. But they’re annoying,
and they hurt my ears.”
“I think they’re kind of cute.”
“I must say, it does seem suited to you,”
Giles said. “But I’m rather concerned – did this Emily person say how many
hours this would entail each week?”
“She wasn’t sure, but she thought it would
probably be three or four days a week, and maybe two or three evenings, too.”
“Slayer’s busy during the day.”
Buffy's eyes went wide.
“At the house,” Spike explained. “You know
– making a home for the bit an’ all.”
The widened eyes rolled. “Yeah, I put on
my pearls and heels and vacuum all day.”
“Do you? I wear one of those French Maid
costumes. Sometimes Xander turns off the television just to watch me dust.”
“It has high heels, but no pearls.” A
thoughtful frown appeared between her brows. “I don’t really think pearls would
go with the fishnet stockings. What else do you wear?” she asked Buffy.
“Nothing.”
“Oooh!”
she looked at Xander. “I bet you’d like that better than the maid costume, wouldn’t you?”
“I didn’t mean…”
“And you train during the day,” Spike
interrupted with attitude. “Can’t afford to slough off on
that. A lazy Slayer’s bound to give evil the upper hand.”
“If I’m leading aerobics classes and
teaching self defense, I’m pretty sure I’d be
working out.”
Spike looked distinctly put out. “’s not
the same as training,” he griped.
< Oooh, pouty.
Look at that lip. Gonna get it, gonna get it…>
The vampire lit a cigarette, ignoring the
frowns and grumbles of protest from most of those assembled. <<
Ha. >>
< I still have to apply for this job, Blondie. And, like,
interview and stuff. Which I totally suck at. Will you
quit pouting if I promise not to ‘neglect’ you if by some miracle I actually
get it? >
His expression cleared, and he relaxed
back in his chair again, looking smug and satisfied.
< I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. >
“But it is kind of like fighting for which someone is prepared to pay me.
This could be good. It might even lead to shoes.”
The magic word distracted Dawn from her
food. Her eyes lit up. “Shoes? For me, too, I hope.”
“You can’t get by with the fifty pair each
you already have?”
< Maybe there’ll be money left over for some costumes of our
own. Or bondage toys. >
Spike’s body jerked forward as he started
choking on the smoke he’d just inhaled.
Ever helpful, Dawn pounded him on the
back. “How many times have I told you to quit?” she demanded. She took the
cigarette out of his hand and put it out in an empty food container.
Anya snatched it up to inspect the damage.
“Hey! Did you forget I wanted to save these?”
“Plus, smoking while we’re trying to eat
is totally gross.”
The vampire waved his hand, indicating
that he’d – live.
<< If you’re leaning that way, pet,
I might be able to find some interesting items about the crypt. >>
< Eeeww. I was kidding. >
A brow quirked. << Might enjoy it. >>
< And again, eeeww. We are so not going there. > Her eyes slid over him. < Unless you want to dress up like someone from this decade?
I might be able to get into that.
>
Spike sucked in his cheeks, and his eyes
softened. << ’s fine. Don’t need costumes or
toys, anyway. You’re more than enough
for me. >>
< I – I am? I mean… >
<< Oh,
yeeeaaah. Yeah. Don’t you know
yet how wild you have me? >>
Flustered by the warmth in the thought,
Buffy could feel her face heating. <
I… >
<< …bloody well wish we were alone
right now. >>
< Um, yeah. >
~*~
“We’re inviting Spike? Since
when?”
“Since he helped me
here while Giles was busy watching
“Three or four days of stocking shelves
and unpacking crates merits an invite to our wedding?”
“Well, that, and I’m pretty sure it’s
thanks to him that I got through the Festival of the MagickMoons
with all my fingers and toes attached. A girl doesn’t just forget being rescued
from a Klytaimnestra- Itselinora
demon who’s about to start carving her up for supper.”
“The Festival –? You mean that night in that church basement downtown last
summer? Spike got clobbered over the head and fell on that spiny-toady thing.
I’m not sure that qualifies as a rescue.”
“The end result was the same. I got out
alive, all digits and other parts intact. So he’s invited. Besides, I’m not
really sure why, but vampires can make very good liaisons between the human and
demon guests at these events. I think it’s because they can look human. Only,
you know, generally paler.”
Xander's mouth fell open. “What?
How? They eat humans! And just how many demons are we inviting, anyway?”
“Not if you feed them well first,” Anya
answered. “And pay them. Of course, they’re not as good at it as Hedgieyozhs are. They’re
natural diplomats. But the only one I knew died about three hundred and fifty
years ago, so unless you’re friends with one and just haven’t mentioned it to
me, I don’t see how we could get one to come. Especially on
such short notice. They plan their social engagements years in advance,
and they’re pretty selective about which ones they accept, too, let me tell
you. Unless it’s a convention. No one understands it,
but they have this whole ‘thing’ for conventions. You can’t keep them away.”
