March 1997
"The most important thing, of course, is to never take your eyes off your opponent. Now, you're going to come at me with a series of...um...." Wesley made a small kicking motion. "And a few...er...." Swatted at the air.
Buffy smirked. "They teach you those fancy fightin' terms in Sconesville?"
"Hmph. I may not know the precise terms, but I have gone through the requisite Watcher training, which includes a difficult physical regime. Now, if you'll be so kind."
"Got it. Make a few...." She kicked at the air and made a few halfhearted pawing motions.
As Wesley avoided Buffy's punches and kicks, things began making sense for him again. Yesterday, seeing Buffy look so defeated in the store, he'd almost forgotten what he'd spent the past ten years learning in Watcher's training -- that the Slayer is a tool in the war against evil. He'd confused her with a scared little girl and, scared little girl though she may be, she was a soldier first and foremost. And the inevitable outcome of any war is that soldiers will die. Which is why the Watchers were taught to stay detached. Having let his mind wander, Wesley was taken by surprise when Buffy let out a roundhouse kick, and he went flying into the concrete wall of the downtown training room generously provided by the Council.
"Oops, sorry!" She ran over and helped him up. "I'm really, really, really sorry! Are you okay?"
Wesley picked up his glasses and shook his head. Just a soldier. Right.
April 1997
They'd been training for two weeks. It hadn't taken long for Buffy to get into the swing of things. Okay, she still wasn't happy about being Secret Identity Gal again. But Wesley sometimes made training fun. Sometimes. On days he forgot to put the giant stick in his butt. Anyway, he wasn't so bad, really. Almost cute, in a Pierce Brosnan-y way. Especially when he smiled.
So Buffy couldn't help but giggle when his apartment door swung open before she could knock, revealing Wesley with a small, black valise and a toothy grin.
"Well, Buffy...the time has come."
She raised an eyebrow. "The walrus said?"
"To speak of many things. Tonight, we cease our dry runs and move into the field. Tonight...we will slay actual vampires!"
He looked so excited. Buffy couldn't bring herself to remind him that she'd both been there, done that, and burned the tee-shirt that came with. She just smiled and followed him to the Bronx.
"Are you gonna wait out here?" she asked, looking up at the small, abandoned building he'd brought her to. She checked the spring on her crossbow before strapping it to her back and readying her stake.
"Certainly not! I wouldn't have you in your first combat situation in months completely alone if it weren't necessary, which it is not."
"Oh. Well, I mean, I feel ready to kick vamp ass if you want to stay out here...." Her first Watcher hadn't been in the best shape, but he'd held his own in fights. From the little Buffy had seen in training, she'd decided Wesley might be safer outside of the fray.
"Nonsense. Are you ready?" He pulled out his ax.
Buffy took a deep breath. "Let's go."
The first vampire came from behind them as they entered the building. Wesley let out a shriek as it pushed him aside and attacked Buffy, who turned around and easily staked him. She smiled -- her body hadn't forgotten a thing. But she couldn't gloat long because there were two more vampires coming towards her, so she helped Wesley up and took another deep breath before launching herself at them.
***
"Ow."
Buffy helped Wesley into his dingy Christopher Street apartment and settled him into the overstuffed armchair by the door. As she returned from the kitchen with medical supplies, she had trouble suppressing a giggle.
"Must I even ask what you're laughing at?" he sighed as she started to clean the cut on his cheek.
"I'm sorry." She giggled again.
"Your regret is abundantly clear."
"Well, you kinda got whipped!"
"Yes, well, we can't all have Slayer strength, can we?" He shifted in the seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, off his sore ribs. "Nevertheless, for my first combat in uncontrolled circumstances, I'd say I fared rather well. Although perhaps I was overly ambitious in going to a nest on our first outing."
"Nah." Buffy handed him an ice pack for the plum bruise already spreading over his forehead. "We did fine. Dusted all but that gross vamp with the long blonde dreads. But maybe you should start letting me train you. I do have that Slayer strength and all."
"Now wait just a moment," Wesley scoffed. "I have fine fighting technique, and more importantly, I am your Watcher. I've so far given you some leeway because you've had a trying few months, but there is still protocol to adhere to, and that includes me training you."
"Lot of good it'll do you, me, or the Council if you get killed."
"There's no reason to assume the worst."
