Pairing: G/Anya, X/Anya, and G/B. My muse hates me.
Disclaimer: Joss owns not me. Sigh....
I'd like to thank everyone who participated in the discussion on the Watcher Girls list about Amnesia Giles' attitude towards women. It gave me the courage to take this scene just the way I wanted to from the beginning.
Part One
A light flicked on, a person yawned in his ear, and he began to waken. He was sitting at a table, his head on the shoulder of a beautiful woman with ash brown hair. He was mortified to see a bit of drool on her, and surreptitiously wiped it off with his hand. His attempt at nonchalance failed, however, and the brunette startled. She frowned at him, and he felt the corners of his own mouth turning down in response. In confusion, he asked, "Hello?" The woman didn't say anything, which was a severe disappointment. Partly because he liked talking to beautiful women, but mostly because this aspect of his personality was the ONLY thing he knew about himself. He had been hoping rather desperately that she knew things about him. Behind the brunette was a well-endowed blonde; perhaps he should question her.
A high-pierced shriek diverted his attention from both of the beautiful strangers. Turning towards the noise, he saw a brown-haired teenage girl scooting across the floor into a corner. She looked terrified. "Who, who are you people?"
A very thin blonde knelt down beside the girl. As he might have predicted, the girl cringed back in terror. Still, the blonde kept at it, gently whispering, "Don't worry."
The girl tried to move even further back into the corner, although there was nowhere for her to go. "Please don't hurt me!"
The emaciated blonde gentled her voice even further. "Oh, it's okay. I don't know anyone here either."
"Yeah?" The teenager was still nervous, but at least she was no longer panicking. "Who are you?"
He learned forward, anxious to hear the answer, though the skinny blonde's look of confusion was hardly comforting. "I, uh...." That was it, then. The two girls didn't seem to know who they were, indicating that he wasn't alone in his predicament. There was obviously a connection here of some kind.
A dark-haired young man that he hadn't noticed earlier scrambled to his feet and diverted his attention. The young man glared at everyone and demanded, "Okay, who are you freaks?"
A gorgeous redhead standing next to the young man gave him a look of hurt confusion. "You don't know me?"
The bloke gave her a steely look. "Not a clue."
The redhead scowled and said, "But you were just all like, 'oh, hey.'"
He smirked. He had just learned something else about himself: he may not know how he normally went about picking up women, but he was quite positive that he could a better job than that. "Oh, hey" indeed! He may not remember ever uttering a single word besides that initial "hello" to the brunette, but somehow he was still certain that he had far more sophisticated seduction skills than that!
Meanwhile, the dark-haired man (or perhaps boy was the more appropriate label) was speaking again. "Yeah, 'cause I thought you were a girl and I'd remember, but..."
Ooh, wrong move, Lothario. He stifled a smile as the redhead grabbed her chest and huffed, "Well, I am a girl! I'm... not sure... who I am exactly, but..."
Black-haired boy was perhaps not as dumb as he seemed, for he reacted by changing the subject, yelling at the top of his lungs to prevent redhead from changing it back. "Okay, why was I on the ground? And why are you all staring at me? Is this some kind of psych test? Am I getting paid for this?"
As interesting as their little melodrama was, he began to think that it was time to do something a bit more productive. Perhaps the skinny blonde had been on the right track, speaking softly and trying to halt the incipient hysteria that seemed to loom in the room. He stood up, and gently turned to black-haired boy. "It's not just you. Does anyone remember anything?" Everyone shook his or her head, and he decided that it was time to try a bit of levity. "Well, maybe we all got... terribly drunk and this is some sort of, uh, blackout." As he spoke, a smile worked its way onto his face and he learned something else about himself: the idea of drinking to the point of unconsciousness didn't appall him at all. That was rather, well, appalling...
A flaw in his logic appeared immediately, however, when the young girl spoke up. "I don't think I drink." She probably didn't. Besides, he didn't feel drunk. He couldn't recall a time that he had ever been drunk, but somehow he knew that it didn't feel this.
The woman next to him spoke up for the first time. "I, I don't see any booze. I don't feel any head bumps. I don't see Allen Funt."
