FicWad

“Have a nice summer.”

Have a nice summer?

He’s the same. They’re all the same, all of them. Never knew, all forgot, didn’t care.

But he cared. He told me so, he showed me. He kissed me…

I kissed him.

He kissed back. He held me and told me he’d see me in the morning.

He didn’t see me in the morning. Saw right through me just like all the others.

He couldn’t see me. It’s not his fault.

Her fault. She did this to me. That bitch and all her friends. She’s gonna pay. They’re all gonna pay.

No.

She has to pay, she did this! It’s her fault!

No. It’s not Cordelia. It’s this school, this town. Hellmouth. It did something to me.

But, she’s behind it, she has to be! She… she’s evil!

High school evil. That’s what he said. That Buffy’s wanted “slay” her but she can’t.

I can. They won’t see me coming. They can’t see me, they can’t touch me.

He won’t touch me. If I go through with this, I’ll be just another monster of the week to him.

What am I to him now? A hallucination? A dream?

A name. He still knows my name. He’ll be looking for me. He will.

He won’t find me, won’t see me. He’ll give up, I’ll be alone again. Cordelia will still have everything.

I’ll find him. He wants to see.

I’ll make him see.

What’s that noise? Sounds like somebody’s talking. It’s still Sunday. Who could be…?

Oh, this is too perfect.

High school evil?

More like felony assault.

And you might’ve gotten away with it, too…

But you had to go and pick on my man.

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The door was shut tight, in the unlikely event that somebody was patrolling the halls. Justin Adams looked out through the narrow pane of glass for what had to be the fiftieth time in the last two minutes. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see but, whatever it was, it hadn’t shown up yet.

“Justin!” an irate voice called out from the other side of the room. “Be paranoid on your own time, we got work to do!”

He turned to see that both of his friends had already doffed their leather jackets in favor of the familiar school-issued coveralls. Catching the oil-stained set that was tossed his way, he sighed in frustration as he removed his own jacket and struggled into the one-size-fits-all protective wear. The sigh didn’t go unnoticed as Vic Sloane paused in wheeling the flat board to the area they’d be focusing on tonight.

“What is your deal, anyway?” he asked, giving Justin a light smack to the shoulder. “You were the one bitching at us to come down here in the first place. We checked on Harris, didn’t we? Closet’s empty, so he got out just fine.”

“You don’t know that!” the blonde hissed, worriedly. “What if they found him and he was still knocked out? What if he was…”

“Dead?” the third man spoke up again, voice straining as he lifted the rusty service jack from a countertop. “If he’s dead, he can’t rat on us. Now shut up and go work your magic on the supply cabinet.”

Justin rolled his eyes but made his way across the concrete floors to the cabinet, anyway. There were times he suspected the only reason his friends kept him around was his talent for lock picking. Even if they did, it wouldn’t matter much. He knew that loners in this town had a tendency to disappear. He’d choose safety in numbers over self-respect any day. Not that he felt all that safe at the moment.

“It’s done,” he said as the lock to the supply cupboard opened with click. “Jimmy, why can’t we just wait ‘til tomorrow? The car’s still gonna be here on Monday.”

“‘Cause we’re here now, that’s why,” answered Jimmy, pushing past him to grab one of the bigger tool kits. “You’re wasting time. Get the keys, I want to check if the gasket’s started leaking air again.”

Jimmy DeLuca. Some might call him a poser, a wannabe greaser trapped in an era that ended decades before he was born. The truth of it was that Jimmy was the product of an affectionate but domineering mother and a dead father. A father that’d died when Jimmy was three, leaving behind a stack of old car magazines and a black leather jacket that Jimmy had been wearing long before it had started to fit him.
So, yeah, he’d watched those old greaser movies. It made him feel closer to his dad. And when the other kids would pick on him for wearing a jacket three sizes too big, he did what any of his old movie idols would do. He beat the respect into them.

Vic was the first to start hanging out with Jimmy, back in middle school. Neither of them said why, but Justin had a theory. As much as Jimmy talked about “honor,” a lot of what he was about came down to plain and simple cruelty. Vic liked seeing other people suffer, got off on it. That’s not to say it was all they had in common.

They both liked cars, too.

Actually, “like” was a supreme understatement. They were obsessed. Any conversation that wasn’t about giving such and such guy a beating was about cars. Driving cars, fixing cars, racing cars… Justin was pretty sure that, if it wasn’t for the school’s Auto Shop class, Jimmy and Vic would’ve both dropped out years ago. Heck, he wasn’t sure they weren’t thinking about stealing the car they were working on, once they managed to get it running again, and hauling ass out of town. If it came to that, he only hoped he’d have the guts to stay behind. More than that, he hoped they’d let him.

The car in question was a ‘57 Chrysler 300C convertible, one of less than five hundred made that year, liberated from the Sunnydale Municipal dump with the majority of its Hemi FirePower engine still intact. In its heyday, the 300C had put the “muscle” in “muscle car,” with its V8 and 375 horses. Naturally, they’d be making a few modifications, some of them only barely street legal. The shop teacher was fairly hands-off in this area.

Vic was on his back, lying on the creeper as he used it to roll himself under the jacked up chassis. Tough as he was claimed, not even Johnny was willing to work on the car from underneath. The service jack was only about ten years younger than the car it was lifting. It creaked and groaned and looked like it would break in half if you even looked at it funny. There was also the added danger of working underneath an engine that was running, and all the lovely moving parts of death and dismemberment that went with it. Vic, though was just arrogant enough to believe that nothing could possibly go wrong.

“Hey, get me a light,” he shouted up at his cohorts. “I’m in the dark over here!”
He heard a few steps, followed by a yelp and a heavy thud.

“Whoa Justin, we gotta teach you to walk now?” he heard Johnny ask.

Vic didn’t hear any response from Justin. He assumed the engine was too loud.

“Hey, light!” he shouted again. “I don’t care if little Miss Justine twisted her ankle, I’m working blind!”

“Hold your friggin’ horses, alright?” Johnny called back. “Dumb bastard just tripped over his own feet and knocked himself out cold doing a header into the counter.”

“That’s what I call justice,” Vic chuckled to himself. “Spends all that time whining about Harris, winds up with the same damn headache.”

This time he could see the shadows moving along the floor as Johnny brought the work light around. Just before it made the complete half circuit around the car, the light jerked wildly and he heard Johnny shouting followed by a big crash, metal on concrete.

“Johnny?” he asked, after a few seconds of silence, then tried louder when there was no answer. “Johnny, you okay?”

The only answer was another metallic thud. Then another. Somehow, Johnny must’ve tripped and knocked over one of the toolkits. Must’ve been the big one, since there were still some falling. He looked over to the side just in time to see a large wrench landing with a loud bang. Except the wrench, hadn’t hit the ground. It’d landed on the jack, the only thing that was holding up about two tons of American steel. There was a groan of metal on metal and Vic shut his eyes tight… but the impact never came.

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief just in time to see the sledgehammer succeed where the wrench had failed.

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“Ah, the start of another fine day in the ‘Dale. Of course, considering the last 48 hours, any day I wake up without my head feeling like somebody crashed a Buick into it qualifies as fine.”