“We
are not inviting hedgehogs to our wedding! We have to draw the line
somewhere!”
“I am drawing the line. Spike can’t bring
that witch.”
“How many demons, Ahn?”
“Which witch?” Buffy asked as she and the
vampire under discussion reemerged from the training room. The Slayer was
tucking stray strands of hair back into her disarrayed ponytail.
“About one hundred,” Anya responded to
Xander before turning a firm expression to Spike. “I’m sorry, Spike, but even
if you’re boinking her, you can’t bring that Gwyneth
person to the wedding. I didn’t like her, and I’ve issued a very strict ‘no
naked guests’ policy. They’re bound to distract attention from me. I don’t want you to think I’m
discriminating against your girlfriend just because of the naked thing, though.
I mean, I did tell my friend Lindsay that she had to wear clothes too. She’s a L’Ittl Ezink
demon, and they find it much easier to go naked all the time.” Anya tilted her
head. “It’s the constant shedding, I think. But even if she covers herself from
head to foot in opaque fabric, Gwyneth can’t come. She’s obviously evil.”
“She isn’t evil,”
“Says you, and we all know you were hot
for her.”
Tara, who was sitting on a stool at the
opposite end of the counter Xander and Anya were leaning on, didn’t seem to
hear her. She pulled the cap off a yellow marker with her teeth and highlighted
a couple of passages in her book.
Spike glanced from Anya to the quiet witch
and back again.
“Who the sodding hell is Gwyneth?”
“A hundred?” Xander asked.
“I
think she means C’erdd Circe of Gwen,” Buffy volunteered. < One of these days, maybe you could explain her to me. >
<< Worried,
pet? >>
Buffy tossed her head. < I’m curious. It’s a completely
different thing. >
<< Right. >>
“One with two zeros?”
“She threatened me,” Anya told Spike, “and
I don’t trust her. So you’ll have to find a different date. Or come stag.” Her
eyes lit up. “You might meet someone there! Someone better!”
“Wouldn’t dream of
bringing the bint.”
“Will she be okay with that?” Anya looked
concerned. “Because I wouldn’t want to stir up all kinds of bad wedding day
karma by causing trouble between another couple. Or
have her casting spells on us all willy-nilly.”
“Ninety-eight,
ninety-nine, one hundred. That one hundred?”
Anya huffed with exasperation and turned
to her fiancé. “Yes, Xander, that one hundred.”
“Demons?”
“I’m sure they’ll behave at least as well
as your Uncle Lou and Aunt Victoria, and their amazingly large and Damien-like
brood.”
“Yeah, but…”
“There with be no ‘yeahbuttal’.
This subject is closed, Mr. Harris.”
Xander's mouth snapped shut. He inhaled
deeply, twice, and shook out his shoulders. “Bathroom,” he muttered, moving
off.
Anya watched him go before turning back to
Spike. “She won’t, will she? Cast spells or be upset?”
“I don’t think she’ll try to send any evil
mojo raining down on your big day.”
Anya smiled, relieved. “Oh,
good.”
“Stag, huh? Before you know it, someone
will be lining me up with the chit who catches the bouquet.”
“That’s usually Dawn,” Buffy said. “She
has a very impressive vertical leap.”
“Her mile-wide ruthless streak probably
contributes, too.”
“Ruthless, determined. Whatever it is, you
never want to get between Dawn and cheesy popcorn,” Anya put in. “Or, from the
looks of things, Sweet and Sour Pork. I mean…”
She nodded her head toward the research
table where Dawn and Giles were still peering into cartons of food to see what
they might have missed. Dawn snatched one of the white containers away just as
the Watcher was reaching for it.
“Mine!” she declared, clutching it to her.
“You’re less than half my age and blessed
with the reflexes of youth. Perhaps you would be so kind as to make allowances
for my advanced state of decay, not to mention the fact that I paid for the food, and share.”
Dawn looked into the carton again, seemed
to consider, and then, with great reluctance, pushed two of the others on the table toward Giles with
the tips of her chopsticks. The one she’d claimed was emptied onto her plate.
Giles glared, watching her attack the mound of shrimp with what could only be
termed glee, before he started poking into the remains of the feast again,
grumbling under his breath.
~*~
Xander splashed another handful of icy
water onto his face and reached for the towel. He straightened, patting at his
wet skin, and met his own eyes in the mirror over the sink.
“Xander Harris,” he said, out loud.
“You’ve been through at least half a dozen apocalypses. You can probably deal
with the fact that more than half the ‘people’ at your wedding aren’t,
apparently, going to be ‘people’ at all. Of course, if that was the only thing
on your mind right now, it’d be a hell of a lot easier.”
He’d gone through a lot of ups and downs
in his life, both Before Hellmouth Awareness and after. During the ‘downs’ he’d
been scared and angry, terrified and heartbroken, disgusted, furious, sad and
scared again. But for the most part, except in the darkest of those down
phases, he’d been able to adjust, accept, keep a fairly positive attitude and
make with the quips to help himself and the people around him to deal with the
weirdness that was their lives. Humor was his niche, and he considered the
providing of it to be one of his most important roles in the group.
