Liquidram | He didn't know what woke him up. What he would really have preferred was a mom calling up to him to grab a pop tart, you'll be late for school, or an annoying little brother jumping all over him. Anything rather than waking up in the same clothes he had worn for three days straight. Food, shower, laundry and toothpaste. He grimaced, still able to taste smoke and sweat in his mouth from the rave. Simon climbed off the dirty mattress and walked out the door without bothering to close it, munching on a hardened sourdough roll left over from last night's feast. Californians don't know how lucky they have it with the sourdough bread, he contemplated. The lady at the desk of the YMCA stole a kindly glance at the ragged boy's back. Letting him sneak in for a shower wasn't any skin off her nose and he was a pretty decent looking kid. Wondering what he would look like with a bit of soap, she turned back to her computer screen. Simon crept into the men's locker room and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn't too difficult since there were only a couple guys chatting as they packed up their gym bags. They left shortly after Simon had finished brushing his teeth with the tiny travelling toothbrush. He patted it affectionately, and chuckled at himself as he zipped up the outer compartment on his backpack. It was Anne's idea of a proper roadtrip present, but despite his protests at the time, it was a handy thing. He surveyed the locker room as he ran his tongue over his teeth in satisfaction. This is backwards, he thought. I should get my clothes clean, then take a shower. No option there, he realized. I can't very well go into the local Soaps 'n Suds naked - and I can do laundry here, anyway. He nodded in satisfaction as he stripped down. Okay, shower first, then clothes. The boxers'll have to wait. He stepped into the shower and soaped up. The hot water sluicing over his thin body was the greatest of luxuries. Hot water and clam chowder every night. Now that would be heaven. After scrubbing his hair, he soaped up his rugby shirt and his socks the best he could. With only a wall-mounted hand dryer, he decided against trying to wash and dry his jeans, too. This is gonna take all day just for the shirt and socks, he grumbled to himself. He ran his fingers through the thick brown hair that always refused to behave, and finally gave up, shaking his head like a dog after a swim. When Simon stopped, his hair was sticking in every direction, and hanging in his eyes. He grinned at his reflection. Simon pulled the dark green rugby shirt over his head, glad again that he'd borrowed at least one thing nice for the trip. Then he pulled on the jeans, ignoring the annoying spot on at the waist that had refused to dry under the dryer. They were a little on the long side, but better than the ripped ones he'd left as collateral. His converse high-tops weren't the latest style, but at least they were black, and not pink. And now he had clean socks again. Even beggars have to have a sense of style, he thought. He flashed a brilliant toothy smile at the lady behind the desk at the front door. He half expected her to yell at him, and was pleasantly surprised when she smiled back and waved. Once outside, he started back toward the deli from last night. The proprietor had said there was lunch waiting if Simon was willing to stock a bit in the back room. Lunch first, then try the library again. Hopefully it was open on Sundays in this little hick of a town. This time it'll be a lot easier with food in my stomach. |
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It was just past eight in the morning when Tara tapped on his door, and Giles opened the door almost immediately. Ushering her in quietly, he took the cardboard box from her and carefully placed it on his desk. "I think I brought everything I'll need, Mr. Giles," she whispered. "We found some wards that we think will do the trick." "Excellent." Giles glanced over her shoulder. Tara caught the look. "I left Willow a note to come by when she w-w-woke up... if Xander will give her a ride." "Good. She should stay off that ankle." Giles checked his watch. "I'm afraid I've nothing for breakfast, so I'm going to stop and get some on the way back from the shop. Would you like anything?" Tara shook her head and smiled as she began unpacking the box. "Only what's needed for tea, if you don't mind." "Not at all, please, help yourself." Giles glanced down the hallway, and then turned back to Tara, satisfied as he shrugged on his coat. "I doubt he'll wake up while you're here. Not only was he already exhausted when he left your apartment, the attack was..." Giles searched for a polite way to phrase it. "Bad?" "Ah, yes." Giles nodded, half to himself. "Yes, very bad." "Don't worry, Mr. Giles. I'll stay here and keep an eye on things until you get back." "Oh! You won't be joining us for research?" Giles removed his glasses, polishing them haphazardly with a handkerchief. Tara shook her head regretfully. "No, I have a paper that's due tomorrow, so I need to do some research of my own. I'll be at the library, but when I'm done... I could stop by here." "Yes, please do." Giles smiled at her. "Your knowledge is always appreciated." Tara was still blushing, pleased, when Giles left. The room suddenly got brighter against his eyelids as someone opened the bedroom's curtains, and Marcus winced. He'd pushed the blanket off his chest at some point during the night, uncomfortable with it against the bandages. Still half-asleep, he reviewed what he could recall of the night before. I'm