Rating: Chapter: G Overall: NC-17.
Author: jen
Summary: All of a sudden Andrew has new clothes besides the all-black ensemble he had on when he was taken hostage. How come?
Disclaim-a-rama: They’re not mine. I have nothing to do with the people who created this fantastic world.
*****
If this were a cartoon, there’d be humorous stink-lines and clouds of little black buzzy flies. As it is, they have to make do with just the olfactory indications. Which are kind of hard to miss anyway, but so far no one has dared say anything. Until now, and Dawn’s sulky teenage candour.
"He stinks!” She doesn’t say it to Andrew, of course, because that’s not the kind of thing you say to someone. She just says it to Buffy, while Andrew is sitting five feet away, strapped to his chair, unable to avoid it. Xander notices him looking suitably embarrassed, and can’t help a touch of sympathetic solidarity. He’s been spending so much time at the Summers’ house that getting back to his own place for a shower and a change of clothes is becoming a luxury, but at least he has that option. Their hostage, on the other hand, has been in the same clothes for days now, allowed nothing more than sink-baths in the kitchen while Xander or Giles stand guard, looking the other way and trying not to be embarrassed.
He can see Andrew squirming under the disgusted glare of the women, and wonders if he is the only one who kind of pities the guy. Everyone else is still somewhere between furious and plain old annoyed. Xander is too, of course, because Andrew is a Bad Guy and has to be despised. But somehow it feels more like the way you hate flies: they’re irritating and kind of disgusting, but you still feel a pang of guilt when you swat them.
“I can’t help it!” Andrew’s wheedley little voices pierces his thoughts, and he is gesturing his innocence as emphatically as he can while his arms are still bound to the chair. It’s a pathetic sight really, Xander feels. The Trio caused so much pain, but this is what’s left of it. Andrew looks as if he wants to crawl under a rock and hide. Maybe he really is a bug, Xander wonders: a bug that knows it’s on a collision course with a rolled-up newspaper and there’s no time to get out of its way.
A shameful ache in his belly for every insect he’s ever squished must be the reason why he cuts in with “the guy just needs a shower and some clean clothes. It’s not that big a deal.”
They look at him as if he’s just suggested they send a hand-written invitation for the First to come to dinner.
“He’s a hostage, Xander.” Buffy’s tone could slice through the couch and leave them with two neat new armchairs. “We’re not babysitting him.” Dawn fixes him with a stare so akin to Buffy’s that Xander has to take a moment to mentally congratulate the ex-monks on their handiwork.
“No, but we do have to be around him all day,” he reminds them, not missing the surprised gratitude on Andrew’s face at the possibility of a supporter. “C’mon Buff, if not for his sake then for ours. Yours.”
Buffy’s face is still impassive, so he switches his gaze to Willow, hopeful that her silence is a sign of uncertainty. A quick flash of a puppy-dog stare is all it takes.
“He’s got a point, Buffy. I mean, it can’t be healthy, leaving him to…fester like that.” Now Buffy has two puppy-pouts to contend with. Hah. Slayer-strength doesn’t even compare. Obviously aware of impending defeat, she turns to Dawn. The last obstacle in his quest for a stink-free hostage. Clearly, she is torn. A show of strength will impress the Slayer, but Andrew really is starting to reek.
Under the irresistible force of two sad-eyed gazes, Dawn crumbles.
“If he’s clean he’ll at least be slightly less annoying.”
Buffy rolls her eyes, admitting defeat. Andrew sighs a “thank you”. Dawn flounces away into the kitchen. Xander gives thanks to the creator of the puppy-dog stare, then wonders if only teenage girls are capable of flouncing.
“So where do we get new clothes?” Willow sounds perfectly innocent in her request, but suddenly Xander is filled with a sense of foreboding: the kind he gets when the guys at work tell him they might not be able to hit their completion deadline, and he knows he’s been volunteered to inform the clients.
“Okay, Xander.” Buffy’s suddenly cheery tone is belied by the glint of pure evil in her eye. “Guess it’s your turn to change the baby.” She smiles, and heads to join Dawn in the kitchen. Willow offers a sympathetic smile, before darting upstairs.
The embarrassed relief on Andrew’s face is meagre compensation.
He sighs, and kneels by Andrew’s chair to untie the ropes.
“Come on then, Pig Pen.”
*****
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