Lately, though, the humor was getting
harder to maintain, and the quips were becoming fewer and farther between. He
was trying to be happy. Trying to think positive thoughts; to
concentrate on all the good things that were happening in his life. Really. Trying. But there were so
damned many things happening around him that he found upsetting or just plain
disturbing on some level or another that keeping up with the positive-ness was
approaching impossible.
On top of the fear and worry, there was
the whole helplessness he felt. He’d
felt a similar sense of helplessness with Buffy when she’d first come back.
Nothing he’d done then had seemed to reach her, and nothing he’d said had
worked to alter that frozen, lost look on her face.
He’d hated it then, and feeling helpless
again now was bringing home to him how much he would always hate that ‘can’t
change things, can’t make a difference’ feeling. It was a hell of a lot worse
than facing down a demon. He couldn’t chop the head off of whatever it was that
was affecting
He tried to tell himself that they’d done something by getting rid of the power
dealers. That hadn’t exactly been a picnic, either, especially knocking off the
last couple. Alerted to the fact that
someone was eliminating their kind, the remaining two dealers had thrown up
extra defenses. They’d been harder to find, and ever harder to destroy. Xander
was still surprised they’d gotten rid of them with no serious injuries to
anyone. Some tall, bluish, security type at the last place had sliced up Giles’
arm, but other than that, they’d come out of the week of battles virtually gauze
and antiseptic free. Buffy had stitched up Giles’ arm, and it seemed to be
healing fine.
Besides making him feel like he was taking
some positive action, the nightly battles had allowed him to vent some of his
aggression on deserving parties, too, which had so been good for his psyche.
But killing a bunch of demon mafia types
hadn’t brought his friend back. He should’ve known that by now; shouldn’t have
nursed that hope that eliminating them would break some evil hold on
It had taken
Xander ‘whoa’ed’
himself, reminding himself forcefully that
They just had to figure out what was possessing
Which they would. Soon. Because that’s
what they did.
Even if she was being
possessed by some part of herself.
Xander hung the towel back on the bar.
Damn, he missed her. The months after
Buffy's death had been such a pit of pain that he hadn’t really noticed until
several months had passed that he and
It seemed odd that he was just thinking of
this now – the way the old gang, after those first, worst days, hadn’t clung to each other in their
sorrow. The times they’d all been together had been kind of stilted, silent and
businesslike. Research, slay, go their separate ways. Maybe the pain had just
been too deep for them to talk about Buffy, or much of anything, for that
matter. He knew he’d found it bad enough just looking at the others; having to
see the pain on their faces. He knew it was on his own as well, and he didn’t
feel like he wanted to add to anyone else’s pain by sharing his own. Maybe that
had been the wrong thing to do; maybe sharing would have made it easier for
everyone, but at the time, it had seemed so much easier to get away from them
and mourn alone. Or with Anya, who had been a rock for him. He’d spent a lot of
time trying to lose himself in other things – movies
or television, sports, anything. Normal things that didn’t
have any Hellmouthy overtones and so didn’t arouse
any Buffy related memories.
Once
Again, it was that whole doing something thing. It was a goal;
something to work toward; something to keep his mind busy. Okay, it was
something really huge, and more important than anything else he’d ever done, so
it had been really big on the terrifying, but it had still helped.
And if
Xander had made a lot of excuses for
Willow’s short temper and her secretiveness over the long summer, and he
wondered, now, if this whole situation with her could have been averted if he’d
been more involved, more insistent on talking everything out with her, learning
more about what she was doing and how she was doing it. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, at this point, if what
was happening with
Instead, he’d just focused on the things
He’d been so sure that once Buffy was back
with them, her presence and the role they’d played in making it possible would
draw them all closer together. They’d form a tight unit again, and things would
be back to normal. The way they had been once, the way they should be. The way they hadn’t been for – well, for a couple of
years.
It hadn’t exactly panned out that way,
though…
Yet.
Xander left the bathroom and moved back
into the shop, pausing just inside the door. His eyes slid around the room,
pausing on each of the occupants in turn.
They
weren’t growing apart, he assured himself, even though Giles had suggested
it was inevitable. He knew that happened to a lot of people, and he knew there
had been some – issues – with the Scoobies over the last couple of years. But those were growing pains, not growing apartness.
There was a difference.
Yeah, they had some things to work through
– some really big things – but they’d
get through them, and be all the stronger for them.
Right?
Right.
Positive thoughts.
Power dealers – gone.
Which he would. Because that’s what he
did.