pretty sure I did get a bath, he thought, hoping that wasn't just part of the night's dreams. Marcus shifted in the bed and froze as pain shot through his body. Breathing shallowly, he slowly opened his eyes to see the bedroom door shutting. Confused and frightened, he took quick stock of the room before realizing he was alone, and the visitor must've been his host... if my host wore gardenia perfume. Marcus relaxed, and let his head fall back on the pillow, turning slightly look out the window. The curtains were pushed open, just a bit, and there was something hanging from the glass. Marcus squinted at it for several minutes before realizing it was some sort of ward. Giles must've asked the witches to protect the place, he thought. I wonder if they have any idea what from. Bracing his hands on the side of the bed, he pulled himself onto his side and pushed himself up. The pain made him gasp. He contemplated crashing to the ground, but decided that doing so when wearing only a blanket would be inappropriate when one of the people rescuing him might be a rather shy young woman. Rescuing me. Never would have expected that, he thought grimly. Slowly he forced his breathing to a regular pace, and looked around the room again, noticing the shirt and jeans at the foot of the bed. He smiled to himself. His smile grew wider when he discovered that the shirt wasn't the tattered remnant of his own, but perhaps one of Giles'. The jeans were his own, and already washed. And I thought I couldn't find a way to repay Father Silvestri, he mused. I had no idea of the debts I'd incur. Nearly fifteen minutes later - and a great many pauses - he opened the door, to find Tara hovering anxiously outside the door. "I d-d-didn't know you w-w-were -" Marcus tried to smile at her, but it turned into a grimace as he stepped forward. Tara flinched backwards, and then moved forward, her arm out as if to help. For a long second they stood, staring at each other, then Marcus lowered his eyes, and put his hand on her arm. Carefully she guided him to the sofa and held his arm steadily as he sunk into the seat. Tara's expression was clearly worried, and Marcus wondered if his face was as pale as it felt. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to put you out." "It's okay," she responded, moving away as she talked over her shoulder. "Giles s-s-said he'd be back in just a few." There was the sound of a cabinet door opening, and the clatter of silverware. "He's gone t-t-to the shop, t-t-to get your belongings." She reappeared again, this time carrying a mug. "Tea?" He took it gladly, and accepted the sugar and cream she brought him, too. But before he could say anything, she had moved behind him again, to where he couldn't see her. It feels like she's avoiding me, he thought with minor irritation. She reappeared a second later, holding a dark amber bottle in her hands. Perching on the chair across from him, she held it tightly while she watched him blow on the tea. "You're not human," she said. Marcus was so stunned he nearly dropped his mug, and instead splashed hot tea on his jeans. Yelping, he tried to right the mug, and nearly screamed as the sudden movement made fire shoot through his body. He was still gasping, blinded, when he realized that she'd gotten the mug out of his hands and placed it safely on the coffee table. Despite himself, he started laughing. This woman's just one surprise after another. "Technically," he finally said, grinning at her, "I'm half-human." Tara nodded, smiling shyly. He sighed, and slowly reached for his cup. When she started to move, he shook his head at her. "Thank you, but I'll do it. I won't be a total invalid. But I do thank you for your help," he added. "I'm sorry if I hurt you last night." He wasn't sure whether he meant his reaction at the apartment, or when he'd felt her pushing the incantation into his head, or both. Tara smiled, a little wider, and he was again astonished at how lucky the redheaded witch really was. "I just have to ask," he said quietly. "How did you know?" Does everyone know? "Spike told me." "Spike." Marcus couldn't place the name, then remembered. William the Bloody. Well, Spike's an improvement, I suppose. "The blood. Of course." His rueful smile faded when he remembered with whom he was dealing. "I suppose this changes everything, doesn't it?" "How?" "Well, the Slayer's not exactly someone who tolerates demons..." Marcus paused, furrowing his brows. "Though if a vampire's part of her crew, I guess..." "Buffy's not your usual Slayer." Tara's expression was wry, but at the same time a bit sad. Marcus noted the sadness but let it pass. "But now everyone knows." Tara shook her head. "No, only myself and Spike. Willow had already g-g-gone to bed. Spike w-w-wanted to see if you'd s-s-say anything on your own." "You ruined that one," he teased, and she blushed, ducking her head. "Well, I-I-I have reasons of my own." At Marcus' raised eyebrow, she started to respond, then hesitated. "I w-w-was raised in a family where... the, the women are told they're demons." Marcus frowned. "They're told what?" "T-t-told they'll turn into demons when they turn twenty, and so I'd always thought I was part-demon. But I'm not." Marcus nodded. "You found out you were human before... meeting the Slayer and her, uh, army?" Tara shook her head. "No. She – and Spike – were the reasons I found out I'm human. I was most worried that W-W-Willow wouldn't..." She trailed off, and half-shrugged. "Oh." Marcus' voice was rueful. "Y-y-yes," she replied to his unspoken question. "I'm telling you that not