October 1997
Buffy surprised Wesley by showing up at his apartment for their first post-Kakistos patrol wearing trainers, black jogging trousers, and a simple, dark green fitted shirt. It was precisely the sort of outfit he'd been encouraging her to wear for nearly six months -- her usual short skirts, high heels, and flimsy tops were impractical for combat and went against every single rule in the dress code section of the Slayer's Handbook. But he'd given up all hope of persuading her to change her mind when she'd used that hair accessory as an emergency stake.
As he opened his mouth to express his approval, Buffy held up a hand to silence him. "Not. A. Word." She stepped past him into his apartment and dropped her weapons bag on the floor. "And don't get too excited, this is strictly a patrol-only look. I almost twisted an ankle carrying you to the hospital, and New York is really not mini-skirt-friendly. Made me re-evaluate some of that fashion versus function stuff you always go on about. Besides," she shrugged, pulling at the bottom of the top, "it's not like I'm Miss Popular anymore, I don't really have to worry what the kids at school would think if they saw me like this."
"Buffy, I think you look wonderful." She raised an eyebrow. "Really! It's quite a, uh, classic look, simple lines and all. The green, erm, brings out your eyes," he finished limply.
"You're a sucky liar, but thanks for trying," she smiled.
He hadn't been lying at all, actually. Her hair hung loose, framing her face, and the muted outfit made her look older than her sixteen years.
When he realized he'd been staring at her just a tick too long, Wesley cleared his throat. "Yes, well, we'd best get a move on. We are on a bit of a timeline."
***
Buffy waited for the A train to finish zipping past before casting a glance over her shoulder. When the subway booth attendant was looking the other direction, she jumped onto the tracks, carefully avoiding the electrified third rail.
"C'mon, Wes, another train'll be here in, like, fifteen minutes."
"I've got it...why are you holding my foot?"
"Because you're this close to getting yourself fried crispy."
"Ah." Wesley dropped onto the rails beside Buffy and pulled the broadsword from under his jacket. "Do you sense anything?"
"Only a giant sense of disgust. Look at the stuff people throw down here! Is that a wig?"
"Possibly not," Wesley said.
"Eew."
"Shh, I hear someone coming."
Two girls, drunk and laughing, clattered through the turnstile and into the subway stop proper. Wesley put his finger to his lips and guided Buffy further into the subway tunnel. When they were far enough away from the stop, he turned on his torch.
"Now, the Council's sources said the vampire nest is between 23rd and 14th, so it should be...." A growl came from his left. "Somewhere around here."
"Wesley, look out!"
Using one of the steel girders as an anchor, Buffy kicked up and knocked the vampire to the ground. The vampire's hand brushed the third rail, but he only laughed and sprang back onto his feet. Wesley swung his sword and decapitated the vampire from behind.
"One down," Buffy said, as three more crawled out from the service tunnel.
"The blonde chick's mine," the tall, beefy vampire said, grinning.
"And their blonde chick is yours, Wes," Buffy said, launching herself towards the two male vampires.
The short female vampire was surprisingly quick, and before Wesley knew what was happening, his sword had skittered down the rails and he was dangling inches above the third rail. Not given much choice, Wesley took a risk and brought his legs up and over her, using his momentum to swing around and push her onto the rails instead. Before she could recover, Wesley had his sword in hand, and as soon as she was clear of the electrified rail, he lopped her head off.
Buffy had already dispatched the two vampires and was finishing up with one who'd shown up at the last minute. His heart was thudding, but Wesley had never felt better. None of the Watcher's books had managed to accurately describe the feeling that comes when you actually win a fight. The adrenaline, yes, but much more, something primal, something--
"Earth to Wesley!" Buffy waved her hand in front of his face and he blinked. "Yeesh, fine, zone out while I'm slaying," she grumped.
"Ah, sorry. Are we done here?"
"Yeah, we're good."
Wesley slung the sword over his shoulder and followed Buffy back towards the station. Buffy turned around, looked at Wesley, and laughed.
"Uh, you might wanna check the battle gear. For some reason, subway riders get nervous when people with swords climb up from the tracks."
***
Buffy groaned and slumped over the desk, burying her head in her arms.
"We-e-e-esle-e-ey!" she yelled, drawing his name out as long as she could.
From the other room, she heard two distinct crashes, followed by a muffled swear and hurried footsteps.
"What is it? Are you all right?"
Buffy turned her head and squinted at him. "You're being really loud. Can't you polish your swords later? I can't concentrate on my homework with all that noise."
Wesley crossed his arms. "Well, pardon me for making a racket in my own home. Which begs the question, why are you doing your studies in my apartment instead of your own or, heaven forbid, a library?"
"Ugh." She wrinkled her nose. "I hate libraries. Besides, I like it over here. But this homework is totally kicking my ass." Buffy sighed. "God, I suck at this stuff."
Putting aside the dagger he was holding, Wesley walked over and grabbed a milk crate to sit on. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Maybe. We have to analyze this poem." Buffy sat up with a stretch and pushed her book towards to him.
"Ah, 'Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening.' Can't say I care for Frost -- dreadfully cloying fellow, really -- but it's a classic."
"Yeah, thrill a minute. Blah blah blah, it's snowing. Blah blah, my horse thinks I'm crazy. Blah, I need to sleep. Blah."
Wesley chuckled. "There's more to it than that. Just step back for a moment, look beyond words. Do you see anything else?"
Buffy leaned forward, letting the words flit through her mind. Darkest evening...downy flake...promises...miles to go before I sleep....
"It...."
"Yes?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe...it sounds like he wants to retire? Rest?"
"Good. You're getting warm. Here...." Wesley grabbed her hand in his, lightly running their fingers over the words. The goosebumps covering her arms seemed to say all her body heat had been drawn to her hand. "Notice the way the verses lull, then carry you forward." Buffy let his voice wash over her, softly rising and falling with the verse. "'The only other sound's the sweep, of easy wind and downy flake ....'"
She took a deep breath and finished the ending. "'The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.'" Buffy shook her head and smiled sadly. "I get it."
"You do."
"Yeah." She sighed. "Wow. It's about suicide, isn't it?"
Wesley nodded. "Yes. Or, well, that's one interpretation, at least. Mr. Frost has been known to vehemently deny it. But yes, the seduction of suicide."
"Wow," she repeated. "God, I feel so bad for this guy, now. To have nothing to live for like that...." They remained silent for a few minutes, just looking at the poem. Finally, Buffy cleared her throat. "Well, thanks for helping me with this. Sorry it got so depressing."
"Think nothing of it," Wesley smiled. "I know what will help."
"Ooh, Thai food?"
"Yes. And...."
"A movie?"
"Devil's Advocate!"
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "You sure you don't mean some weirdo foreign film? La Vaca Fromage Numero Trois?"
"And miss Al Pacino as Satan? Not on your life. Interested?"
"You kidding? Hello, Keanu Reeves!"
Wesley stood up, grabbed his coat, and headed to the door. Buffy looked back at the poem once more before following.
***
Note: The poem quoted in this chapter is Robert Frost's "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening," and the interpretation Wesley gave Buffy is only one of many possible readings.
Up next: Chapter 6 - Hyde and Seek