In the meantime, he, Xander Harris, was
engaged to the woman he loved. Very positive. They
were planning their wedding. Also positive, except…
Since when was Anya so in touch with old
demon buddies? He hadn’t even known demons had
friends. Didn’t they just have gangs and evil-deed-doing partners? And was
she so ‘in touch’ with them that they were probably going to have more demons
at their wedding than humans? What the
hell was up with that?
You can get through this, he told himself
again. And, whatever you do, don’t make an issue of it. Anya’s stressed out
enough as it is.
Can we say ‘understatement’, boys and girls?
Anya had been moody lately, intense, and
leaning waaay over toward the short-tempered side,
which was worrying him. He’d tried to get her to talk to him about whatever
might be bothering her, but she hadn’t seemed in the mood to share, which was
un-Anya-like enough to make him worry even more.
The guys at work, most of them long
married, and much wiser, one would think, in the ways of women, had advised him
that a short-tempered fiancée was pretty normal; that planning a wedding was a
bitch, and that Anya probably wouldn’t relax again until it was all over. And
no, he shouldn’t try to take over some of the work for her. Chances were she
wouldn’t let him anyway, and if she did, he was sure to screw things up because
men always did, and…
“Keep your mouth shut and your checkbook
open,” Mel had said. “Nod a lot. If you really want to make an impression,
learn to tell the different between roses and lilies, and maybe daisies.”
The others agreed. The groom, they’d told
him, didn’t really have a lot to do with the big day, and was better off
staying out of it until it was time to say ‘I do.’
If the bride-to-be decided to allow him a
bachelor party, however, he should definitely take her up on her womanly
generosity. They’d be more than happy to help him make it a night he’d always
remember. Or possibly never remember.
Either way, they were in. They’d take care of the stripper, too.
Xander had to admit that his interest in
the gazillion details was limited. Satin or grosgrain ribbon, patterned or
plain, wired?, netting… And all that just involved one
bow on the card basket! There was a certain horror in realizing that he even
knew what grosgrain ribbon was…
Probably he should take his coworkers
advice and just be supportive guy again. Weddings did seem to be designed for the bride, and probably the bride’s
mother, if, um, she hadn’t been dead for over a
thousand years.
Over a thousand years.
God, he was marrying a woman who was more
than eleven hundred years old. He let his eyes rest on her. She and Dawn were
looking through a wedding magazine, chatting happily as they pointed out things
to one another that caught their eye.
Ahn was practically glowing.
Xander's eyes softened. Damn, but he loved
her! He didn’t care how old she was.
Okay, this was good – back to thinking
about good things.
There were other good things. Buffy seemed
to be recovering from her time in hell. She was talking more often; starting to
socialize. All good. He thought the job at the
University would be perfect for her. She’d be out among people, not sitting in
her house all day long, alone and brooding. It’d be so great – and such a
relief – to see her connecting to people again. And maybe
even making with the smiling. Please. Okay, yeah, he’d seen a few
recently. Little ones. But Buffy smiles had been rare
since they’d brought her back, and he wanted to see them all the time. Daily. Hourly.
If they were occasionally accompanied by laughter -- mega
bonus.
The Slayer was across the room, leaning
casually against the wall as she talked to Giles. His eyes settled on her just
as she tossed a brilliant smile to the other – person – standing with them.
The one standing next to her.
Right next to her. Leaning against the wall at her side.
Spike.
Xander felt the tension he’d tried to
shake off by splashing water on his face return in force. The existence of the
vampire bothered him. His growing presence in their lives disturbed him. The
relaxed, easy camaraderie between him and the Summers’
sisters totally squigged him out.
All his attempts at positive thinking came
to an abrupt end.
Why did they – Buffy and Spike – always seem to be together?
They patrolled together. They trained
together. He hadn’t known about the regularity of either of those things until
a week or so ago.
And Spike was still sitting out on the roof of the Summers’
house every night. Dawn had mentioned that, so he knew Buffy hadn’t insisted
the weird guard duty come to an end.
And little Dawnie,
who had hero-worshiped him for so
long… all googily and admiring over the walking
corpse. The teenager had
told him that she and Spike had a standing Friday night ‘date’, a practice that
Dawn obviously loved but that made Xander grit his teeth. Oh, he was pretty
sure, thank the powers and any deities a guy could name, that the crush Dawn
had inexplicably developed on Spike last year was well and truly over. But even
aside from that, it bothered him to see how completely at ease the girl was
with the vampire – touching him, joking with him, scolding him, for god’s sake.
It was all just so – wrong.
So completely wrong.
And speaking of wrong -- was there any reason the vampire and the Slayer
always had to be standing or sitting so ookily close
to each other? He’d started to notice it during the last week while they’d been
fighting the power dealers, and now it seemed to be slapping him in the face
whenever he turned around. They sat next to each other at the Magic Box; they
sat next to each other at Buffy's. Once, god, she’d even perched on the arm of
the chair the bleached wonder was sitting in for a few minutes. They walked
next to each other on the street and stood together when the group was talking.
