Episode 4

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:  At long last, the next installment.  I apologize in advance for it sucking.

Episode 4

Beside Myself

"We are the hero of our own story."

—Mary McCarthy

            Winter in southern California was basically summer anywhere else, and that was the way I liked it.  I had to admit, it felt good to be back, even under current circumstances. 

            The wind picked up slightly, carrying the sent of soft earth, coming spring, and other things.  I looked east, facing the incoming wind.  Gravestones were peppered in between massive crypts, a perfect hiding place.  Well, two could play that game.  The tree whose branches were currently harboring me was directly west of the graveyard, featuring a fantastic elevated view of the enemy territory.  Oh, and it was conveniently downwind of anything lurky in nature.

            It was actually turning out to be a boring evening.  Dang.  Yes, it had all the earmarkings of One-Of-Those-Nights, were I'll wish I had just gone to bed early.

            Eventually, movement caught my interest.  I froze every muscle in my body, thinking quiet.  Then I loosened up, recognizing my face.  While I skulked in the tree, I was also strolling amongst the graves, doing a lame job of looking harmless.

            Yup, tonight was going to suck.

            Just who did she think she was fooling?  By now, just about every resident vampire in Sunnydale would have to know about a blonde Slayer running around.  Only the newbies or the deeply stupid would not be circumspect.  No sooner then I had thought this, one of the afore mentioned morons/tourists assaulted Cheap Rip-Off Me and was swiftly dispatched.

            Enter Broody Boy.  My doppelganger grins like a maniac and says something.  "Oh, Angel," I dubbed in, "I'm so glad you came.  If you hadn't shown up soon, I might have done untold crazy things like, I  don't know, get a life outside of you!"

            I switched to a deeper voice for Batman.  "I know.  I guess that's one on the benefits of dating someone who acts like he's surgically attached to your ass."

            "You're right!  It's like having an overgrown puppy that ceaselessly follows you around, only I can have sex with you."

            At this point, they began to suck face, and I desperately wished I had thought to bring along a spoon to gag myself with.  In my best bimbo voice: "Ah!  Ah!  I'm choking on your tongue!"

            I heard laughter behind me.  I turned around to see him and couldn't help but give Spike the exact same look my clone just gave Angel.  "Hey."

            "Having fun?"

            "Very much so.  I mean, it's not like it's hard.  They're easy targets."

            He agilely climbed up and sat on a nearby branch.  Our two little lust birds were still making out, her hands running through his hair.  Spike put on an overly low voice very similar to the one I had done.  "Oh, now you've done it.  And after I used a whole bottle of gel to get it this way!"

            It was difficult to tell at this distance, but it appeared they were taking a break while still invading each other's personal bubble.  "Oh, just take me, you virile, Blade-wannabe, you!"

            "Sure thing, Baby.  So, will it be my Batcave, or your Fortress of Solitude?"

            "Wasn't it Superman that had the Fortress of Solitude?" I asked.

            He shrugged.  "I didn't know where Wonder Woman hung out, so I improvised.  It's not as if I make a habit of reading comic books."

            I sighed and gracefully dropped out of the tree.  He did the same.  "God, I can't believe we're the same person in a freaky, Twilight Zone kinda way.  What does she see in him?"

            "Wish I knew.  On the bright side, everyone else has to be saying the exact same thing about us, and—as you well know—irritating the Scoobies is my absolute favorite pastime."

            "Yeah," I said, but I knew him well enough to read between the lines.  He was wondering the same thing himself.

            "You can stay with us until you get your own place," she said.  "Or you can stay with us indefinitely.  I'm sure it'd be OK with my… I mean, our mom."

            It was a neatly kept house in a nice neighborhood, but it wasn't home.  It might have well been on Mars.  "That won't be necessary.  Giles pays pretty well, so it shouldn't be hard to find someplace nice." 

            She nodded and skipped up to the porch.  "Yeah, there are a lot of nice apartment places in town.  Since it looks like we've got four other friends in your same situation, maybe you guys can look together."  She opened the door, which had been left unlocked, probably in anticipation of our arrival.  "We're here!"

            A brown-headed girl about fourteen walked up.  "Wow.  Are you like from an alternate universe or something?"

            "Who the heck is that?"

            Buffy looked at bit shaken.  "She's our sister, Dawn."  To the girl, she said, "Dawn, this is, er…"  She looked at me.  "This could get confusing."

            "Oh, we passed confusing about three miles back," I said.

            "Yeah, think about it," Dawn said.  "Someone walks into a room and asks for Buffy.  Which one?  We'll have to call you something else."

            "How about Anne?" Buffy suggested.  "It's still technically your name."

            Things were moving too fast.  "Why am I the one that has to change my name?"

            I didn't get an opportunity to argue further, because their mother came in.  Joyce had a baking apron on which was coated with flour, along with her hands.  "Oh, hi.  I was hoping to be done before you got here, but unfortunately the cake is in critical condition and will be lucky to survive."