Buffy jammed the toe of her boot into the blue shag carpeting. "Merrick, my last Watcher, died. I had to watch him die."
Wesley ducked his head to avoid her hard stare at him.
Buffy crossed her arms. "I'm not going to watch you die. I don't care what you write in your journal, what you report back to the home planet, but you're gonna suck it up and let me help you, so that I don't have to watch someone I like die again. Got it?"
After several moments of silence, Wesley raised his head and met Buffy's eyes. "On one condition."
"What?"
"Allow me to teach you Latin."
"Latin? Why would I--"
"A Slayer needs to know more than simple fighting techniques. Eventually, I'd like you to know assorted demon species, weaponry, rudimentary magic. But for now, I'll settle for Latin which will, in the very least, aid in your studying the aforementioned subjects." Wesley leaned back and waited for Buffy's answer.
"Okay, I'm in. Hey, I'd better go. Mom thinks I'm studying, so I can't be too late." Buffy grabbed her backpack and jacket, then bent down and pushed Wesley's hand from his forehead to look at it. "How you feeling?"
"Better, now." He smiled. "Be here tomorrow at four p.m.?"
Buffy nodded. "Four p.m."
***
Four p.m. came and went with no Buffy in sight. Wesley panicked as his mind went over the countless scenarios that added up to Buffy being dead. Buffy dead in a gutter, Buffy dead in a trash bin, Buffy dead on the subway tracks. His father's disapproving glare when he heard how his son had failed the Slayer. The door swinging open at six caused Wesley to drop the book he'd been absently staring at for the past several minutes. As soon as he realized Buffy had no visible injuries, his relief quickly dissolved into anger.
"Sorry I'm late," she smiled brightly, oblivious to Wesley's glowering, "I went to the mall with some girls from chemistry. I totally spazzed out and lost track of time."
"I had no way of reaching you to make sure you were safe! This is simply unacceptable," he said in clipped tones. "Your training must always be your primary concern over leisure activities. Besides which, I see no point in you forging bonds with classmates when the Slayer handbook clearly states that the Slayer is to remain as socially untethered as possible."
Buffy flopped into the armchair and rolled her eyes. "Hey, I agreed to play good Slayer for you. I train instead of cheerleading, I lie to my mother...you can't seriously expect me to be a social leper too."
"Which is why I reluctantly consented to allow you to remain in public school instead of the customary tutoring a Slayer receives." As Buffy glared at him, Wesley decided to try a different approach. He kneeled beside her, his hand on her knee, and spoke as gently as he knew how. "It's difficult enough to conceal your identity from your mother. Keeping it from the large social circle you'd undoubtedly accrue would be nearly impossible. And once people find out you're the Slayer, the demon population will find out, and you and everyone you care for will be in grave danger." Her expression softened somewhat, so he pressed on. "How often did you come close to getting hurt on patrol in LA? Would you be able to assure a friend's safety as well as your own?" Buffy shook her head. "So you understand that my intent is not to be cruel, but to keep you and any potential friends of yours safe?"
"Yeah. I get it." Buffy sighed. "But that doesn't make it any easier."
"I know."
***
The subway ride back to her apartment took an eternity. Every time Buffy saw a group of giggling girls, or a boyfriend and girlfriend snuggling, she cringed slightly. This sucks. This massively and completely sucks.
"Buffy, you're almost an hour late," her mom chided as Buffy shrugged off her coat.
"Sorry, got caught up in studying."
"Well, I think you're overworking yourself. You look run-down. Maybe this weekend you can find some classmates to go to the mall with?"
Buffy smiled wanly. "Yeah. Maybe. So how's work going at the Met?"
"Oh, Buffy, it's amazing! To be so close to all these unbelievable works of art!" Joyce handed Buffy a glass of orange juice and led her into their tiny living room. "The only real drawback is the amount of work compared to the gallery in California. In fact, speaking of run-down, I'm going to the doctor tomorrow to see if he can tell me why I've felt so tired lately."
"Oh, no, mom, are you okay?"
"I'm sure it's nothing," she waved her hand dismissively and smiled. "I'm more worried about you. But things will be better here, won't they? I mean, your new school hasn't called me or anything, so all the badness is behind us?"
Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but smiled at her mother. "No worries."
Up next: Chapter 3 - Resident Aliens