Allen Funt? This was intriguing. The brunette obviously knew somebody, which was more than he could say for himself. He turned to her anxiously and asked, "Who?"
The black-haired boy cut off this potentially productive line of questioning. For no apparent reason, he began chanting, "Okay. I'm not panicking. I'm not. I'm not." He glared at the boy, as did all the women in the room. The black-haired boy flushed. "Stop looking at me like I'm panicking!"
Once again, the skinny blonde proved to be a calming influence. "Hey, hey, take it easy, guy. Okay, no one's hurt, right? And, and none of us look all hatchety-murdery, so... we're probably safe. Here." He found himself nodding approvingly. The blonde may not have much meat on her bones, but she evidently had a good head on her shoulders. He admired her ability to say what needed to be said. Unfortunately, she ruined the effect somewhat when she trailed out uncertainly, "Wherever here is..."
The redhead walked over to a counter, peering curiously around the room as she walked. "Look at this stuff on these shelves. Weird jars of weird stuff." She picked up a heavy volume from the counter and continued, "Weird books with weird covers, like... Magic for Beginners." The redhead's eyes opened comically, and he would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious. "Oh!"
The only person who hadn't spoken yet, the busty blonde (as he labeled her, to distinguish her from the intelligent skinny blonde) that he had noticed earlier, blushed and stammered out, "This is a magic shop. A-a-a real magic shop."
"Well, maybe that's it," the skinny blonde said comfortingly. Perhaps she wasn't as intelligent as he believed. "Maybe something magic happened--"
"Magic," he gasped out, unable to restrain himself. "Magic's all balderdash and chicanery. I'm afraid we don't know a bloody thing." He realized that everyone was staring at him, perhaps because he had now joined the black-haired boy and teen-aged girl in the unhelpful camp. Desperate to find something productive to say, he latched onto a small fact that he had just learned about himself. "Except I seem to be British, don't I? Uh, and a man. With... glasses." Oh, that was invaluable, he thought as he removed the item in question. Feeling like a fool, he muttered, "Well, that narrows it down considerably."
His little outburst brought the girl back to the verge of tears. The teenager turned towards the skinny blonde who had calmed her down before and whimpered, "I don't like this."
"It's okay," the skinny blonde asserted. "Don't worry. We'll take care of each other." Still showing good instincts, the blonde brushed some loose hair back from the girl's face, eliciting a tentative smile from the child.
Determined to do a better job following skinny-blonde's lead, he gave the girl an encouraging smile. "We'll all get our memory back, and it'll all be right as rain."
"Easy for you to say, English guy." Wonderful. Black-haired boy wasn't done panicking. "At least you know you have someone; the rest of us are all alone!"
"What on earth are you talking about," he asked in confusion.
"You have a woman," the boy asserted hotly. "The one you were sleeping with!"
Well, that sounded rather bad, didn't it? "We were simply resting together," he temporized.
He needn't have worried about the brunette's reaction, however, for she held up her hand and yelled in excitement. "Look! It's okay. We're engaged."
Well, that was a rather pleasant thing to find out about himself. When he realized that he couldn't prevent a soppy smile from creeping onto his face, he decided to limit his verbal response to a happy, "Oh."
His fiancée smiled back at him. "It's a lovely ring."
"I guess it'd have to be," black-haired boy piped up nastily, "considering the fact that you are half his age. I mean, why else would a beautiful girl like you agree to marry an old guy like him?"
His fiancée beamed happily. "Beautiful?"
"Old?" he demanded hotly. "You little twerp, I'm young enough to still get carded." Of course, he had no idea if that was true, considering the fact that there was no mirror in the room and he didn't know what he looked like. Still, he didn't feel old...
He may have missed the implications of his last statement, but luckily the redhead did not. "Carded," she exclaimed with great excitement. "Driver's licenses!"
He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a black leather wallet. The first thing he noticed when he opened it was a picture of the skinny blonde girl. Shouldn't that spot be reserved for his fiancée? Determined to figure out what that meant later (preferably much later), he wrenched his attention back to the task at hand. He soon found a California driver's license and a resident alien card. He studied the two pictures, and determined that his instinct was correct. He wasn't excessively old. He had a rather serviceable face, in fact.