            I opened my mouth to say something, then shut it.  I should have known what an extraordinarily bad idea it was to come here.  "I'm sure it'll be great."

            The rest of the evening went much the same way: everyone being excessively nice and calling me Anne.  I was too weirded out to complain. 

            The cake was good.  Chocolate and cinnamon something.

            Afterwards I got the twenty five cent tour, ending with 'my room.'  It was actually an office with an inflatable bed and pieces of ugly art adorning the walls.  It was obvious that this Joyce Summers had lived out her dream of being an art dealer.  I thanked them for their hospitality, and after several minutes telling them that trandimensional time traveling was exhausting and I needed rest, they finally conceded defeat and left me alone. 

            To my credit, I did wait at least five minutes before opening the window and escaping into the tree.  I wandered around town for what seemed like hours.  The main street was still crowed with shoppers, even though it was late.  The area around the theater was particularly busy with the couples leaving the movies for the coffee shop across the street.  One couple even meandered into Giles' store and I made sure to hide my face as I walked pass.  I didn't want my hosts to find out that I ditched them.

            Finally I found myself parked on a swing in a deserted playground.  I let my feet dangle beneath me, before kicking a small rock across the jungle gym and into the sandbox.  "God, what am I doing here?"

            "Looks to me like you're kicking around innocent rocks."

            I turned around and glared.  "Oh, it's you."

            Spike walked up and looked down at me.  "What kind of greeting is that?"

            "It's not one.  What do you want?"

            Spike sighed and sat down on the swing next to me.  "To get you to a rage management class, quick.  First you go around beating up and killing poor wangers like me, then you go out and kick around a few rocks.  Where will it end?"

            "You're a vampire."  Believe me, that didn't come out the way I had intended.

            "Nice of you do notice.  What of it?"

            "I'm a Slayer and you're being nice to me.  From what the other Buffy tells me, you're an ass to just about everyone.  Why are you suddenly Mr. Congeniality?"

            "I'm not always mean," he said indignantly.

            I gave him my best blank stare.

            He eventually caved and elaborated.  "I'm polite to people I like.  It's just that I don't like most people."

            "You like me?"

            A shrug.  "I don't really know you too well.  However, you got off to a good start by recognizing Angel for the Nancy boy that he is.  Anyone who can see that can't be all bad."

            "Even if said person just spent the past few minutes being generally grouchy to you?"

            "Well, if you'd been the other you, I'd be getting my ass kicked for no good reason right about now.  Gives me a bit of perspective."

            I picked up another pebble, only I tossed this one, giving him a pointed look while doing it.  The second rock slammed into the first, scattering sand in its wake.  "Well, if it makes you feel better, I have better things to do than beat you up."

            "I know.  So many rocks, so little time."

            I laughed.  "More like, I see no point in hurting someone if he's part of the solution and not the problem."

            "You know, it's about bloody time someone said that."

            God, he was cute.  Then again, it could just be the accent.  A voice in the back of my head loudly questioned the sanity of being attracted to the living impaired.  The rest of me didn't seem to care, and decided to enjoy the view while it was here.  "Well, we know that I'm here to terrorize the local geological residents, but that doesn't explain what you're doing here."

            "Oh, I live here.  Well, actually, over there."  He pointed the cemetery adjacent to the playground. 

            What kind of screwed up town builds a playground right next to that?

            However, that wasn't the question I asked out loud.  "You live in a graveyard?"

            "You act like I'm alive enough to care.  You want to see it?" 

            I couldn't help but hesitate.  We seemed to be getting along too well for me to tell him that I really couldn't care less about any crypt, no matter what was in it.

            He stood up.  "Come on.  I'll even show you my favorite thing in the world.  That is, if you're not to terribly busy protecting the world from the big, bad rocks."

            Against better judgment, I went along.  Besides, if his favorite thing was anything like I suspected it was, I could always kill him later.

            His eyes were gorgeous, even when they were filled with doubt.

            I smiled and took hold of his hand.  "We may be the freaks of the Scooby Gang, but at least we have fun."

            The effect of that one sentence was profound.  He went directly from worried to aroused without passing GO or collecting $200.  "What did you have in mind?"

            "Well, cow tipping is not an option due to this town's disappointing lack of cows.  So we'll just have to do the next best thing."

            "We're seeing a movie?"  The disappointment in his voice was palatable.

            I pointed to the theatre.  "Wait a moment."  No sooner had I said this, then Xander and Anya walked out of the theatre at a leisurely pace.  "I overheard them making plans for tonight's date, so I looked up how long the movie was, then did a little math."

            "So your idea of 'fun' consists of stalking Xander?"

            "No, even better."

            We hid in an alley and watched our prey walk close, snuggling.  Before Spike said something and gave us away, I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to me.  I used my other hand to thrust his face to mine and kissed him in a way that gave Buffy and Angel a run for their money.  He must have caught on, because he wasted no time getting into the act.  His hands slid around my waist, kneading the small of by back, before slipping under my shirt to hold my bare back. 