Xander laughed at his own joke, mostly because he felt like somebody had to. In the early morning hours, the earliest that he’d ever been at school while still conscious, the halls were practically empty. He walked with brisk strides towards his destination, hoping to get there before anyone spotted him.
It also helped that he was slightly anxious to get there. This would be his first time talking to Giles since Saturday morning. The more rational part of his brain told him that the Librarian couldn’t possibly have any new information this early on a Monday, to which the irrational portion of his brain responded by saying it still wasn’t listening. It then proceeded to spend a full minute contemplating the mystery that is nougat.

Neither part of his brain could fully prepare him what he saw as he pushed open the library doors.

“Buffy?”

She was literally a beautiful as he’d ever seen her. Her hair was down, not unusual by itself, but seemed to flow like a fountain of spun gold, falling into untamed waves around her shoulders. She wore a knee-length pink floral skirt with calf-high tan leather boots, high heeled. Her shirt, short-sleeved and plain white, was cut just low enough to expose the barest hint of cleavage.

There was this light about her, reflecting off her, coming from within her, that was filling his vision completely. It made him want live out his days in the sun, to forget everything he ever knew about the dark. But there was something tugging at his mind, something that reminded him that there were things in the dark besides the vampires, besides the demons.

There was a soft voice, with soft skin and softer lips. There was a memory, real to him as any other, without any light at all. A memory that let the light dim before him until all that was left was the barest glimmers.

“Xander? Why are you wearing a beret?”

Yeah, that pretty much killed the glimmers.

“Oh, ah this…?” he absentmindedly reached up and adjusted the front a little further over his forehead as he stammered his reply. “I’m trying out a new look. I just woke up this morning and thought, ‘hey, fifty million French guys can’t all be wrong, right?’ So, be honest, what’s it saying to you?”

“It’s saying…” the blonde’s nose wrinkled, either in thought or disgust, he couldn’t tell. “Frère Jacques?”

He pulled at the bulbous black cap a little more, but nowhere near enough to hide behind. Hiding being more or less his intention.

“Sorry,” she went on with a shrug. “That’s pretty much all the French I know. But I think there’s got to be some universal language of fashion that’s screaming for me to snatch that thing off your head and burn it.”

Smiling playfully, she made a grab as if to do just that, but he quickly took a step back. His hand had shot up, pressing the offending accessory protectively against his scalp.

“Actually, I think I want to live with it for awhile, you know?” he tried for casual, hoping to play off the clumsy dodge. “I mean, this could be the start of the next big fad. Who are we to fight the future?”

“Okaaay…” she deadpanned, shooting one last grimace at the hat before her smile returned. “So, besides crusading for the French beanie, what are you up to this early on a Monday?”

“Oh, I was just hoping to catch Giles,” said Xander, glad for the change of topic. “He said he was going to look up some stuff for me. How about you?”

That last part he’d added quickly, hoping that she wouldn’t think to ask him what he meant by “some stuff.”

“Weapons pickup,” she answered grabbing a seat at the big, wooden table. “I left everything here before Dad and I drove down to L.A., so I’m here to restock.”

Mention of L.A. led to the obvious questions about her weekend, her Dad, and the emotional baggage typically associated with a father that gave her about the same time commitment as somebody in the Army Reserves. One weekend a month, two weeks a year. It let Xander get over a lot of the awkwardness that’d settled over them that morning, letting him do what he did best and make with the funny.

She was still laughing when he made up his mind. This was something he’d decided to do two days ago, as memories of that Friday night hit him full force. It was time to be a man.

“Buffy, I need to talk to you about something.”

The seriousness in his voice must have been fairly obvious because she’d stopped laughing completely. It hadn’t even trailed off, just cut off so abruptly that he was worried she might have hurt herself.

“Um, okay,” she said, putting the smile back on with a little more effort than she’d had to before. “What’s up? Nothing too big, right? ‘Cause it’s pretty early in the day for big, don’t you think?”

“Well, it is kind of big,” he admitted. “But big’s not necessarily bad. I think, here, big is good. Buffy, I’ve been thinking a lot recently… about you and me, about these feelings I have.”

“Xander…” she seemed to deflate right in front of him, he thought he could hear the beginnings of emotion in her voice. “You’re one of my best friends, I…”

“Buffy, please,” he cut in, steeling himself. “This is sort of a whole speech thing. Just please let me try and get it all out before you say anything. Please?”

Buffy nodded, but he could swear he could see a little moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s just…” he’d thought of a hundred ways to say this, and couldn’t think of any way to start. “You just said that I was one of your best friends. And that’s great. No, that’s better than great. But, the truth is that being your friend hasn’t always been the first thing on my mind. I mean, it’s like this.

“The first time I saw you, it’s like the world stopped. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. When I hit the railing, it was because I had the wind knocked out of me, but before that it was all you. You were the happy ending in every story book when I was a kid, you were the kiss at the end of every movie I’d never admit to watching, you were every good dream I’d ever had all in one place. And that day I started believing in love at first sight.”

He looked at her and it seemed like it was taking everything she had not to interrupt. He went on.

“Then you met Cordelia, and she liked you. You were in. Right where you were supposed to be, completely untouchable. But you met Willow, talked to Willow. You chose Willow, knowing that it was pretty much popularity suicide. You showed the kind of heart that beautiful girls don’t need, because everybody loves them anyway. I thought I loved everything about you. I believed it as much as I ever believed in anything.”

The first tear had finally escaped a few seconds after he’d mentioned Willow’s name. It made him want to skip straight to the end, but she had to understand. He couldn’t do it halfway, not this.

“And then I found out about your calling. That you’re this supernatural being, destined to fight all the things that aren’t supposed to exist. That you’re strong, deadly. And, do you know what I realized? It didn’t change anything. Because it didn’t change you. You’re not the Slayer. If there was a people dictionary it wouldn’t define Buffy as ‘noun: see Slayer, The.’ The Slayer’s a weapon. It’s your weapon. It’s just this tiny part of you, something you use to help people. Because that, the caring about people, is who you really are. And you are the pretty girl I saw from across the quad. And you’re the one who thinks with your heart, not with your ego. You’re not a weapon. You’re a hero. You’re my hero.”

Her eyes were wet, but he didn’t think she was crying anymore. She was staring at him, with this expression on her face that he’d never seen before. It definitely wasn’t that “I’m about to kick a wounded kitten and I hate myself” expression she had on earlier. There wasn’t much resemblance to those looks she wore when she saw Angel. Or talked about Angel. Or sniffed Angel’s borrowed leather jacket when she thought no one was looking, either.

She looked… hopeful was the word, but not in the way you’d think. It’s like he could see a sense of hope filling her, like… It was like one of the few times he’d ever seen the outside of this town. He’d been eight, Willow and Jesse had both been there. The McNally’s had decided to celebrate such and such promotion at work by taking their son and his two friends to Disneyland. This look Buffy was wearing was exactly the same as the ones he’d seen on the faces of the kids next to him in that car, the face he knew he’d been wearing as he saw those highway signs counting down the distance every few miles. It was the look of growing hope for the future, new hope for today. It was now or never.

“That’s why I want you to know that I’m giving up on the idea of us ever being more than friends.”

Okay, now she looked like he’d sprouted another head on each shoulder and started singing a show tunes medley in three part harmony.

“What?”