"It's me!" He looked up in surprise, his musings interrupted by the black-haired boy. "'Alexander Harris.' Cute picture. Hey, I exist."
The black-haired boy, Alexander, had barely finished talking when the redhead spoke up. "I'm Willow Rosenberg. Heh, Willow. Funny name."
The two young people reminded him that he was supposed to be finding out his name, not looking at pictures of himself and his loved ones. Not that the skinny blonde qualified as a loved one, of course. Not if he was engaged... He jerked his mind back to the business at hand, and looked again at his resident alien card. Rupert Giles. Rupert. What a horrid name! Conversation continued around him while he tried to process the fact that he was a man named Rupert. He rejoined reality when he realized that the skinny blonde was speaking again.
"--ry. Me neither. But here, look." The blonde reached over towards the teenager and grabbed a charm from the girl's necklace. "You're Dawn."
The girl, Dawn, gave a charming smile. "Or, Umad."
He was certain that his fiancée hadn't spoken yet, but it appeared that the two blondes had identified themselves while he was preoccupied. He would have to get their names later. In the meantime, it was time to confess his embarrassing secret. "I'm, uh, called Rupert Giles."
He expected to be mocked for this announcement, but the only reaction came from his fiancée. She gave him an amazingly sweet smile and crooned, "Rupert." Lord, what a wonderful woman! He had obviously made an excellent decision when he asked her to marry him. She must have felt his eyes upon her, for she smiled at him again while she self-consciously played with a chain around her neck.
Rupert's attention was abruptly yanked away. "Oh, hey," shouted the redhead, Willow. "I have a name on my jacket. Harris."
"Harris," exclaimed Alexander in surprise. "That's my last name. Maybe I have a brother and you go out with him. Or maybe you go out with me." Rupert was amused by the fact that Alexander was still trying to make time with the young woman.
"Well," Willow drawled, "we did wake up all snuggly-wuggly. Maybe you're my boyfriend."
"Either that, or I got one pissed-off brother out there somewhere," Alexander joked. The two young people grinned at each other, and Rupert wondered whether the black-haired boy's "oh hey" had been an effective pick-up line after all.
Rupert's errant thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shout from his fiancée. "I'm Anya! Um, this key fits this lock. And, uh, the forms... next to the cash register say that, uh, Rupert and, and Anya own the shop together."
"This is our magic shop?" Rupert was frankly shocked. He owned a magic shop?!? Rupert walked over to Anya, wanting to see the proof for himself. Sure enough, he, Rupert Giles, was a co-owner of The Magic Box, purveyor of balderdash and chicanery. "Uh, well, that's very, uh, uh, progressive of me."
The teenager, Dawn (or possibly Umad) turned to the skinny blonde. "So you don't have a name?" He must have missed that fact earlier.
"Of course I do," the skinny blonde said comfortingly. "I just don't happen to know it."
This made Dawn smile for the first time since they had awoken. "You want me to name you?"
"Oh, that's sweet," the blonde said, "but I think I can name myself. I'll name me... Joan."
Dawn made a horrible face and grunted, "Ugh!"
"What," demanded Joan. "Did you just 'ugh' my name?"
"No," the teenager insisted untruthfully. "I just... I mean, it's so blah. Joan?"
Fingers dancing along his neck reminded Rupert that he had a fiancée. A beautiful, brunette named Anya. Who was now running her fingers through his hair. Ignoring the spat over Joan's name, Rupert smiled shyly at Anya. She gave him a smoldering look that went straight to his groin, and made him wonder why the two of them were still in their shop. Other than the fact that he didn't have a clue where their home might be...
Joan was speaking to the entire group now, not just Dawn. Rupert reminded himself that Joan had demonstrated leadership skills and a level head, and he really should pay attention to her. "–need to figure out what's going on. We need to get help." See, she was being sensible. The sensible thing for him to do would be to ignore the small hand stroking his arm and concentrate upon the problem at hand. For the time being, anyway... "We have a kid here-"
"A teenager," Dawn interrupted hotly.