            Just as they came into hearing range, I added in sound effects.

            Saying that our little display had the desired outcome would be a tremendous under-statement.  Xander shrieked like a girl.

            "What are you… don't you have somewhere else to do that?"

            Spike pulled his lips off mine, but I still kept my body cuddled next to his.  "Yeah, but since a certain person—who will go unnamed—has no respect for privacy, what would be the point?"

            Xander stammered for a ridiculous about of time.  He finally managed to get out:  "I wish I was blind."  After dropping that whopper of an insult, he scurried off, dragging Anya behind him.

            Neither of us could stop laughing for a very long time after that. 

            Then, without warning, all the humor seemed to drain out of his eyes.  He cupped my face with his hand.  "We still haven't really talked about yesterday." 

            I nodded into his palm, caressing my hand over his.  "We don't have to.  It was beautiful."

            "I just feel bad that your… our first—  We'll do better next time."

            I watched his emotions flare across his face.  It was weird.  I realized that if I told him that he had sucked, it would have hurt more than if I had just staked him.  Whether or not he consciously realized it, he was defenseless and it bordered on scaring me.  "Well, I don't claim to know much on the subject, but up until Shaggy made a guest spot, I thought it was pretty amazing."

            He smiled, brought his face closer and kissed me.  It wasn't what we had done for Xander's benefit, where I was worried about swallowing his tongue.  It was tender, more like an affirmation.  He was trying to prove to himself that he didn't imagine last night.

            Then again, I could be reading more into it than was actually there.

            "Come with me," I breathed into his mouth.

            He knit his eyebrows together and pulled back enough to see my face clearly.  "What?"

            "I wasn't hanging out in the tree 'cause I was trying to stop a strip mall from being built.  I had some time to kill before meeting Buffy and Giles for a training session.  If I have to spend a few hours alone with the two of them, I'll go insane.  Come with me."

            "Don't you think she might find it odd that I'm tagging along?"

            I shrugged.  "She knows we're friends.  If push comes to shove, I'll just pretend that you came uninvited and I'm not happy about it.  She'll love that.  Or, better yet: we can join forces to harass her.  Between the two of us, I'm sure we can come up with some great material."

            "Where do I sign up?"

            Spike pushed the door open with on hand and walked in before me.  As soon as he moved out of the way, I got a good view of the room.  It was large, not to mention surprising open and light, by crypt standards.  A plain stone—or possibly concrete—sarcophagus was off to one side, and to the other was a couch facing a cheap TV.  Next to the sarcophagus there was a wooden trapdoor, which probably led to subterranean rooms.  I mentally filed away the last bit, under 'Possibly Useful in the Future.' 

            My final judgment was that, while housekeeping was clearly not a high priority here, it was nowhere near as bad as I'd been expecting.

            I glanced in his direction and it seemed like he was waiting.  "Am I missing something?"

            "No, it's just that this is usually the point where the visitor makes some crack about my place."

            I walked over and sat on the couch.  "It's a nice crypt.  I think that anyone that says otherwise is forgetting that it is a crypt.  It's not as if Martha Stewart lives here."  I thought for a moment.  "What's with the sarcophagus?  I thought vampires didn't sleep in coffins."

            "You're right," he said, joining me on the couch.  "That's just a stupid myth made up by ignorant sods that assume that Dracula sets the rules for all of us."

            "Wait, Dracula is real?"

            "Oh, yeah.  Poof owes me eleven pounds.  And that's not adjusted for inflation.  Stoker forgot to mention his villain was a thieving, arrogant bastard.  And speaking of forgetting, I was going to show you my favorite thing in the world." 

            He got up suddenly and ran over to a nearby windowsill that was doubling as a self for video tapes.  He flipped through his collection for a few minutes, then drew out one with a grin.  He popped it into a new-looking VCR, which seemed totally out of place until I read the stamp on the side: "Property of the University of California."

            "This is my favorite episode," he practically chirped, flopping gracelessly back onto the couch.  "This is the one where Timmy's in a well."

            Remember what I said earlier about my premonition of tonight sucking rotten toad ass?  Sometimes I get tired of being right all the time.

            As it turns out, it was Bring Your Boyfriend to Work day, only no one let me know that.  Big as life, and twice as irritating, Angel was discussing something about the finer points of possession.  Apparently he'd done an exorcism once, and, golly gee, look at me not caring.

            Angel was leaning back slightly in his chair at the round table (I'm thinking Giles might have a King Arthur complex or something) which was right next to Buffy's.  Apparently they couldn't even bear the separation of the space in between the chairs, because they were holding hands.

            There was some good news in Metown.  As soon as Spike and I walked in together, Giles' panic button was pushed.  He squirmed in his chair like he was being eaten alive by starved piranhas.

            "Hey, Anne," Buffy said.  She didn't even seem upset that I brought Spike.  Damn.  I guess her daily dose of Angel-induced happy pills was wearing off no time soon.  This upset me.  If someone gets on my nerves, I want to be able to return the favor.