“It wouldn’t work, I get that now. I mean, you either feel a thing or you don’t. You can’t force it, and what kind of jackass would I be if I wanted you to? I go on and on in my head about how great you are but the only thing you ever asked me for, well besides grabbing things off the top shelf, is to be your friend. That’s something that you, more than almost anyone else, deserve to be getting from me. And I was this close to ruining it with all my numb-brained attempts to change your mind about us. I mean, you do so much for all of us, and that’s all you’re asking for? Well, from now on, things are gonna change. I’ll be the friend I should’ve been all this time, I’ll be there for you because that’s where I want to be and not because I think it’ll get me closer to something else. I’m not saying that I’m fine with being one of the girls. AH-bupbupbub…”

He had to raise a hand stop her. They certainly didn’t need to go over that again.

“I know, it was a spell. You’re sorry, you didn’t mean it. But, hey, you kinda did. And I, red-blooded American semi-muscular man though I am, have to admit that being a guy whose only friends are either pretty girls or forty-something English librarians will lead to that kind of thinking. But, I am man. I will tease, I will flirt, I may even let slip the occasional ogle. That won’t stop me from trying to be the best friend I can be so, if you can live with that then get over here, give me a hug, and forgive me for not figuring all this out sooner.”

She practically jumped out of her chair, traveling the four feet between them in less time that he typically reserved for blinking, and hugged him for all she was worth.

This led to an unforeseen complication.

“NGYaaaAAH, Slayer strength! Slayer strength!”

“Sorry,” Said the one girl in all the world as she eased up, if just barely. “Did you really mean all that?”

“Every word, Buff,” he answered, looking down into eyes that he realized she’d just dried on his shirt.
“From now on, I’m just your big, funny Xander-shaped friend. That’s all I want.”

It must have been weird lighting or something, as Xander thought he saw her smile fall for a split second. That had to be it, because now she had on this big Cheshire cat grin.

“So… I guess that means you’re putting yourself back on the Sunnydale High open market, huh?”

There was mischief dancing in her eyes as she said it, and he knew why.

“Don’t tell Willow,” said Xander, quietly.

Any teasing follow-up on her part died the second she saw the look on his face. He spoke up again before she could ask any of those questions he didn’t want to answer.

“Come on, it looks like Giles is a no-show and we got homeroom in five,” he said, waiting for her to grab her stuff before walking towards the double doors. “On a positive note, at least you’ll always have something to remind him of if you ever show up late to trai-WUORFfff!”

That, apparently, is the sound of a redheaded missile impacting on the torso of an unsuspecting high school sophomore.

“Xanderareyouokay?Ofcourseyou’renotokay,thosestupidboyslockedyouinaclosetallnightlong!Doesitstillhurt?DidyougototheemergencyroomlikeItoldyouto?Didyoutellthemyouwereallergictopenicillin?I’msorryI’msorryIshould’venevergonetomygradma’sandleftyouallalonetogetyourheadbashedinI’msorryI’msorryI’mSORRY!”

At this point, an increasingly nervous teenage boy in the frantic embrace of his childhood friend prayed to gods above and devils below that hyper speed Willow babble was too much for Buffy’s untrained ears.

“To get your what bashed in!?” the blonde half-growled, her gaze locked directly onto the previously forgotten black beret.

Before he could twitch, the cap was ripped off to reveal the purpled knot of swollen skin on his otherwise unmarked forehead. Willow just whimpered and grabbed him tighter around the middle, apologies coming too fast for even him to understand.

“Now, Buff…” he said, trying to backpedal and comfort the girl with the near-python level grip all at the same time. “There’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you right away.”

“Who did that to you?” asked Buffy, voice deceptively calm.

“See? This is what I’m talking about. You just found out I got hurt, and you’re already-”

“Names. Now.”

Let no one say that Alexander Harris is the sort of man that instantly caves around strong women. He held out for a full nine seconds.

“James DeLuca, Victor Sloane, Justin Adams” he barked out, unconsciously turning to put Willow between them.

“Thank you.”

With that, she stepped around and pushed open the double doors like a gunslinger entering a saloon before marching down the hallway. Xander had moved to follow her when he was reminded of the extra weight he was carrying. She didn’t seem like she was planning to let up any time soon, so he shifted her into a fairly awkward side-hug and did his best to guide them both out of the library.

It didn’t take a master of deductive reasoning to tell which way she’d gone. All he needed to do was look over at where a severely pissed-off Cordelia was standing with her flavor of the month boyfriend Mitch and her perpetual hanger-on Harmony.

“What is that psycho girl’s problem, anyway?” the angry heiress griped to her little entourage. “Here I am minding my own business and she comes stampeding right at me like I was in the Running of the Cows in Spain or something!”

“I thought that was the ‘Running of the Bulls’,” Harmony said, though clearly not sure about it herself.

“No,” Cordelia smirked evilly. “In her case, I’m definitely thinking ‘cow’.”

Sure he was pressed for time, but Xander couldn’t help but throw out a verbal counterstrike as he passed.

“Hey Mitch, what are you batting these days? .300? .315?”

“.345” the young ballplayer corrected, sounding almost offended by the low guesses.

“.345?” he said, mock impressed, then let out a low whistle. “Hear that, Cordy? That’s a lot better than .315. I guess you know what that means, wink wink.”

A slight squeeze of Willow’s side told her it was time to move, but he did manage to hear Cordelia fuming behind him while ignoring her boyfriend’s demands for an explanation.

They’d caught up with Buffy while she was still en route to the trio’s usual stomping grounds, the Auto Shop classroom/garage.

“Buffy?” began Xander, forcing a casual tone. “Where’re ya going?”

“To wherever the rebels without a brain cell are hiding,” she answered, easily as angry as he’d ever seen her.

“I’m thinking we should hold off on that. Maybe wait until we’re all cooled off enough that body bags won’t be a big necessity?”

“Oh we won’t be needing any body bags when I’m done with them,” she answered back, rounding a corner to the right hallway. “Just a couple of…”

Their eyes widened as they saw a half dozen paramedics wheeling three familiar looking teens in coveralls out of the Auto Shop room.

“…gurneys?”

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From what little they were able to get out of the EMT’s before Principal Snyder shooed them to their respective homerooms, the three malcontents had broken into the school the night before. At some point, there was either a struggle, an extremely localized earthquake, or a stooge-worthy slapstick chain reaction that left Adams with a concussion, DeLuca with a concussion some cracked ribs from the tools he’d knocked over onto himself, and Sloane, clearly the worst off, with both of his shins almost completely crushed. Luckily, the car he’d been under had only snapped its front axle. If the rear axle had gone too, he’d be a human grease spot on the concrete. Even luckier, the three were only suffering minor damage from carbon monoxide poisoning because one of them had evidently forgotten to shut the door.

Xander had walked away with understandably mixed feelings. On the one hand, there was a definite feeling of closure that he never really expected from his run-ins with the bullies of Sunnydale High, a sense of karmic balance. On the other hand, these guys might have been complete jackasses, but they were still human. What happened to Vic, he didn’t think he would wish on any living person that wasn’t a huge fan of the swastika.

Besides, their idea of a cruel joke had led to one of the best nights he could remember. Dream or not, he’d reached a level of clarity in that filthy janitor’s closet that he might never have otherwise experienced, considering what therapists charged these days.