He had
noticed that they didn’t fight together. During the battles with the power
dealers, Spike had been fighting, yeah, but he’d remained glued to Dawn's side
while Buffy had taken charge of going after the head honcho. As soon as the
fighting was over, though, there they were again, standing together, running
their eyes over each other as if checking for injuries…
It was shudder-worthy, and it was working
its way steadily up his disturbing things list.
Spike's mouth moved and whatever it was he
said, the words brought a smile to Giles’ face. Xander
didn’t get that either. This whole – friendship thing – between the two. Giles had
been trained in demonology for most of his life. He should damned well know
that trusting Spike was a huge mistake.
The tension in Xander's body went up
another notch.
Vampire. Demon. Soulless demon. Not a person. Not a man. Giles himself had
told them how it was, back in the beginning. The Watcher knew.
Dawn had left Anya and crossed the room to
join the other group. Her arms were crossed and her voice had taken on that
whiny but vastly superior tone that she’d mastered when she was about ten and
still used from time to time.
“Come on, Buffy. I have plans, remember? With Kate and Jill? If we don’t leave now, I won’t be ready
on time.”
Buffy glanced toward the table holding the
remains of their meal. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else over there you
want to scarf down?”
“You and Giles should really stop with the
trying to be funny, because you’re so not. Besides, Liza and I worked right
through lunch, and I was hungry.”
“She’s not going to starve you every
Saturday, is she?”
“Pleeease. It’s just the
Christmas rush.” The girl looked at Spike. “And you -- Don’t even ask. Jill’s
mom is picking me up and Kate’s mom is bringing me home.” She sighed when his
gaze didn’t waver. “We’re just chilling at Kate’s. No big.”
“Didn’t say a word, did I?”
“You don’t have to. You have interrogation
eyes. It’s creepy.”
Xander had to agree with that. The whole
situation was creepy.
“Can you stay?” Giles asked Spike.
“There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”
Spike glanced at Buffy before nodding.
“Sure.”
Xander wondered if his jaw made a lot of
noise when it hit the floor. Since no one looked his way, he figured it hadn’t.
Dear god, he thought. He looks like he’s clearing it with the
wife. That was beyond creepy.
But, apparently, there was also waaay beyond
creepy, because, just for a second, Xander thought Spike was actually going to
bend down and kiss Buffy. She even looked up at him like she was expecting it.
Okay. That was gross. And that was not a strong enough word.
He shook his head, trying to throw off the
nightmare-like impression. He hadn’t just seen that, he assured
himself. He was stressed about a bunch of stuff and his brain was just going
all whackadoo. Or maybe the already incomprehensible Spike situation was making
him paranoid. And possibly hallucinatory.
Thankfully, the disturbing moment passed
without any actual contact between the two blonds. Spike tugged on Dawn's hair,
told her to have fun, and followed Giles into the back room.
The relief Xander felt was cut short when
he noticed how Giles closed the door firmly behind them. His lips tightened. Another private
conference. They seemed to be a fairly regular occurrence. Before long,
the two Englishmen would be installing a Cone of Silence over the Scooby
research table.
“Coming with us, Tara?” Buffy asked.
Dawn changed from know-it-all-teenager to
sympathetic friend. “When’s your last final?”
“Wednesday. I can’t wait until they’re over. Maybe I’ll feel like I can
breathe again then.”
“You’ll do fine,” Buffy told her. “You’re,
like, the studying queen. If I go back to school next fall, I fully expect some
of that to rub off on me.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Xander said. “If
The women all turned to him, their faces
registering surprise at the nastiness of both the comment and the tone. Xander
didn’t care. He wasn’t feeling anywhere near lighthearted, and at the moment,
he didn’t think he could stand to see the rest of them acting that way. Were
they all oblivious to the depth of trouble
He knew he was being completely
unreasonable. He’d been working for a lighthearted mood himself over dinner,
and it’s not like he could expect them to be mentally following his train of
thought or something, but again, he just
didn’t care.
Buffy opened her mouth, closed it, shifted
her shoulders, and turned away from him. “Yeah, Je
will probably still suck,” she said. She looked at her housemates. “Ready?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
The overhead bell jangled as they left.
~*~
“There’s
something I’d like you to do, and I hope you’ll consider it,” Giles began.
A
brow rose questioningly.
“I’ve
been meaning to ask you for some time, and I – well, I’d like you to do some
writing.”
Spike
stared. “You been talking to the bit?”
Giles
was confused. “About what?”
Spike
waved a hand. “’s not important. What’d you have in
mind? Demonology? Don’t you have enough books on that?
Not that I couldn’t do better than some of the tripe I’ve seen on your shelves.
There are a few that are so far off the mark, I reach for them when I’m looking
for comic relief.”
“No, not demonology. Though, perhaps you’d be so
helpful as to direct me to the volumes you believe contain faulty information.”
Surely Spike could have been doing that right along? Inaccurate information could be dangerous!