            I smiled diplomatically and said hi back. 

            "I brought Angel along," she continued, "because I thought he might be a good change in sparing partner.  It doesn't do us a whole lot of good practicing on each other, since we're kind of the same person."

            I half-pointed at Spike.  "Great minds think alike."

            She let go of Angel's hand so she could fold her arms across her chest.  "I really think I've reached the limits of what beating up Spike can teach me."

            Giles began to uses a nearby amulet as a worry stone.

            "Oh, that reminds me," I began.  "From this point on, you will never physically harm Spike again."

            Her eyes seemed to turn a darker shade.  "Why?"  That one word seemed immensely heavy, like a lead weight being dropped into a well.

            "He hasn't tried to blow up the world for a while, and it look's like he'll never be in a position to again.  If you have to vent some rage, do it to something that's either an actual threat to humanity or lacks a nervous system.  They're called punching bags, Buffy.  Use them."  If she got to keep my first name, at least I could bitch about it.

            We were tragically denied what was sure to be a colorful response from Buffy, when Giles' makeshift worry stone snapped in his hand.

            "Are you alright?" Buffy asked.

            "Yes.  I'm quite fine, thank you," he replied too quickly.

            Spike tensed next to me.  He apparently picked up on the same thing I did: Buffy was concerned, and Angel definitely wasn't buying it. 

            "You don't look well," he observed.

            A light bulb went off in Giles' head.  "I suppose you're right.  I've actually been feeling slightly ill.  Perhaps something I ate."

            "If you want, we can postpone the whole training thing for later, when you're feeling better," Buffy said.

            "Oh, I don't want to trouble you.  After all, everyone is already here."

            "Giles, it's no trouble at all.  Right, guys?" 

            The boys and I insisted that she was completely correct and that Giles' health was very important.  I'd also like to take this opportunity to recognize Giles in the field of being brilliant.

            At that moment, the bell hanging from the door beam chimed softly, and we turned to see a slow line of people march in.  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that they were not costumers. 

            "Who the hell are you?"  I didn't bother being polite.  If theses bozos were going to rain on my parade, I wasn't going to waste the effort.

            The first person that walked in looked at me like a dog that had done an interesting trick.  He looked to be about his late thirties, with hair that might have been red once, but was now a dark auburn.  His skin was a dark tan, but I was guessing that it was his natural skin tone.  His background was definitely Anglo-Saxon, but somewhere along the way, a little variety had been thrown into the mix. 

            He looked from me to 'Buffy,' then settled on Giles.  To him, the stranger said, "I'm assuming this is the Anne I've been hearing so much about." 

            His accent was cultured, snotty, and very British.  With that voice, he would have made a great waiter at one of those fancy, overpriced restaurants.  Somehow, I got the impression that this guy saw himself as above such a lowly position.

            Giles nodded cautiously.  "You've been told to leave her alone."

            "I believe that was the deal, yes," he answered.  His face was so blank, he could have been a robot.  "We don't want to bother her, but this is a very interesting occurrence.  Two versions of one Slayer.  Two versions that are apparently very different.  We just want to ask some questions.  Compare notes.  See how things went differently in her timeline.  If we could see how even the most subtle changes effect timelines…  Well, let's just say that the value would be immeasurable."

            I waived my hand as if to flag him down.  Once he was focused on me, I said, "Hello?  I'm actually in this room, and in possession on a working mouth.  Now are you going to answer my damn question, or are you just going to sit there and look cryptic?  'Cause, honestly, I can waste my time on things that are far more fun than you."

            Spike smirked beside me.

            However, Coppertop was less amused.  I'd apparently pissed him off.  Good.  "I'm Luther Talbot."  He turned slightly so he could gesture behind him.  "These are my colleagues, Sandra Blair, Jonathan Thatcher, Anthony Knight, Susan Norton, Timothy Walden, and Patrick Merryfaire.  We're with the Watchers' Council," he finished with a finality that implied that the last fact was a license to be snotty

            I looked over Carrot Top's buddies.  They all seemed stamped out of the same private school teacher mold that produced Talbot.  Not to mention that they all apparently shopped at Tweed's 'R Us. 

            Buffy cut in.  "Mr. Talbot, you aren't supposed to be asking her any questions.  The Council is to leave Anne alone.  That was one of the conditions for us taking your sorry asses back.  I thought we made that very clear to you friend Mr. Travers."

            "That's true," he replied politely.  His voice carried the civility it was meant to, however his face betrayed him.  Now, I'll give the Council points for this: they weren't stupid enough to send Quentin Travers again.  Having him ask would have guaranteed an automatic No.  That said, they should have sent someone that wasn't so condescending.  He said the right things, but you could tell he thought we were pond scum.  Then again, we weren't exactly being amiable ourselves.