He decided it would be best just to put it out of his mind, for now. Buffy was going to ditch Phys Ed to search the Shop room, mostly to make sure that nothing Hellmouthy was behind it. In the meantime, he and Willow had just gotten out of Ms. Miller’s class and, aside from having to listen to Cordelia deconstruct Shakespeare, he was feeling pretty good about it. Sure, he still wouldn’t know Shylock the Jew from Shari Lewis, apart from the obvious sock puppet factor, but Willow’s guilt over his afterschool ordeal had led her to write his entire outline for him.

As they neared Buffy’s locker, their typical meeting place before their shared Gym class, he watched as Buffy was snubbed by Cordelia and the Brainless Trust as they passed out chocolaty voters’ incentives for the upcoming May Queen elections.

This could not stand.

With a quick smile to Willow, Xander suddenly sped up. By the time he closed in on the high school royalty hopeful and her minions, he did a passable impression of Dennis Rodman and flagrantly elbowed the box holding the golden-wrapped morsels. He then turned on a dime and put on his best “I’m sorry” face.

“Oh my God, Cordy,” he said, squatting down to where she and the others were frantically trying to pick up the foil covered chocolate coins. “I completely didn’t see you there. Are you okay? Here, let me help.”

“Get away, mega-geek!” she shrieked, glaring daggers. “I’d be better off committing gross violation of the five-second rule than letting you infect my voting public with your failure cooties.”

Without another word, Xander straightened up with a smile and walked back towards his friends.

“Hmm… ” he said, as he opened his hand to reveal a small stack of shiny treats. “I guess she won’t want
these back, then. One for the savior of my G.P.A.”

“Thanks, Xander,” said his redheaded friend, catching the piece he threw to her.

“And one for the sworn protector of our hellish little corner of Americana,” he continued, tossing one Buffy’s way.

“Ooh, gotta love the perks,” she beamed, then started to unwrap hers before looking up with a pout. “You get two?”

All three looked down at the two coins left sitting on his palm. Without thinking, he started to answer.

“Nah, this other one’s for Mar-,” he stopped himself, suddenly remembering his audience. “-rrrch 17, 2032?”

A lesser man might have told the truth at this point. A smarter man definitely would have.

“I’m, uh, making a St. Patrick’s Day-themed time capsule… Yeah, for the three hundredth anniversary of the day old St. Paddy clubbed all the snakes out of Ireland. I can’t afford a real pot o’ gold, so gold foil wrapped chocolate’ll do in a pinch. Now all I need is a couple shamrocks and a very flat snake. Preferably stuffed, to keep the SPCA off my back.”

“Actually, St. Patrick’s Day is the anniversary of the day St. Patrick died, and that was in 461 AD which will, you know, make 2061 the, um, sixteen hundredth anniversary.”

This was enough to shift Buffy’s focus from one friend to the other.

“I had to read the history of St. Patrick’s Day every year in elementary school because they thought I was Irish,” Willow explained, then gestured towards her head. “Red hair?”

“So, 2061?” their guy friend broke in, quickly. “Thanks Wils, you guys are both totally invited to the capsule opening ceremony… in about… seventy… years. Oh there’s the bell, bye!”

He dashed off before either of them could get another word in, heading straight for the impenetrable fortress of masculinity that is the boy’s locker room.

The actual bell rang about a minute later.

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It was another five minutes after Gym class had been ordered to hit the showers when Xander finally made it back to the locker room. Normally, he would’ve been one of the first ones there, a full hot water shower being anything but guaranteed at home, but this time he’d actually volunteered to gather up the loose equipment. He knew one or both of his friends would be waiting for him, and that only reminded him of the incredibly lame story to cover the almost-slip he’d made.

His Gym shirt was peeled off as he walked, shoes socks and shorts following when he stopped in front of the locker where he stored the red and gold clothes between monthly washings. Grabbing one of the few remaining clean towels, he headed to the showers themselves and tried his best to ignore Mitch as he bragged to his cronies.

Why anyone would brag about Cordelia was beyond him. If there was ever a candidate for installing a “mute” button in a human being, she was it.

The shower room was empty, so he took his preferred spot in one of the back corners and turned on the water to just this side of scalding. He started by rinsing out the perspiration that matted his hair, wishing again that he could be secure enough in his own masculinity to bring shampoo from home, then let the water go to work on the rest of the sweat and dust on his body as he used his hands to help it along.

The almost mechanical act of showering never failed to put him in a zen-like state. His body on auto-pilot, it was much easier to let his mind work at whatever problems he had.

Most of the time, anyway.

Right now, any thought of that extra piece of chocolate only served to make him think about the one that’d been on his mind when he took it. He’d missed Giles this morning, but it was only a matter of time before he’d get the info he needed to find her. And just the prospect of finding her was giving him… thoughts.

Yeah, he only had to look down to see the evidence of these… thoughts.

Briefly, he considered switching to cold water, but he decided against it. He was the only guy in the showers, after all. The problem, as if any man would really call it that, would take care of itself by the time he finished getting dressed. Besides, it’s not like he could help the… thoughts. No girl had ever kissed him like that, all fire and need and hunger. Even his fantasies of kissing Buffy were weak compared to the reality of that fevered moment with Marcie in the closet. But then, how real was that night? Just like he couldn’t kill the hope that all of it had really happened, he couldn’t kill the doubt that maybe it hadn’t.

Squeak!

All thoughts fled at the sound of rubber on a slick tiled floor. It startled him enough that he did the worst possible thing for any guy to do after he’d been thinking… thoughts. He spun around to see who was there.

Nobody.

He was alone in the room, just like he thought. Still, to be safe, he immediately shut off the water and grabbed his towel. Wrapping it around himself, he rushed over as fast as the wet surface would allow and started to dress. What he needed right now was some fresh air, a chance to clear his head. As pleasant as it was to have those… thoughts, he couldn’t let them go too far.

And seeing the empty outline of a girl’s body in a cloud of steam was definitely too far.

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“Is there any reason to suspect foul play?”

Giles had found them in the cafeteria at lunch. Naturally, he’d heard about what had happened in the Auto Shop room over the weekend and wanted to touch base with his Slayer, but Xander couldn’t help but notice the single piece of printer paper the older gent was holding, with what looked like a list of names typewritten on it. It was taking all of what little self-control he had not to rip it out of his hands.

“Plenty, those three made life hell for, like, a quarter of the kids here,” Buffy answered her Watcher. “I just didn’t see anything that made me think it was monsters. All three of them were still alive, no blood loss, no pieces missing…”

“Isn’t it great that we need to check for that now?” said an unsmiling Xander. “Thank you, Talent Show. Ooh, sorry Willow.”

He found himself having to reach over and lightly rub his friend’s back until some of the color returned to her face. Any reminder of their stirring rendition of Oedipus Rex was enough to send the poor girl into near hysterics.

“Well, high schools the world over have accidents of the non-demonic variety all the time,” offered Giles. “Perhaps we were due. And considering the level compassion they seem to show their fellow students, I daresay it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving bunch of delinquents.”

As he said this, he was looking at Xander directly. Whatever claims he might make, and mean, about the teen being an annoyance, there was mutual respect, even fondness, there as well. Otherwise, that phone call would’ve never gotten out of his duplex that early on a Saturday. He’d even felt the need to suppress certain impulses, one’s from a time long ago that were screaming for him to take retribution against those little sods for this blatant attack, in the interest of maintaining his cover as a mild-mannered school librarian.

