Chapter 6

The Little Choo Choo That Can

(Maybe. Kinda. Sorta.)

The Bronze hasn't changed at all, which is kinda comforting. Except it feels bigger. Everything feels bigger to me now. The fact it is the middle of the day and The Bronze is empty and silent is only making it feel bigger, adding to my incredible shrinking woman vibe.

"Okay Alexandra, here are your documents back." The manager says, she places each one down in front of me, one by one. I gather them up in a sweep and stuff them into my satchel, incase she changes her mind and wants to check their authenticity. Again.

Willow came through.

"They good?" I say, nervously. "I mean, words, are they all good? All go through okay?"

The woman tips her black rimmed glasses down her nose and gives me another once over. I guess she is in her forties, but has a rather ageless complexion with light caramel skin (Buffy has me reading about such things as complexions now) so it is kinda hard to tell. She seems unconcerned by the grey working its way through the spray of tight black curls about her head. Spray of curls? Listen to me… I need to cut back on Buffy magazines.

"So, Alexandra is it?"

"Uh… yes. Still. It is. My name. That, is mine."

"I mean, sounds rather formal."

"Oh, my friends call be Xander. Dra. Xandra."

"Nope. No. No good, we have a Sandra of staff. Gonna be messy. Is Alex okay or Lexi or something like that?" She waves a hand dismissively.

"Alex is… fine."

"Alex with an 'E' or some weird assed Californian spelling?"

"Five Qs and a B." I say, but get no response. "E is fine."

"Well then Alex with an E. Let's keep things clear. No screwing the staff. No screwing the bouncers and absolutely no screwing my dear ex husband Kent, who, thanks to a rather shit divorce lawyer, happens to still co own this fine establishment with me. Believe me, the latter is for your own good but honestly girl if you do screw him, I will be forced to fire you for sheer incompetence and utter lack of self respect. No free drinks to friends, 10 percent staff discount and, I can't believe I have to say this, but here we are… If I find you engaging in any unlawful organ trading from this establishment it is firing on the spot. Don't ask."

"So lawful organ trading is okay?"

"Welcome to the team Alex. We are all a big family here, so… I am sure we will all thoroughly dislike-yet-tolerate each other in no time. The benefit of this family is we don't have to endure Thanksgiving. Hallelujah."

"Thanks Maggie." I sigh with relief. "I won't let you down." She taps together some paperwork on the bar and rises.

"Alex, my dear girl, you have no idea how low my bar of disappointment is set, but I appreciate the effort. Best go put something cool yet slutty on, you start in four hours."

And with that bombshell dropped, Maggie Mott, co-owner of The Bronze and my shiny new employer, (heaven help us both), left me to silently scream.


Bang, Bang, Bang.

It is… oooooh, 'remind me to buy a clock' o'clock and my motel room is close to pitch black. I was dreaming, I think, but whatever or wherever I was eludes me.

My heart is hammering and I swear I- heard-

There is a knock at the door. Hesitant, but definitely not imagined.

Shit.

I am still partially clothed where I fell exhausted, and my face is matted with what I hope is my own spittle, so hastily arrange myself to… I dunno… some level of decency. Honestly, I am not that concerned by how I look, rather if the wooden cross I scramble for will work on whatever is behind the door.

It knocks again.

"Xander? Xan? Uh… Xandra? Shit." I hear Buffy's voice, but, well, that doesn't calm my fear. Fool me once or, yunno, twice. I open the door cautiously to find a pale faced Slayer, slumped against the railing. She is bleeding heavily from the arm.

"M'gonna…" she manages, before her eyes roll back and she slumps across the threshold, into my arms. I manage more of a cushioning role than a catch, but either way, I guide her down to the ground and kick the door shut.

"Oh Buff, what have they done to you?"

Under the blood, her body has already started to heal, which is not always a good thing, so I hurry to assess the damage. Buffy's shoulder is dislocated, and judging by all the glass imbedded in her, I would say she seems to have opened a window that doesn't usually open.

As useless as they all make me feel, field dressing is something I can do. Of course I have a well stocked med kit. It's a Scooby 101 kind a deal.

As I make swift work of her wounds, I realise that my short, fine fingers are making the work go much quicker. Huh.

"Xan" she mumbles breathily as her Slayer healing kicks her back into the land of the living. "Shoulder… hurts."

"Gonna hurt worse. Gotta pop you again." I lever her arm into position "Ready for the old one-two-three?"

"You never go on threeaaaaaahhhhhhson of a bitchin' bitch."

"Hey, I went on three that time." Buffy punches her bloodied fist onto the floor a few times as she rides out the pain.

"Well, there goes Gile's bond." I sigh, and pull her onto my lap. She curls up, groaning, and I brush her hair back into some semblance of human.

"Ooo, how was your first day at the job?" She mumbles from somewhere near my knee. I laugh. Suddenly, the gruelling hours behind the bar of The Bronze seem trivial to me now.

Buffy's job is way, way worse.