            "However," he continued, "we're not demanding anything.  This interview is entirely for academic purposes.  We like to keep detailed records, and that's what the Watcher's Journals are for.  But we don't have your Watcher's notes.  All we ask for is an accurate description of your earlier years as a Slayer.  Nothing more."

            Everyone looked at me, waiting for my response.  I didn't like this at all.  Option A:  I tell him to sod off.  I'd enjoy that immensely, but by the same token, it'd look like I'm hiding from my past.  That would make me seem weak, and that was the last thing I wanted to look like next to Buffy.   Option B:  I tell intensely personal details about my life to total strangers.

            I really did not want to be here.  What I wanted was to go home, snuggle with my undead boyfriend, and not deal with snobby, British prigs.  I glared at Talbot and hated him.

            "Let's make this quick."

            The name of the previous business was down and the new one wasn't up yet.  In the window there was a neatly drawn sign:

Coming Soon:

Angel Investigations

           

            I happened to know that they'd be open for monsters in two weeks.  Just a matter of getting the office fixed up and the permits finalized.  I pushed open the door with one hand.

            Everclear's I Will Buy You a New Life blared out of the boom box and assaulted my ears.  Across the room, Cordelia was wearing overalls and an old t-shirt, both of which were now covered in spots of paint.  She stood on a high ladder, painting the back wall a light gray with one of those roller-brushes.  I yelled her name, but she didn't hear over the music.  I gave up, walked over to the stereo, and hit pause.

            She turned around.  "Oh, hi… er…"

            "Anne."

            "Sorry."  She seemed sincere, so I didn't hate her for not being able to tell the difference.  After all, unless you're close enough to see the scar, it's not difficult to confuse the two of us.  Cordy pointed to the stereo.  "I hate painting, so I figure if I play it loud enough—"

            "—The cops'll come by and inform you that you're creating a disturbance?"

            She shrugged.  "At least then I'd have an excuse to take a break."

            I did an overly fake Chinese accent.  "See good in bad.  I like."

            She put the roller down in order to focus more of her attention on me.  "So what can I do for you?"

            "Actually, I need to talk with Doyle.  Is he around?"

            She nodded.  "Yeah, I'll get him for you."  Cordy turned to the door leading into the back offices and yelled, "DOYLE!"

            After a moment he came out, simultaneously saying, "You keep yelling like that, Princess, you're going to lose your voice."  He noticed me.  "Oh hi, Anne.  What brings you here?"

            I have to say, I liked Doyle immediately.

            "I wanted to know it we could talk."

            "Sure.  We've got some ugly, half-finished offices we can use."

            "Great."  I looked back up a Cordelia.  "You want me to turn the music back on?"

            "Please."

            I hit the play button on the way out and made a point of shutting the door behind us to muffle the noise.  We were in a short hallway lined by various rooms.  Angel was on a latter of his own, painting the walls a shade of gray that complimented the lobby. 

            He watched us come in.  "What's up?"

            I answered.  "I just wanted to talk with Doyle real quick.  I won't keep him long."

            That seemed to satisfy Bat Boy, so Doyle and I went into the nearest room.  There were a few of folding chairs clustered around a collapsible card table.  A coffee pot was set up in one corner on a cardboard box, completing the makeshift break room.

            Once the door was shut, he said, "I'd offer you some coffee, but I like you too much to inflict it on you."

            That got a smile out of me.  I sat down in one of the chairs.  "Thanks anyway.  Er, this is going to sound weird, but what is Angel's last name?"

            Of all the questions he might have been predicting, I'm fairly sure that wasn't one of them.  But he answered it anyway.  "He doesn't really have one, but legally it's Liam.  Why?"

            "Legally?"

            "Yeah.  Now that he's human, he needs an identity.  It took some doing, but now he has a birth certificate, driver's license, social security number, passport, credit history, the works."

            "So you did all this?"

            "Not personally.  But I got the ball rolling.  Creating new identities isn't easy, but it can be done.  Besides, while I was at it, I was able to correct that tiny little thing were I was missing and presumed dead."  He paused for a moment.  "OK, now I think I've earned the right to ask.  What's all this about?"

            I sat at the table across from the Watcher, who was fishing through his bag for something.  His back was turned to the counter, where the boys were sitting on chairs stolen from the table.  Buffy was to my left, and shared my fantastic view of the Y-chromosome squad.  I'm sure she was enjoying the view just as much as I was.

            Originally the plan was for the guys to leave, but I essentially pointed out the futility of it.  After all, she'd just run off and tell Angel all the juicy bits later, so what'd be the point?  Much to my delight, I killed two birds with one stone: I finally managed to get a rise out of her and now Spike was staying.  Truth be told, I really just didn't want to be left in a room alone with just Buffy and Annoying Prig Man.  Asking for just Spike to stay would have raised eyebrows, so, whether everyone or no one, I was basically screwed either way.  Nothing's perfect.

            Though, admiring the platinum blonde hotness before me, I realized some things could get pretty damn close.