“Hey, what’s that?” asked Willow, as she slid the list over from where it sat in front of Giles. “Abrams, Marcie… Dewitt, Marcella… Johnson, Marcia…”

Xander shot Giles a dirty look for his feeble paper-defending skills, prompting the older man to speak up, even as he snatched the paper back.

“There’s been a, er, minor issue relating to, um, to one of my books on demon lore,” he said, as the gathered students, Xander included, looked on in confusion. “I’ve been keeping them in the stacks with the others, considering how few students frequent the library. Apparently I’ve overestimated the American teenager’s inborn distaste for the written word, because a girl who signed her name as ‘Marcie’ walked in and checked out my first edition copy of Gerhardt’s Demon Almanac.”

“So, you want me to track this girl down or what?” asked Buffy, sounding less than pleased about another drain on her free time.

“Actually, this is something that I’ve already entrusted to Xander,” Giles explained. “He and I have recently had an opportunity to discuss his role in your calling. Traditionally, it’s only ever been a single Watcher looking after the Chosen One. Seeing as we’ve been flouting tradition from the start, I’ve decided that it won’t do any harm to shift some of my responsibilities to Xander or Willow so that I can focus on more pressing matters.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Alexander Harris, Junior Watcher,” he ground out, wondering what this would cost him in terms of his own free time. “Hey, does that make me a Glancer?”

“I can help!” chirped Willow, scooting closer to her longtime crush. “I could cross-reference this list with any classes that might assign a paper on demonology.”

“That’s okay, Will,” he tried, brushing it off. “The list’s not all that long. It’s got locker numbers and everything, so I can just go and ask around.”

“Oh…” she looked down before perking up again. “Can I go with?”

Willow going with was the exact opposite of what Xander wanted right now. He could just imagine what would happen if he found the Marcie he was looking for with Willow standing right next to him. Still, there wasn’t anything he could think to say that wouldn’t set off warning lights in the girl’s giant brain.

“Sounds good to me,” he hid nearly all of his disappointment, her own denial handling the rest. “Lunch is just about over. We can probably go through half the list before next period.”

“Okay,” agreed Willow, standing with him before she got the paper from Giles a second time. “Hey, there’s a line through this one.”

“Weird,” he said, taking a look at it as they exited the caf. “I guess it means she’s not here anymore.”

His book hunting buddy nodded her agreement, happy that they were already narrowing down the list of suspects. It also meant that Xander would be talking to one less girl, not that this “Marcie Ross” could ever hope to make him forget about Buffy. Nobody on this list, heck, nobody at this school could do that. And once he finally forced Buffy to tell him the truth, on the day she would have to break his heart, Willow would be right there to heal him. She loved him enough to wait.

Back at the table, Buffy watched her two friends leave with a pensive expression on her pretty face. Something was up. Not in a Slayer senses kind of way, she was thankfully cramp-free. It was like her brain had made some kind of connection but it didn’t have the common courtesy to let her know what. She did, however, have the distinct impression that it involved her best male friend in some way.

“Giles,” she asked. “Do you think getting hit on the head can make you do things? You know, stuff you wouldn’t do normally?”

“Do you mean in general?” her Watcher answered in Socratic methodology. “Or should I just assume that we’re going to be discussing our own recent victim of that sort of injury?”

“I know I’ve only known him for a few months,” she admitted, “but I thought I had him mostly figured out. Now he’s volunteering to help you chase down library books. And this morning… He was there when I came to get my weapons back.”

“Weapons still sitting in my cabinet,” Giles reminded her. “In fact, I think that we should have a few hours’ training session after school to make sure that your weekend in Los Angeles hasn’t dulled your skill in their use.”

“Darn, I walked right into that,” muttered the blonde. “But that doesn’t change what happened with Xander.”

“Something happened?”

“Yeah… or nothing happened,” said Buffy, scrunching up her nose. “He made it sound like nothing was going to change.”

Pushing herself away from the table, she stood and waited for her Watcher to do the same. They were already at the library doors before she continued.

“He said he doesn’t want to date me anymore.”

“I wasn’t under the impression that he was dating you in the first place,” Giles said, puzzling at the statement.

“You know what I mean,” Buffy snapped, but it lacked any heat. “He said he was going to stop chasing after me.”

“I’m not about to try and delve too deeply into the mating habits of the modern teen,” the librarian began, producing a square of cloth from his jacket pocket. “But Xander has been anything but subtle about his interest in you. If you’d wanted to be ‘caught,’ I doubt very much that he’d have needed to keep up the chase this long.”

“I didn’t,” she said, then caught herself. “I don’t. It’s just… You weren’t there. You didn’t hear what he was saying to me. It was this big speech where he told me everything he loves about me. Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before, not even my mom and dad. He kept going on and on about all these things he sees in me, things I barely see in me. And then he says he knows that I don’t feel that way about him, so now he’s suddenly fine to stay just friends? Like he doesn’t matter at all?”

“I’d give him a bit more credit than that, Buffy,” he gently admonished his Slayer as he pulled his glasses off his nose. “It was always his choice, to pursue you romantically or not. He’s likely just doing what he thinks is best.”

“Best for me!” she shouted back. “I mean, I know he’s loyal, that he can be sweet, but not like this. There has to be something else going on here. Something that’s making him change. Oh! Oh… Oh, my God… He’s got another... another… How? When? Oh, my God…”

He paused, spectacles defogging in his hand from when he’d breathed on them. Had she really put it all together so quickly? His ruse about the missing text was something he’d pulled out of thin air, hardly airtight. Just the same, he couldn’t help but be a bit impressed at his Slayer’s reasoning skills. Now, if only she could employ them in matters other than high school romantic melodrama. He let out another hot puff on his eyewear then got to work with the soft fabric as he waited for Buffy’s grand revelation.

“He’s possessed! Again!”

Giles jerked in shock, almost snapping off an earpiece in the spastic movement.

“What?” he sputtered.

“I thought Willow was just joking but… it fits,” Buffy continued, ignoring him. “He’s loyal. He’s lovable. He’s eager to please… “

“Buffy…”

“Xander’s been possessed by a puppy!”

Someday in the far future, after a chaos magic-induced transformation leaves him in the body of a Fyarl demon, the look of pure annoyance he was wearing would save his life. He chose his next words very carefully, trying desperately to keep his temper in front of the distraught young girl who could bench press a small car.

“Buffy, I assure you that Xander… that no human being has ever suffered from, from puppy possession.”

“But you were wrong about it before,” she reminded him, heatedly. “You were all ‘Oh, teenage boy. Oh, testosterone. He’ll get over it. I say, pip pip cheerio!’ Yeah, well tell that to Herbert the pig. Oh wait, you can’t. Because possessed Xander ate him!”

Presently, Giles wasn’t sure what was more insulting, the reminder of what his previous failure to listen had cost or the girl’s horrid attempt at an English accent.

“I think you should take a moment, and think very carefully about what you’re suggesting,” he offered, patiently. “Do you really believe Xander would have to be under the influence of a… of some mystical entity in order to move on?”

To her credit, Buffy did appear to be thinking. The nervous energy was draining out, but it had the unfortunate effect of leaving her with sagging shoulders and downcast eyes.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” prompted Giles. “For him to accept your friendship for what it is?”