"A teenager," Joan conceded gracefully. "And we have no idea what's wrong with us. I think a hospital's our best bet."
Anya was now pulling gently at his clothes, and Rupert wondered how long he could possibly remain sensible. He'd best get moving--and away from Anya's distracting fingers--while he was still able to do so. "Uh, yes, let's, um, let's head out." And get the visit to the hospital over as soon as possible.
"But I don't want to leave the shop," Anya protested. "I have to stay here and protect the cash register."
Rupert stared at her. Apparently, he had committed himself to marrying a woman who was insane. Rupert pulled a large set of keys out of his front pocket and took a deep breath. In a deliberately gentle voice, he said, "We will, of course, lock the shop up before we go. The cash register will be perfectly safe."
"Oh, well, that's alright then!" Anya gave him a dazzlingly bright smile, and Rupert decided that must be why he put up with her somewhat skewed priorities. "Let's go then!"
As Anya enthusiastically bounded up the steps, Joan once again showed an admirable ability to get down to practicalities. "Any suggestions on how we're gonna get there?" When no one said anything for a moment, Joan turned to Anya. "When you were behind the counter, did you see any phone books? Perhaps we should call a taxi company or something? Two cabs should be enough to get us all there, I would imagine."
It only took a few minutes to find a phone book and call for two taxis. They were now forced to sit down and wait for the cabs to arrive. Anya began massaging his thigh underneath the table, and Rupert wondered whether he should grab her hand and place it on the table, or whether he should grab her hand and force it to stay still right where it was. He resolved to grab her hand first, and then decide where to position it, but Willow forestalled this plan. "So, Rupert," began the stunning redhead. "How do you suppose you got into the magic biz?"
"Uh, I have no idea." Willow blushed, presumably because she had just realized what an inane question that was. Rupert felt badly for her. Hoping to reduce her embarrassment, he added, "Per- perhaps, I mean, presumably, I have some affinity for, um, magic."
"No, I don't think so," his fiancée stated firmly. "I bet you're more of the paperwork guy."
Although he was still uncertain that magic actually existed, Rupert felt quite affronted by this blunt statement. "I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, it's alright," she hastened to assure him. "I don't mind, really. There's no reason to apologize!"
"You've misunderstood me," he said tightly. "I want you to explain to me why you feel I am only useful in an administrative capacity."
"It's just, um... my intuition tells me that you aren't the magic guy." Rupert stared at her, and Anya rushed to explain. "I figure being a magic shop owner and a natural at the supernatural, I should trust my intuition."
"And what does your intuition tell you that I bring to our partnership," he asked stuffily.
"That's easy," Anya answered brightly. "You're ruggedly handsome."
Rupert's annoyance abruptly melted away, disarmed by her sweetness. Anya was blunt to the point of rudeness, but was also entirely charming. Rupert wouldn't have guessed that he was the sort of man to fall in love with a woman simply because she was adorable, but apparently he was. He smiled at her, and swore to himself that he would be more tolerant of her in the future. "Really? That's, uh–"
A car, honking loudly and obnoxiously from the street, ended their conversation. Joan once again took charge, dividing their group between the two taxis and directing the drivers to take them to the hospital. She seemed determined to find answers, and Rupert found himself trusting in her ability to do so. He admired her confidence and her leadership ability. But that wasn't all he felt. To his horror, Rupert realized that he found Joan extremely attractive as well.
The blonde was much thinner than Anya was, but the intelligence and spirit she had shown thus far were every bit as arousing as Anya's gentle touch and bright enthusiasm. The Englishman's mind briefly flashed upon the photograph of Joan that he had found in his wallet. Once again, Rupert wondered about the significance of that picture. He only followed this line of thought for the briefest of moments, but it was enough to trigger terrible feelings of guilt. He was engaged, damnit, and he had no business thinking about anyone other than his fiancée. And why would he want to, anyway? After all, he never would have asked Anya to marry him if he didn't love her, or if he was in love with somebody else. At least, Rupert didn't believe that he would ever have done such a thing...
Somehow, Rupert knew that no matter how many answers they found at the hospital, he was never going to understand his life until he got his memory back.