“Actually, I was thinking more of a personal history. Your own story of being
turned and what came afterward. Your life as a vampire.”
Spike's
face changed. “Not big on muckin’ about in the past,”
he muttered.
“But
–” Giles broke off, noting the vampire’s closed expression. “Perhaps something
less personal, then,” he substituted. “General vampiric
behaviors, or histories of various groups – your clan,
perhaps.”
“Clan?”
“Aurelius,
isn’t it?”
“Oh, our Order.”
Our Order. That sounded promising.
“Yes.”
“Don’t
know much,” Spike admitted. “I bloody well couldn’t stand that prune faced old
git, ‘The Master’, as he liked to call himself. Couldn’t just be a master,
could he? Had to be all prefaced and capitalized.
Angelus couldn’t stomach the tosser either,” Spike added with some amusement.
“One of the few things we never failed to agree on. We did our best to stay as
far away from him as possible.”
“So
your history –”
“I
didn’t much care, and I’m afraid I didn’t listen up when I was being preached
at. Darla now – she’d know. Big favorite of The Master.
‘Course he was her sire. The first time around, anyway.”
The first
time around? “Yes, well, aside from the fact that she
seemed to be quite determined to kill us, making it difficult for me to think
she’d be in any way willing to share information with us were she able, Darla
is dead.”
“Should know that’s not always a permanent condition, Watcher. Last I
heard, the bint was hightailing it around
“I
– are you saying Darla is alive again? How is that possible?”
“Don’t
have the details,” Spike said. “You want any information there, you’d best be
contacting Angelus, or maybe that watcher bloke he hangs out with.” The blond
paused to light a cigarette. “Seein’ her again had
Dru feeling all nostalgic, though.”
Spike
gave a snort that sounded a lot more like disgust than amusement, though it
could sometimes be difficult to tell the difference with him.
“Yeah,
you want information on Aurel – our Order, Darla’s
your girl. When we were together, Darla would have to go running home to see
his high and mightiness every few months. Dragged Dru along
with her most of the time. Angelus and I…” He took a long pull on his
cigarette, and finished his sentence in a short staccato tone. “We didn’t go
with them.”
He
blew out a long stream of smoke, his expression hard and distant. It was a
moment before he cranked his neck and continued.
“We
couldn’t always avoid it, of course.
Got all-called every once in a while. Expected to make an
appearance. God, he never could keep his hole shut, and we were forced
to sit there pretending to listen. He’d blither on for hours on end about
paying homage to The Old Ones. Or about how the Order was getting ‘corrupted’;
the traitors in his midst… The whole thing bored me to tears.”
“Corrupted
how?”
“God, who knows? Maybe by rebels like Angelus and
me who didn’t want to bow down and kiss his cock? Probably makes as much sense
as anything he could come up with.”
Giles
blinked at the unexpected crudity. Strangely, Spike was usually fairly
temperate in his language. At least, Giles thought with some amusement, by
American R rated movie standards. Of
course, all the ‘bloody’s’ wouldn’t be well accepted
in a good many circles back home. The Colonials didn’t frown on that word in
the same way.
Spike
leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs as he lifted his feet to the
table.
“Seems
I heard him ranting a time or two about how The Old Ones wouldn’t have put up
with everything that was happening, and how he was gonna crush the
insurrectionists. Like I said, I never paid him much mind. Used
to drive the wanker wild with my lack of respect.”
“Darla,
on the other hand,” he drawled out, “Worshipped at her sire’s feet. It was
bloody revolting to see them together. Her in her little girl outfits, all
dressed up to please the old whoremonger.
“Still,
she was addicted to Angelus too, and his big brown eyes – not to mention his
other parts – usually won out over her sire. That and his
willingness to trot all over the globe with her. I don’t think she was
particularly fond of The Master’s ideas of luxury living. She stayed with
Angelus, with us, until he got all soulful. That drove a wedge between them
right quick. I think she’d have done anything to get the unsouled
version back.” Spike paused and took another long pull on his smoke. “She
didn’t take kindly to her boy’s defection. And Dru was…” He broke off. “I hated
that vicious whore.”
“I
can hear that,” Giles commented. Spike’s hatred for Darla dripped from his
voice. His tone conveyed much more affection for Dru, which he would have
expected, and even for Angel, or Angelus as he called him, which Giles hadn’t
expected. He’d gotten the impression there wasn’t a lot of love lost
between the two. However, Council records seemed to indicate they had lived
together for a long time; perhaps as much as fifty years. He wasn’t quite sure
when Spike had been sired, or he’d probably be able to calculate the length of
the relationship more accurately. Regardless of specifics, they’d been together
for a good number of years, and it was logical to assume that the relationships
between the four powerful vampires were multi-layered, tangled and complicated.
The history of their rather unique family intrigued him. Spike had stated he
didn’t like dredging up the past, but once he was talking, the words flowed
with only small hesitations and avoidances. Perhaps he would reconsider… “My
own impressions of Darla were far from favorable.”