“Yeah…” she replied, but still seemed less than cheery. “It felt nice, sometimes. To know I had that kind of effect on him. It made me feel, I don’t know, wanted? Desirable? And then I find out all these things he never told me about before. I mean, it’s never been ‘Ooh Xander, I drool’ but he’s not bad looking, either. I just… and with Willow… Be honest, Giles. Do you think Xander and I would ever work, you know, as a couple?”

He resisted the temptation to ask her “a couple of what?” and gave the best answer he could, all things considered.

“Honestly, I believe that you have a destiny greater than any man you’re ever likely to meet, myself included. As your Watcher, I can’t encourage you to make any sort of entanglements that could distract you from what might literally be the fate of the world.”

The Watcher watched as she collapsed a hair further into herself and went on.

“That being said, I don’t suppose I have it in me to forbid them to you, either, though some others would and have, in the past. As for Xander, he is a-an uncommon young man. Brave, but not typically reckless. Concerned for the well-being of others. Also, I daresay these puppy-ish traits you’ve been noticing in him are hardly any recent development. Though, at times, I wonder if he’s ever been properly housetrained.

The short laugh she’d let out was fairly gratifying. It obviously wasn’t any simple thing for her usual source for lifted spirits was the same person leaving her so conflicted.

“But the fact remains that you’re both so very young. I won’t be so callous as to say these emotions aren’t genuine, but they can be fickle. At your age, romance is often like a fireworks display, spectacular in its intensity but ultimately very brief. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” said a clearly less troubled girl. “I guess I was just mixed up by everything that got dropped on me this morning. Emotions run high, you can’t always be rational. Well, maybe you can.”

“Believe me,” he assured her. “Since the moment you first walked through those doors, rationality has been slipping further and further out of my grasp.”

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Xander couldn’t help but reflect on just how screwed up this day had been. While he unconsciously held the library’s side door open for Willow, his brain was busy going over every single dumb decision from that French dunce cap he’d been wearing to his St. Paddy’s Day time capsule right up to his most recent failure.

They’d crossed off every single name on the list, about half during lunch and the rest from wandering around after school. Obviously nobody knew a darn thing about Giles’ fake cover story, but he’d still gotten a good look and a few words out of every single one.

Most of them he’d ruled out instantly, a blurry picture of the girl from that night already in his mind. He’d been hopeful about the rest, but none of the possible faces had even come close to the voice. It was really starting to drive home the possibility that there was no girl, except for in his head.
Of course, Willow picked up on his mood, if not the real reason for it.

“It’s okay,” she soothed, following him through the stacks into the open area of the library. “Nobody’s gonna blame you for not getting the book back, yet.”

Whizzing inches past his head, an ornate dagger the size of a Bowe knife imbedded itself in the wall right behind him.

“Okay, maybe they do blame you!” squeaked Willow, eyes wide and feet frozen in place.

“Oh my God, Xander!” a frenzied Slayer shrieked, running across the room. “Are you okay!?”

“I’m… fine,” he murmured, waiting for his pulse to drop to more normal levels. “I just wish you’d ask before using me for barber practice.”

“Please,” she huffed, mock annoyed but clearly relieved. “Barbers are old guys with white smocks and moustaches. I’m a hair stylist. Much sexier.”

“You know, I think we might have something here. What if the real reason the vamps are so mad at humanity is that the whole ‘no reflection’ thing means they’ve been paranoid about bad hair days since they were turned? Buffy the Vampire Stylist. It could work. Maybe we put some time into improving your chairside manner a bit first but… Willow?” Xander stopped his spiel to see that his best friend hadn’t moved. “Wills? WILLOW!”

“EEP!” she yelped, then surged forward to latch onto him even tighter than she had that morning.

“This is getting to be a thing with you, isn’t it?” he muttered fondly before carefully prying her off and turning towards his other best friend. “So, what’s with the flying cutlery? Or were you really trying to tell me you don’t like the sideburns?”

“I see your sense of humor… such as it is, remains unscathed,” deadpanned Giles from beside them, though he had a smile for all of them right after. “The, uh, ‘flying cutlery’ you noticed after wandering into our improvised target range wouldn’t have been nearly so problematic if you’d come through the main doors like everyone else.”

“Maybe,” he countered. “But, I’m pretty sure you could walk through any door in any other library in the country and not have to worry about anything deadlier than a papercut. Could just be some British thing I’m not familiar with, I guess.”

“Could be,” he allowed, showing a half-grin, before remembering their last meeting. “I nearly forgot, how did your search go?”

“It didn’t” said Xander, dismally. “No luck at all.”

“Yeah,” Willow agreed, finally speaking up again. “Sorry, Giles. None of the girls we asked knew anything about your book.”

To his credit, Giles managed to catch himself before he asked “What book?” That would’ve been a lovely disaster. Not to mention the fact that he’d long since forgotten the name he’d made up. Gestalt’s Demon Index? Whatever it was, Willow would undoubtedly have it memorized.

“Yes, well…” he prepped another little white lie, to cover his first. “We’ve had some good luck on that particular front. It seems that the book was returned while I was with all of you during your lunch period. To prevent it from happening again, I’ve taken the liberty of moving it someplace much less accessible, at least to the students.”

“Oh,” Willow shrugged. “Well, that’s good, I guess. Sorta wish we’d known that before we spent all that time looking for it, but I guess it all turned out okay.”

“Right…” he agreed, but sent a sympathetic look Xander’s way. “I’m sorry.”

Xander took the look, as well as the apology, for what they were and smiled wistfully at the older gent.

“It’s alright, Giles. What matters is that, if something like this come up again, I think I’ll have a lot better idea of what to look out for.”

Something like understanding passed between the two men. Something that left both of the women with them to feel slightly out of the loop, but not enough that either was willing to mention it. Taking advantage of the sudden silence, Buffy bounded up to her Watcher and stared up at him expectantly.

“So, that was almost an on-the-job accident, huh?” she asked, innocently. “We should probably call it quits early, don’t you think? For insurance purposes?”

“While I rather think our Slayer’s Insurance premiums will survive,” her Watcher answered with a roll of his eyes, “I was about to suggest that you escort Xander and Willow to their homes, seeing as it’s after sunset. Once you’ve finished with that, you can do an abbreviated patrol then end for the day.”

“Or I could take them home and not patrol,” Buffy counter offered. “Maybe get some sleep for once?”
She, of course, knew as well as he did that a Slayer’s metabolism allowed her to function at peak efficiency with only three of hours sleep per night.

“I hardly think that…” he had to stop and berate himself for likely being the first Watcher in a century to be swayed by a pouting Slayer. “Oh hang it all… Take the scenic route home and we’ll call it even.”

“I love my Watcher,” she beamed. “All right, guys. Come with me if you want to live.”

“Bye Giles,” Willow said with a giggle, following Buffy out.

“Later Giles” added Xander, catching up. “Hey, Buff. Who would win in a fight, Slayer or T-1000?”

They were completely out of earshot, even for a Slayer’s superior senses, when a figure stepped out of the shadows between aisles of books. A figure with broad shoulders, a face that many have called angelic, and hair that was in dire need of a Vampire Stylist.

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“That’s not her!”