b-b-because, uh, I'm telling you b-b-because I thought you needed to know that where you come from isn't, it isn't how these people will judge you." Marcus nodded thoughtfully. "I was starting to realize that. But thank you for affirming it," he added. The room was silent for a while as Marcus finished what was left of his tea, and Tara recovered from the minor shock of being so forward. Marcus was about to ask for another cup of tea when Tara put the amber bottle in his hands. "What's this?" He turned the bottle over, intrigued by the feminine handwriting on the label, but it wasn't in English. "It's a healing oil," Tara said softly. "Willow and I f-f-found the recipe last night... but if you don't -" "...people helping?" He glanced up to see the witch looking at him sadly, but with understanding. Dumbly, he nodded. "That's what we do, we help." She indicated the bottle. "When you change bandages, just soak the bandages in oil before you put them on. It won't affect the adhesive tape," Tara added. She frowned, biting her lip. "At least, it didn't when we tested it." She held up a cut finger, almost completely healed. "See? We tested it, and that wasn't a bad cut, so it didn't take long, but..." "It's okay," Marcus replied. "I was braced for a few days of walking strangely." He glanced down at the bottle again, still stunned at the turn of events. "Thank you. I'll put it on right now." Tara nodded and helped him stand as the door opened. Giles entered with the rucksack over his shoulder, and a bag of groceries in his arms. Nodding hello to both, he noticed that Marcus' color seemed to be better. But it's something else. Giles couldn't put his finger on what had changed. On second thought, he realized, if Marcus meets with Tara's approval, that's enough for me. Giles took off his coat and hung it up while Tara returned from helping Marcus. "The wards are all s-s-set up, Mr. Giles," she told Giles, and he nodded appreciatively as she grabbed her bag and left. A truly remarkable young woman, Giles found himself thinking. "I have your rucksack here," he exclaimed to Marcus through the bathroom door. "Your father's books all fit into that box?" "No, sir." The bathroom door muffled Marcus' voice. "I had them all scanned and put on CD-ROMs." "Oh, my." Giles removed his glasses and absent-mindedly started to polish them again as he stared at the bag in consternation. "I suppose this means I'll need to call Willow and let her know she can bring that blasted box with her." "Box?" "Yes," Giles muttered as he started to put the groceries away. "Lovely." |
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Giles had a strong sense of déjà vu, a half-hour later, when he answered the knock at the door. It feels almost like I've never left, that I haven't moved on with my life, that Buffy didn't... die. He pushed that thought away. Guilt and selfishness made it too painful to dwell on. Giles opened the door to find Willow, burdened with computer equipment, standing on the doorstep. "Willow," he said, standing aside to allow her in. "Computer Girl to the rescue," she told him cheerily as she entered. "Did you carry these by yourself?" asked Giles as he shut the door behind her. "Should you be walking?" "I'm fine. I kept did the foot up with ice all night, and I'm walking girl today," Willow replied. "Where should I set up?" "There, on the table." He went to the kitchen to make tea. Willow went about setting up the portable computer with its external CD drive and printer, connecting cables and plugging everything into a surge protector, and then plugged that into the wall outlet. A fleeting image of Oz went through her mind, as sometimes did when she worked on the computer. She was in love with Tara, but she would always have a special place in her heart for Oz. Lastly, the redheaded witch took a smooth rose quartz stone from her pocket and rubbed it around the outside of the monitor, across the screen in a giant X, along the keys of the keyboard, and over the top of the CD drive and printer. The vibrations of the stone would help align the forces to aid them in their research. Willow sat in front of the computer and turned the power on. As the machine booted up, she rolled her shoulders, flexed her hands, and waggled her fingers in anticipation of the work to be done. "Okay, I'm ready to..." Willow's voice trailed off as Marcus walked out of the bathroom, his freshly washed hair still askew from the shower. "Oh!" she exclaimed. Marcus seemed nearly as startled to see her in Mr. Giles' apartment as she was to see him. He tugged at the shirt Giles had loaned him, embarrassed although he knew she couldn't see the bandages wrapping his torso. "What?" Giles brought a tray of tea things from the kitchen, breaking the awkward moment. "Sorry." Willow scrunched up her face, abashed. "You, uh... he startled me," she explained to Giles. "Ah," Giles said, as if he understood, but his raised eyebrows indicated anything but. "I thought it best that Marcus stay here until we know what his father's diaries contain," he explained as he poured cups for each. "Right," Willow replied, taking a cup. "Marcus, could you get the disks?" Giles asked the younger man. "Your rucksack's here on the table." "Yes, sir." Marcus gingerly seated himself next to Willow before retrieving the wooden box from his backpack. Muttering the incantation under his breath, the box gently clicked open. He lifted out the packet of CDs, removing the first one and handing it to Willow. Despite Giles' hospitality, the young man was still wary of giving up control of his father's