“Doesn’t
surprise me,” Spike said. “You’re generally a fairly intelligent bloke.”
“Was
that a compliment?” Giles asked, his tone light.
“I
guess it was at that.”
“I
do hope you’ll give this writing idea some thought,” Giles pressed. “I would be
fascinated to read any first hand accounts of your history or the history of
others that you could provide. If not that, then, like I
said, general vampire lore, traditions, anything of that sort. The
Council has a lot of material, but sadly, little in that vein actually penned
from – shall we say? – your viewpoint.”
Spike
shrugged. “I’ll give it some thought,” he said, but to Giles’ disappointment,
his tone didn’t sound very promising. “How about a game of
chess?”
“I
think that could be arranged. Would you like a beer to go on with?” he asked.
“I have a couple of cases of Old Peculier.”
The
vampire’s eyes lit up with a pleasure Giles had no trouble interpreting. It
could be so difficult to get a decent pint in this country.
“Of
course the bottled stuff isn’t a patch on a draught.”
“Yes,
well, I shall be sure to invite you to the next kegger
I host.”
“’m touched.” Spike plopped his chair back onto
all four legs, and dropped his feet to the floor. He leaned forward, setting up
the chess pieces. “Might as well bring me two,” he said. “We both know I have a
much higher tolerance for alcohol than you do.”
“A wondrous talent to brag on, to be sure.”
~*~
Anya
spoke up as soon as the bell went silent. “That wasn’t very nice, Xander.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m not feeling very nice.”
“Oh, goody. What’s got you all pissy? You were fine at dinner.”
Xander
forced his clenched fists to relax. “I’m… I’m just worried about
“I
knew that. What else?”
“Does
there have to be something else?”
“Yes.
You saw
God!
He so did not need Anya’s
“Okay,
that’s not all. There’s a whole pile of stuff, and
Don’t
talk about the wedding, Xander, he told himself, or the demon guests. That’s
likely to make her go ballistic.
“But
crawling out from the bottom of that pile, where you’d expect to find him, is
Spike.”
“Spike? What did he do?”
“He
is, Ahn. That’s enough.”
Anya
slapped the cover of the bridal magazine shut. With abrupt movements she pulled
a dust cloth out of a drawer under the cash register, and turned away from him
to start dusting the racks of spell ingredients displayed behind the counter.
She hated that job, and the fact the she’d chosen to start doing it now, along
with the massive body language, told him that this was not a subject she wanted to discuss. Well, he didn’t want to have to discuss it. Sometimes life just
doesn’t go the way you wish it would.
Like he
hadn’t discovered that at a really
early age.
“He
is. That’s enough,” she repeated
sarcastically. “What is your problem with
him?”
“The
same as it’s always been! He’s a demon, Ahn. A killer.
All this – hanging around stuff – it’s bad. Really bad.
Dangerous.”
“You’ve
been fighting at his side all week long! Again.”
“He’s
a good fighter. I admit that. And he’s been helpful. But it’s gonna blow up in
our faces. This isn’t the first time we’ve made nice with a demon.”
Anya stilled for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“Angel? You do remember Angel, don’t
you?”
“Well,
it’s not like I hung out with him or anything, but, yes, I remember the love of
Buffy's life. Tall and broody. With
that hair thing going on. Spike's hair is a little unique, too. Do you
think it’s because they can’t see their reflections and they have no idea
what’s happening on top of their heads?”
Xander
wasn’t going to let her distract him. “I think
we tried trusting him. We hung out with him, accepted his help. Just. Like. Spike. And then, kablooey! He goes
psycho world destroyer on us.”
“Are
we back on the soul thing?” Her voiced cooled several
degrees. “Because Spike doesn’t have a soul to lose, does he?”
“Vampires
are evil, Ahn. Angel didn’t have his
soul when he tried to destroy the world. But it was all present and accounted
for when he almost drained Buffy. She was trying to save his life, he was supposedly in love with her, and he
still lost it!”
“He
lost his soul again when he bit her?”
“No.
Control. He
lost control!”
“Well
blood can
kind of drive vampires wild, but I can’t see that being much of a problem with
Spike. Buffy would never let him that close to her neck, and even if they
tripped and he fell on her or something, he still couldn’t drink from her. He
has a chip.”
Xander
felt like banging his head on the counter with frustration. Couldn’t she see
that this was a serious issue? If she was just going to shrug everything away…
“Yeah, a chip. A piece of
silicon and plastic and little bits of wire. Or
something. Something all – sciencey
and mechanical. God, Ahn, don’t you get it? Mechanical stuff breaks
down. Nothing works forever. And the chip is government issue,
which is not exactly a confidence builder!”
“You’re
not making anti-American comments in my shop, are you? Because
this is a thoroughly capitalist business. And very
American.” She turned back toward him just long enough to pick up the
skull mug sitting on the counter that held a handful of miniature American flags.