“Short, blonde, pretty… That’s exactly what Rico said she looked like. You remember Rico, don’t you? The guy who walked into Willy’s with half a stake jammed in his eye socket?”

“I’m telling you it ain’t her!” snarled Andreas, vampiric features only adding to the effect. “I hear the same damn rumors you do, and they say that this Slayer chick only goes out hunting all alone, looking all helpless so she can bait the baby vamps.”

“Did you ever think that, maybe, she’s not hunting right now?” Samuel asked, not even bothering to crouch with his friend in the bushes of the park. “That, maybe, she wasn’t planning on doing anything to anybody not morbidly stupid enough to get in her face?”

“For the last time, that’s not the freaking Slayer!” he hissed, then… well, literally hissed. “What, are you telling me you’re such a little bitch that you’re never going to eat another cute little blonde because she might be this big scary Boogiegirl of the undead?”

“Damn straight,” he replied. “Back when I was alive, I cut red meat completely out of my diet. If it helps me live longer, I got no problem watching what I eat.”

“You know what? Screw this! Screw this and screw YOU!” Andreas spat. “I’m gonna go find Dan and Sally. A couple of real vampires’ll be thrilled to get three teenage hot lunches. I’ll save you some, if I remember.”

Samuel shook his head as his last remaining childe sprinted off in the direction of his two idiot friends. It was just as well. That hot-headed kid was the only thing keeping him in Sunnydale, anyway. California was not the place for a vampire, Hellmouth or no Hellmouth. Seattle, now there’s a vampire town. Cloud cover three hundred days out of the year. The sort of place where a monster could live like a man. But this time, he didn’t care how clingy and demanding they got, he was only siring women. One more childe like Andreas, he was liable to take a short leap onto a long stake.

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“Of course we’re assuming there’s no Kryptonite in the immediate area,” groaned Xander. “That’s pretty much a given. Unless the other guy has Kryptonite-related powers, can outrun Superman long enough to go find some, or can create it out of thin air, Kryptonite is not a factor.”

“Maybe not thin air, but she could turn something else into Kryptonite, couldn’t she?” Willow argued.

“Like a regular rock or something.”

“Okay, one: unless she’s secretly an alien, I’m pretty sure radioactive space rocks are a little out of her league,” he shot back. “And two: even if she did know how to make it, she has to go through this huge song and dance routine before she can do anything, meanwhile we got a guy who’s faster than a speeding bullet. No contest.”

“Alright,” Buffy broke in, acting as unofficial judicator. “I think it’s fair to say that Superman would probably win in a fight against Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother.”

“Thank you,” said Xander, smugly. “Although I will allow that the whole kindly old grandma look might’ve had him hesitating a little. Add in the little cartoon mice, and it’s a grim day in Metropolis.”

“Okay, my turn,” Willow said with a light giggle. “Who would win in a fight between… uh, James Bond and… oh, and Dracula?”

“Dracula, definitely.”

The voice was masculine, deep, and not even remotely Xander’s.

As one, they turned to see three unfamiliar faces staring at them from the mouth of an alley. On the far left against a brick wall, the obvious speaker grinned, greasy dark hair hanging over his eyes and down his back. His coat was long and leather with a black t-shirt underneath, tight black pants below that with way way too many zippers. On the opposite side was a much taller man, hair shaved millimeters from the scalp. A white tank top did nothing to cover his tattooed arms, and oversized pants were barely held on by a black belt covered in metal studs. In between, almost literally hanging between the two boys, was a girl about Willow’s height with long blond bangs and twin pigtails. The sweater she was wearing would’ve been about six sizes two big if she hadn’t cut the bottom part off to hang just below her breasts, exposing her flat stomach. Her micro miniskirt ended inches down her thigh, transitioning to black lace stockings and black army boots.

“What?” asked the one in the coat. “Can’t we play, too?”

“Sorry,” said Buffy, carefully moving between her friends and the new arrivals. “But I’d say we’re fine with just the three of us.”

“Maybe we could teach you some new games?” offered the taller one. “Three guys, three girls. Sounds like a party to me. I bet we could have all kinds of fun.”

“I don’t think we should,” Willow quavered. “I mean, it’s a school night. We should really be getting home?”

“And what about you, tiger?” the girl purred, clearly giving Xander the eye. “Do these little girls speak for you, or are you a big boy? Want to break some rules with me? I promise you won’t regret it.”
She punctuated the promise by sending a come-hither look to him over her shoulder as she slid the sweater down over it, revealing more and more flawless and entirely too pale skin.

“Tempting,” Xander lied… mostly. “But I’m a firm believer in democracy, and we’ve already got two-thirds majority saying ‘no thanks.’ No offence.”

“Maybe I’m not feeling all that democratic right now,” the apparent leader growled, his features appearing to melt into grotesque vampire game face.

“You might wanna back off,” Buffy warned, reaching into her purse. “I’m serious. I’ve got mace.”

The hungry trio laughed, even as the other two vamps showed their true colors. Smiling like Death, Mr. 80’s-Zipper-Pants lunged at his meal… only to get a 20lb. spiked iron ball slammed into the side of his head, knocking him out of the air and off to one side.

“I told him I had mace,” the Slayer mused innocently, the weapon swinging by its chain like a pendulum.

Instead of backing off, both vamps rushed her as one, knocking the weapon from her hand and the purse from off her arm. They all landed in a heap a few feet away, with a pair of kicks from Buffy launching the hungry undead away immediately so she could kick up off of the ground. Unfortunately, she’d put them between her and the weapons that’d spilled out of her handbag and onto the sidewalk. Hand-to-hand would be the order of the evening.

The Chosen One flowed like water from strike to block to strike, moving faster than any human eye could follow. The distinct lack of human eyes in her opponents was not working in her favor. Alone they would’ve been dust in the wind after about five seconds, but two supernaturally powered beings against one was very different and these two seemed to know each other well enough to compensate for the other’s weaknesses.

She ducked a haymaker only to catch an uppercut. Barely stunned, Buffy still managed to miss the tall vamp rushing to get behind her until she was already caught in his choke hold. The lady bloodsucker ran her tongue along her right fang, almost giddy with the anticipation of the kill.

Then she exploded.

Both Slayer and vampire stared, shocked, through the cloud of dust that was once a non-living, non-breathing, creature. Sure, the dusting part was unexpected, but the how of it really had them gawking.
There, about four feet off the ground, was the cherry wood stake Buffy had carved about two weeks ago.

And nothing else.

The stake was floating in mid-air. It dropped with a clatter on the cement a few seconds later. For a second, nobody moved.

Then, Buffy was given a reminder of the fact that blunt force trauma is only an opener in the world of vampire slaying. They tend to get up afterwards, which is just what that first vamp was doing.

Xander watched, terrified, as the vampire climbed shakily to his feet. The entire left side of his face was a mess of burst flesh and bone fragments, but that only accentuated the inhumanly pissed off glare in his remaining eye. In an instant he was on his back, the monster snarling and bleeding above him. Somewhere, Willow screamed.

Instinct had saved his life, bringing his legs up to reinforce his straining arms as the half-mad corpse snapped his fangs open and shut in his rage. A look to the side showed Buffy, who’d seen his predicament but was still tied up with the other vamp. Then, he noticed the stake on the ground between them.