            Talbot finally retrieved the tape recorder he'd been searching for, put on the table and hit record.  He spoke to the machine, "Interview with Buffy Anne Summers.  February, 2001."  He looked up at me, then to the other me, then back.  "I'd like you to begin with some details of your early life, leading up to when you were called."

            I stopped guy-watching and focused.  "Well, my parents were Hank and Joyce Summers.  We lived in California up until I was sixteen."

            "Siblings?" Talbot asked, jotting down notes in a legal pad.  I was guessing that since he was recording the whole thing, he was either noting my facial expressions or doodling.  I had my money on the latter.

            "Only child."

            "So you never encountered the Dawn situation?"

            His wording sucked and I could tell Buffy was ready to do damage.  Nice to know that the Angel-bliss was not unlimited.

            "No."

            Talbot dutifully scribbled down something.  "Continue, please."

            "OK, well, I'd just turned sixteen and I was a sophomore in high school, when I was called.  My Watcher's name was Merrick.  We did the whole training thing for a while.  It didn't last long.  The local vamps got him."

            "How did he die, exactly?"

            "He shot himself.  He didn't want to take the chance of them turning him."  I looked at Spike when I said it.  He met my gaze, then looked away.

            Talbot glanced at Buffy for conformation.  "Yeah, that's how it happened."

            I kept going.  "Fortunately, I got most of them when I burned down the school gymnasium.  By that time, my parents were getting a divorce, and Mom and I were moving out."

            "Where did you move to?"

            "We didn't.  I was patrolling one night, and while I was out a vampire went to my house and killed my parents." 

            I let it come out casually, like it didn't bother me.  But it certainly bothered everyone else in the room.  Talbot was about to ask another one of his dumbass questions, but I continued on before he could.  "Anyway, the Council took me into their custody and started to take me all over the place, killing stuff that needed killing.  Apparently I wasn't very good at my job, 'cause shortly thereafter, it became common knowledge that vamps and supernatural stuff existed.  A lot of places got nighttime curfews.  In some areas, it was like the vampires had just totally taken over.  It was bad."

            Talbot asked several questions about the whole insurgence of supernatural activity, and I answered as best I could.  Finally I neared the end.  "Anyway, it was early December '98, and I was in Cleveland, when my Watcher got a phone call from him."  I pointed at Giles, who blinked in surprise. 

            "Let the record reflect that Miss Summers has indicated Rupert Giles," Talbot said to the machine.

            I ignored him.  "Anyway, he was all upset about some girl dying, and had raised hell until they agreed to send me down.  So I went.  It turns out that it was Cordelia that had died, and Giles seemed to think that she had made a wish to some vengeance demon or something."

            "Anyanka?" Giles asked.

            "Yeah.  How'd you know?"

            Buffy answered.  "Anya is short for Anyanka.  She lost her power center and became human."

            Color me surprised.  "Weird…  Well, Giles said something about the possibility of fixing everything.  I personally didn't see what I was supposed to do about it, but he mentioned this head vampire guy and where he lived.  I figured, I was already in town, so I might as well make myself useful.  I went to evil HQ, which, by the way, was the Bronze.  Looked a lot different.  There were cages hanging from the ceiling, and stuff like that.  The funny thing was, it was totally deserted.  Just to be sure, I checked downstairs, and that's when I found him."  This time I gestured to indicate Angel, who did an accurate recreation of Giles' previous look of shock.

            Talbot one again clarified 'him' to the tape recorder, and I kept on.  "They had him chained to the wall in a cage.  It was really weird.  He acted like he knew me or something.  He said he knew where they were, so I let him go, and we went.  There was this big fight, and the next thing I know, I'm here."

            Talbot put his pad down and leaned forward.  I glanced over and saw that it was a doodle.   A stick figure me was stabbing another, fanged stick figure.  I tried not to laugh when I met his face. 

            "So you just disappeared in the middle of a battle?" he asked.

            "Yeah, pretty much.  I was heading toward the head vamp.  Particularly ugly one in desperate need of some skin care products."

            "Did you notice anything unusual about this particular battle?  About this vampire?"

            "Apart from the fact that my back up was undead?  Not really.  The vamp looked like an overgrown bat.  That's pretty much it."  Talbot was on the verge of more questions, but I stood up quickly.  "Well, that was fun, but I'm really tired now.  I can't tell you just how much I love being debriefed."

            I was about half way to the door before Talbot got over his surprise and said, "But we-we're not done."

            I shook my finger like Jim Carrey in The Grinch and replied, "Wrong-O."

            Life is full of unexpected, little bonuses.  On the way to Spike's, I found an abandoned superball near the playground, much to my delight.  Now I was currently engaged in bouncing it off the wall of the crypt, over and over.  The ball flew into my hand.  I tossed it right back, where it hit the wall, ricocheted, hit the floor halfway to me, then flew back to my hand.  Thawk, thunk, catch.  Thawk, thunk, catch.

            "What are you doing?"