“See?”
Apparently
she couldn’t see the serious bit.
“Ahn…” he groaned.
She
went back to her dusting. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’ve mentioned it often
enough. No soul. No conscience. Evil, evil, evil.” Her
head bobbed from side to side with the words. “What are you going to do about
it?”
“That’s
just it! I can’t do anything. Or,
well, probably not. It’s up to Buffy. She’s the only one who can get rid of
him. Either she has to kill him, or she has to force him to get the hell out of
our lives before something happens.”
“She
doesn’t seem very inclined to do that.”
“A
little girlfriendy support and understanding would be
welcome here, Ahn.”
Anya
turned back and met his eyes. “Do you just want me to make sympathetic noises,
Xander? Because Buffy seems just fine having Spike around.”
“That’s
a big part of the whole point! Buffy
obviously has a problem with vampires. Some of them,
anyway. First Angel and now Spike. God, maybe
it’s their bloodline or something. At least she’s not all moony over Spike, but
she still seems to have some kind of blind spot about him. And it’s dangerous
for all of us. Last time, she couldn’t bring herself to kill Angel, and because
of that, Ms. Calendar died. This
isn’t something we can just keep ignoring.”
“I
don’t think – oh.” Anya broke off and stared over Xander's shoulder.
The
horrified look on her face had Xander spinning toward the door. He hadn’t heard
the bell…
But
there she was, standing just inside the door. Her jacket, which had been left
behind, forgotten on a bench near the door, was now in her hands.
Anya quickly rearranged her face into her best professional
shopkeeper’s smile. “Hi Buffy!”
The Slayer didn’t even glance at her, and her grim expression
didn’t change. “Do you have something you wanna say to me, Xander?”
Xander took in her rigid stance. Shit, shit, shit. He hadn’t
wanted…
What had she heard?
“Last time,
she couldn’t bring herself to kill Angel, and because of that, Ms. Calendar died.”
Oh, double shit, shit, shit.
He could almost see the walls that had finally been falling away
around Buffy the last couple of weeks going back up. She looked more remote
already. Apart. Which was one of the
last things he wanted. Maybe he should just…
No.
Xander took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. No. He couldn’t back down. Not this
time. He hadn’t pressed Will over the summer, and that had probably been a
honking big mistake. And this was important,
damn it. Trying to mind his own business and keep the peace wouldn’t be very
comforting if, when, something went
wrong and someone else died.
He couldn’t stand back and play supportive guy.
Not this time.
Even if it hurt.
Bad.
Which he was pretty sure it was gonna.
“Yeah,” he said, as he rose slowly to his feet. “I guess I do.”
~*~
Author’s
Notes
Okay,
remember how I said the last chapter was too long so I split it in two? Well,
make that three. Geesh! Honestly, I was going to finish this (meaning finish
the day that began with Buffy dreaming at the beginning of Chapter 16), but I
still have two scenes to write that I consider important and want to get just
right, and since I’ve come to know how long that can take me, I thought (gasp
for air) I’d go ahead and send this out now. But hey! It is almost 10,000
words!!! (Insert visual of Mary whining for understanding here.)
So, in
other words, Awakenings might have only one more chapter (if I can work the
last chapter of the part, which has been written for well over a year, into the
rest of that day), or it may STILL have two more to go. Blah,
blah, blah. Whatever.
I spent
a lot more time on Xander's thoughts in this chapter than I had originally
intended, and I went over it several times, trying to say everything I wanted
to. I did this in part because I think it’s important to try to get his
motivations, as I see them, across, and in part because I really don’t want to
come across as bashing Xander.
Now, I
admit, I’ve had a lot of problems
with Xander over the last couple of years, as a lot of Spike fans or Spuffy fans have. But I used to LOVE the character earlier
in the series, and I wanted to try to understand where he was coming from and
explore that.
As I
see it: Xander and Spike don’t like each other. Neither is making any effort to
try to change that. At this point they don’t want to change that. They kind of like hating each other and both
probably just wish the other would get the hell out of Buffy's life. (You may
agree or disagree with that line of thinking – just explaining mine here.) So
that’s where we start.
And
Xander does have legitimate reasons
for his distrust and dislike. So I sat down (I do that a lot) and tried to
figure out how that could change. If it should change. And, if it should, how might it do so? What
might bring it about? Whether or not I’ll do that part of the plot justice, I
don’t yet know.
I do
know that things will disintegrate further before any rebuilding might start,
because, well, hundreds of pages to go yet, right? *snort* And,
in the end, it’s all part of the ‘journey’.
Also, thanks to
the S’Cubies (especially Rob), for making me think a
lot more about Xander, and also, to whoever it was that said something that
reminded me of the Cone of Silence, which worked in just right in this chapter!
Mary
Almost forgot to
mention – I am UNSPOILED for Angel, so, if you send feedback (and please do!), please
keep that in mind. Thanks!