Too far. It was only about five feet away, but it might as well have been a mile. Still, some insane portion of his brain decided to risk it. He threw one arm out, straining towards the weapon, even as the vampire pressed his new advantage. With only three limbs holding the beast back, it was only a matter of time before…

A slap of wood against flesh. Again, everything stopped. Again, human and vampire gaped at the sharpened piece of wood.

Jumped… The stake had jumped right into Xander’s outstretched hand. That was the only way to describe it. Slowly, he brought the stake in front of his face, both he and the vamp staring at it with eyebrows raised and mouths hanging open.

A half second later, it was in the vampire’s ribcage, which turned to dust along with the rest of him.

It’s really best not to lose sight of the bigger picture in situations like these.

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“And the third vampire?” he asked, unflappable British composure still yet to be flapped.

“Ran away,” his charge answered shortly. “Probably just as freaked out as we were by the Mexican jumping stakes! Or did you forget that part?”

“It’s not the sort of thing one forgets, Buffy,” Giles retorted. “My concern is that, by allowing it to escape, it may reveal what happened to others of its kind.”

“Well maybe I’d be a little more worried about somebody ‘revealing’ it if I had any idea what the heck happened out there in the first place!”

“Yeah,” Xander spoke up, looking up from the redhead that’d latched onto him, again. “That was weird, even for us. It was like the stakes had a mind of their own, or something.”

“Actually, I believe that ‘a mind’ just may be at the root of all of this,” said the Watcher, eyes alight with possibilities. “Not within the object, but channeled into the object. Telekinesis… Truly fascinating.”

“Telekinesis?” asked Willow. “You mean somebody moved it with their brain? Um… Giles? Why are you looking at Xander like that?”

“Buffy hadn’t seen the stake before it had already dispatched the first, and Willow had her eyes shut tight for the second,” he explained. “Xander was the only one aware and focused for both instances. Add that to the extreme duress he was under, it fits perfectly.”

“Am I hearing this right,” Xander scoffed. “You’re saying that I have some kind of psychic brain powers?”

“As ironic as that might seem, yes, I am,” the older man smirked. “Do you think you could do it again? Something like this must be given very careful study. This book beside me, can you try to levitate it?”

The look he sent Giles was a clear question of the man’s sanity, but he shrugged and concentrated on the heavy leather volume on the table. He thought about it rising, focused until he felt himself go red and start to sweat. Eventually he let out a breath and shook his head.

“Nada,” he said, vaguely disappointed in his continued lack of superpowers. “Sorry, Giles. I guess it wasn’t me.”

“Not necessarily,” the Watcher contradicted. “It could simply be a matter of having the wrong mindset. If we could find a way to recreate the feelings you experienced that triggered your abilities…”

“‘Recreate the feelings?’” Xander swallowed, nervously. “You mean the feeling of having an angry vampire on top of me trying to eat my face off?”

“I doubt if it would have to be on top of you for the desired effect,” he mused, oblivious to the teen’s growing panic. “Under more controlled circumstances, you’d hardly be in any danger at- OOF!”

The thick book that had previously been on the tabletop was now buried in Giles’ midsection, doubling the man over. It jerked away, hovering for a moment before flying up and crashing back down on the bent man’s skull, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

“Giles!” Buffy rushed to her Watcher’s side, throwing a glare her friend’s way when she got there. “Xander!”

“What? I didn’t do it!” he denied, but thought again. “Did I?”

“It’s, unng, i-it’s quite alright, Xander,” the Brit groaned, head on his Slayer’s lap. “I probably should’ve thought better of that. Fortunately, I seem to have confirmed my original theory.”

He was soon up on his feet with some help from Buffy. She, as well as Willow, seemed to be looking at the young man with a sense of wonder. Giles himself couldn’t help but be slightly awed by the gift Xander apparently possessed.

“So…” he said, slightly uncomfortable at the sudden attention. “What happens now?”

“Several things,” Giles explained. “First and foremost, we must see that this new power is fully under your control. This will involve several meditation exercises I’ll be teaching you, as well as a demanding physical regimen.”

“‘Physical regimen?” Xander echoed, uneasily.

“To further sharpen your focus,” he replied. “Also, if you intend to use your new gift to aid Buffy in her duties, you’ll be expected to know basic self-defense, as well as being in peak physical condition. In fact, Buffy could do with a sparring partner a bit closer to her own age…”

As Xander was beginning to dread his new prospects, Buffy and Willow were discussing the ramifications.

“Xander’s a psychic…” whimpered the rapidly paling redhead.

“I don’t think he’s that kind of psychic, Wils,” Buffy reassured her. “Your naughty daydreams are safe. Anyway, I’m not one-hundred percent sure about all of this. I mean, you know how, when vampires dust, they make a soft little ‘poof’ sound?”

“Yeah,” Willow agreed, not sure what this had to do with anything.

“When that girl vamp dusted,” she began, clearly not sure if she should even voice her suspicions. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I could’ve sworn I heard something else. It sounded like… ‘slut.’”

A moderately shell-shocked Xander walked up before they could discuss it any further. As he grabbed for his bookbag, Willow was reminded of something else.

“Hey, Xand?” she asked. “How much of ‘A Merchant of Venice’ have you read?”

That snapped him out of his daze but, if anything, he looked even more freaked out.

“Still in your locker?”

“Still in my locker,” he confirmed, sighing in defeat as he led them out into the halls.

Quickly, he worked the combination. For the first time in a while, he was looking forward to going home. It had nothing to do with the Chinese food his mom had ordered, it’d be cold by now. No, the day had been that long, and he just wanted to see the end of it. The door swung open, his hand darting out to grab the almost pristine, and unread, copy of the immortal Bard’s work. As he did, he noticed a slip of paper floating out of his locker and coming to rest on the ground. Heart pounding, he faked having to retie his shoes. He managed to palm it without either of his companions noticing, and casually slipped it into his pocket as slammed the metal door shut.

Now he had a better reason to hurry home.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It took him the better part of twenty minutes to work up the courage to dial the number. So many questions, and he wasn’t sure if he could take it if the answers weren’t the ones he wanted. He put the receiver to his ear.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three…

“Hello?”

“Marcie?” he kept himself from shouting, but only barely.

“Yeah, who’s this?” asked the soft voice on the other end. “Xander?”

“Yes!” this time he did shout. “I found your number in my locker. I mean I just found it, like an hour ago. I wasn’t even sure if it was real when you didn’t pick up right away.”

“Sorry, I was in another room,” she said, calmly. “Or did you expect me to wait by the phone until you called?”

“No, nothing like that,” he assured her. “I mean, I’m glad that you picked up at all. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. The day I just had…”

“Oh? Why don’t you tell me about it?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In an empty hallway, barely illuminated by a small flashlight on the ground, a feminine voice could be heard. It asked questions, teased, made all sorts of appropriate sympathetic noises. Of course, anyone who might’ve cared to look wouldn’t have seen a single soul.

Only a lone payphone. It’s receiver off the hook.

Floating.

Author’s Note:
Took me long enough, buy I finally bothered to get chapter two up here at ficwad. Again, it’s almost identical to what you’d find on ff.net, but I’m really only doing this for the sake of upcoming chapters and the content within.

Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated. Long reviews remind me of why I’m doing this in the first place.
May every inch of you feel the sweet blessings, like a piano fallen from thirty stories upon your head.
Blessed be,
-Brother Bludgeon