            I looked up at him.  "Oh, you're back.  I didn't hear you."  He sat down next to me and I offered him the ball.  "You can try it for a while.  I assure you it's mind-numbing."

            "Which brings me back to my original question."

            I shrugged.  "I was bored and had nothing to do, and patrolling wasn't very fruitful, so I decided to pay you a visit.  Once I found out that you weren't here, I decided to wait for you to come back."

            That made him noticeably happy.  "Since I'm here, now what?"

            "Dunno," I said, and threw the ball again.  "This town is either too exciting or deeply boring.  I'm not sure what is worse."

            "Why don't you go to the Bronze with everyone else?"

            "Buffy, Angel, and the others are already there.  Which means that I'd be spending the whole night watching those two make gaga eyes at each other and brood over the fact that they're not together.  No thanks.  What I don't get is that if they're so into each other, why don't they just admit it and move on?  They're so stupid."

            He laughed.  "I told you not to put money on that pool."  Off my look he quickly added, "But I'm sure we can find something interesting to do.  We could go see a movie."

            "You do realize what's playing now, right?"

            "No.  Why?"

            "The Grinch.  A squishy, sentimental movie, where the characters will periodically burst into song.  It's about this guy that hates Christmas and is a overall grouch.  But then he finds Jesus or something, and grows a heart.  The End."

            Spike stood up.  "Sounds like a movie in desperate need of being made fun of."

            "Plus, the extra good news is that it's late, it's Tuesday, and it's way past Christmas.  We should be pretty much the only ones there."

            "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

            "Training."  A 'training session' was our term meaning 'make out session.'  The etymology being that, for us, the latter had often turned into the former. 

            "Besides, I have a trick to get us free admission."

            "Oh, and what would that be?" I asked.

            "Pick the lock on the back door."

            It took some doing, but I was out the door.  Talbot was practically having hysterics over my departure, but Giles reminded him of their situation.  Brownie points for Giles.  I gulped in the fresh air.  I would have to make time to thank him.  I may confuse the heck out of the guy, but he takes care of me.  At the very least, he beat the heck out of my last Watcher.

            Someone put a hand on my shoulder.  The stake was in my hand without me having to think about it.  In one fluid motion, I crouched slightly to avoid any blows and turned, aiming for the heart.  If it was someone I knew, I could always apologize later. 

            I stopped in time.  "Sorry."

            "Tell me, exactly how many bad guys out there attack by touching shoulders?"

            "Better safe than dead, I guess."  I stared walking in the direction of home.  Spike walked with me. 

            There was something in the way he was carrying himself, some set in his jaw.  He had something to say.  Or at least, I think he did.  Sometimes I could almost guess what he was thinking, but other times I felt like I didn't know him at all.

            After about a block of no dialogue, and after I had pretty much decided that I had zero knack for reading him, he spoke.  "Yow never told me about your family."

            Oh me of little faith.  "It was nothing I wanted to talk about."

            "You could have said something to me."

            He stopped mid-step, and at first I thought it was because he was angry.  Then I realized we were outside my apartment building.  I really should stop trying to read his mind.

            "Your right," I said.  "I…  I've spent the past two years with people that either wanted to kill me, or have me kill things.  No one ever really cared about my feelings, or whether I even had them.  After two years of not really talking about anything, it's…"  Deep breath, try again.  I gave him my very best eye contact.  "I trust you with my life, but I'm still learning to trust you with everything else.  Nothing personal, just out of practice."

            He didn't say anything to that.  He did kiss me lightly on the lips and walk off, leaving me feeling like I'd done something very wrong.  Knowing me, I was probably right.

            It was another run of the mill day.  Out of bed at seven, out the door by seven forty-five, and greeting customers by eight.  It was a boring job, but—thanks to friends in management—it paid far better than any other retail job I could have gotten in town.  Xander had offered to put in a good word for me with his boss, but construction held even less interest for me than cashier and stock girl.  But, as the saying goes, every cloud has a silver lining.  Today was not a day that Anya was working.  Not that I have anything personal against her, but for some reason she apparently doesn't like me much, which makes working together awkward.  It probably has something to do with her recently finding out that I got paid more than she did, despite her seniority.  I would like to point out that the salary thing was not my idea.  I didn't even find out about the difference until Anya did. 

            The store was busy.  For a town so ignorant of its Hellmouth, its residents certainly had a keen interest in magic paraphernalia.  One enchanted statue, three ceremonial daggers, and countless mini baggies of salamander eyes later, someone interesting walked in the door.

            I put on my overly cheerful, fast food restaurant, lets-be-nice-to-the-customer voice.  "Welcome to the Magic Box, may I take your order?"

            Doyle smiled at that, and I smiled back, and the world was good. 

            I got off work at five, which gave me time to make my appointment.