diaries. Nervously, he ran his hands through his damp, tangled hair, wincing as the movement caused the bandages to pull slightly against his skin. He glanced sideways at Willow, who hadn't seemed to notice. Quietly, he whispered to get her attention. "Uh... Willow?" "Mm?" She glanced at him before she slipped the CD into the drive. "Is it supposed to... tingle?" Nervously he gestured vaguely at his chest. She frowned, then raised her eyebrows, catching his meaning. "Yes," she replied, flushing slightly. "That means it's working." "Oh." Marcus folded his fingers together and tried not to think about scratching. "How's your ankle?" "All better," she replied. Throwing him a sideways satisfied look, Willow brought up the first two-page image. She was impressed with the resolution and a bit envious of the equipment of whoever had done the scanning. Leaning over her shoulder, Giles peered at the screen. Marcus crowded in from the other side, anxious to understand the cryptic handwriting. Willow reached for a cup of tea and sipped at it while the two men examined the image. The longer Giles looked at the coded entries on the pages, the more certain he was he could decipher them. Assuming I've brought all the necessary books with me from England, he thought. Rupert Giles' Traveling Library. Sounds like an Old West medicine show. He straightened and turned to Marcus. "I believe I can decipher your father's diaries. The code is a secret language that Ethan, Charles, and I developed based on several obscure books and a mathematical sequence," Giles told the young man. "Are all the pages coded like these?" he continued, indicating the image on the computer screen. Marcus thought a moment before answering. "No. Only parts of each book." "Then I think it's safe to assume that we only need to concentrate on those pages." Giles turned back to the red-haired young woman. "Willow, I need you to go through each of Marcus' disks and print out all the images that contain the coded entries." Marcus started at Mr. Giles' request and reached as if to remove the CD from the drive. Noting his reaction, Giles put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I understand your concern, Marcus. But we can't very well translate the diaries on the computer screen. And if, as I suspect, we don't have much time, I'm going to need your help to decipher them." Still looking like he might grab and run, Marcus conceded. "All right." He stepped back to give Willow room, but still anxiously watched her movements. "Should I start?" asked Willow, glancing back and forth between the two men. The former Watcher looked at Marcus, who gave his consent with an almost imperceptible nod. "Go ahead," Giles told her. Willow printed the current image on the screen. She closed the file and opened the next one, glanced over the text, and printed out the image. Repeating the process over and over, she randomly alternated between printing any given image or not. Soon a small stack of printed sheets waited in the printer's hopper. As Willow methodically printed images from the first diary, Giles dug through the crates of books stacked in one corner of the living room. He needed to find his own journals from his time at university, as well as his copy of Tobin's Demon Guide, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and a set of Arthurian tales written in the original medieval French. Marcus had begun to help, but a raised eyebrow from Giles made him decide that staying put might be an acceptable alternate. Secretly, he was glad of it. He wasn't interested in ripping his wounds open if it meant that anyone else – especially a female witch – was going to be part of the audience. Giles was certain that the key itself was in one of his journals, but it required particular passages from these obscure or rare books to be complete. Giles hoped he had brought them with him. Lately he had been using his library of arcane texts almost as much as when he had been a Watcher. Back in England, he had become something of a professional ghost chaser. Since the mother country was up to its hackles in haunted castles and the like, the career move could prove to be a lucrative one. Assuming I ever get back to it, he told himself. However, at least for the time being, it appeared he was needed more in Sunnydale. Giles finally found the necessary books in the last crate, naturally. He spread them out on the coffee table and settled himself on one end of the couch, while Marcus retrieved the pages from the printer and slowly made his way to the wingback chair. He handed them to Giles, who started flipping through them. "You might want to number the sheets," Willow told him helpfully. "In case they get shuffled." "That's a good idea, Willow," replied Giles. He proceeded to do just that before handing half the stack to Marcus. "Once we have deciphered your father's diaries," Giles told Marcus as he numbered the next stack, "there may be some additional research to be done. Given Charles' predilection for flowery language, I doubt that even once they're translated the passages will be straightforward." "I can help with research," Willow piped up from her seat at the computer. "Yes, I was counting on your assistance with that infernal machine." "It's called a computer, Giles," she chided him. Giles kept any additional computer comments to himself. Marcus marveled at the easy rapport between them, and recalled one of his few friends with whom he'd felt so comfortable. He studied the printouts, suddenly feeling quite homesick. |
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