            I was dressed to kill, but not to slay.  The pants were leather, a rich purple that was almost black.  They accented my attributes, and hid my shortcomings.  I had been drooling over them from the street side of the window display for several weeks.  By the time I had the money saved to treat myself, they had gone on sale.  Not only that, the last pair was in my size.  It was meant to be.  The top I was wearing with it was an intense, deep green.  It was one of those backless things that laced up, translating into no bra.   You had to be perky and not too well endowed to wear it.  Fortunately, neither the top nor the pants overpowered my new 'do.' 

            The door was unlocked, so I let myself in.  Spike was sitting Indian-style on the sarcophagus, nose in a book.  He looked up, and—no joke—his jaw dropped. 

            He snapped out of it and said, "Would it be too much of an understatement to say that you look great?"

            I smiled and stalked over to him.  "Whatchya reading?"

            "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azakaban." 

            At first I thought it was a joke, then I really looked at the book.

            "What's the occasion?" he asked. 

            I handed him my spankin' new driver's license.  He read off the name.  " 'Andrea Buffy Gellar.' "  He looked back up at me.  "Does this mean I get to call you Andy?"

            I thought on it for a moment.  "I can live with that.  Doyle set up the whole thing for me.  I've got a birth certificate, social, the whole nine yards."

            "Yeah, but now you don't match your picture."

            I did a little head toss and preened.  "You like it?"

            "You look cute as a red head."

            "Yeah, and you look cute with spiky hair."

            Spike mimicked my earlier preening.  "Well, someone told me that I really should wear my hair spiky, so I thought, why not?"

            I looked at him, really looked, for several beats. 

            It was time to move on.  It had been time for a while.  I may have a new life on paper, but that was meaningless.  It was meaningless until I took that next step. 

            "Did she ever tell you about Pike?"

            "No."

             "Pike was a guy I briefly dated in LA.  Resembled Luke Perry, and was kind of a cross between Oz and Xander.  When I was first called, I didn't want to accept it, but he helped me.  He made me face what I was."

            "So what happened?"

            Say it.

            Say it.

            "He killed my family."  I tried for that blank nothingness in my voice that I had earlier with Talbot, but my voice cracked.  And that one moment of hearing my voice break was enough.  The whole dam I hadn't known existed crashed. 

            He let me pretty much sob against him.  Two years of neglected grief spilled—no gushed out in a flood.  His arm was a cool, comforting presence on my back.  I have no idea how long he held me like that.  Once I had calmed down a bit, I heard him say softly, "Thank you for trusting me."

            I sat up, a wiped half of my face with the back of my hand.  Good thing I skipped mascara.  "Thanks for letting me wail on you like an over zealous drama queen."

            "Yeah, but don't tell anyone.  It might ruin my reputation as the Big Bad."  He took my face in his hand, in what was becoming a familiar gesture.  He used his thumb to dry the side of my face that I had missed.  "I love you."

            We kissed, and it was beautiful.

           

            He charged at me, and I jumped back, simultaneously kicking in midair.  Spike ducked just in time to see my foot contact with the space his head used to occupy.  My momentum sent me back a few extra feet, and I landed lightly.  It was a slow kick, giving him time to figure out where I'd land, and attack that spot.  He didn't disappoint.  The first roundhouse was aimed at my waist level, and I backed out of it's path.  He used the spin he'd acquired with the first kick to go for a reverse roundhouse, this time aiming for the head.

            I caught his foot in my hands, nanoseconds before it would have knocked my temple.  I sealed my hands around his ankle and pulled.  It worked better than I'd hoped.  He was still surprised by my grabbing his leg, and I was able to throw his balance.  I let go just as he crashed to the ground in a graceless heap.

            "Oww."

            "I didn't hurt you did—"  He swept my feet out from under me, and I fell onto the dirt floor with an audible oomph. 

            Before I could react, he had straddled my waist, reared his head back, and made to bite me.  His mouth was less than an inch from the skin of my neck.  "Game over, you lose."

            "Look again."

            Maybe it was what I said, or maybe he just registered the pinching sensation on his chest, but he looked down to the stake I had over his heart.  He stared down at me for a moment, then realized the position our bodies were in.  Spike quickly tried to stand up.

            On impulse, I reached for him, and pulled his mouth down to mine.  He let out a sound of surprise, but didn't fight.  He opened his mouth to me, and we took turns carefully exploring each other.  Somewhere along the way, it became less and less careful.  I could feel certain parts of his anatomy becoming very happy with the situation.  What should have been very embarrassing was very suddenly not.  Heard myself let out a groan, and pulled his shirt out of his pants so I could slip my hands underneath and run my hands over his bare chest. 

            He pried his lips off mine, and gave me major eye contact.  "Are you sure we should be doing this?"

            I was sure.

            My universe narrowed to just the sent of him enveloping us both.  A pleasant, appealing smell now that I'd gotten him to lay off the cancer sticks.  I remember telling him that I loved him, and hearing him say my name.

            But it was the wrong name, and I realized it wasn't Spike that said it.  I froze and looked up past us, just in time to see him run off at full speed.

            "Oh crap, not again."

To be continued…