Friday Morning
Sunlight shined through Oz's window and illuminated the faces of
the sleeping couple. They were on their sides, spoon-fashion with
Oz holding Willow from behind, and they started wriggling as they
started to awaken. They murmured endearments in their
semi-conscious state, and Oz started to lean over her and kiss
her ear.
The alarm clock on the night table rang loud, shattering their
mood, and Oz reached for it blindly to turn it off.
"Ugh. Nice dream." Willow turned her head and saw Oz. "Not a
dream. Why do we have to wake up?"
"The band. We've got to be on the road by 10."
"Aww. No snugglies until Monday."
"You'll survive. I'll survive."
"Don't pick up any groupies."
"Devon's job, not mine."
Willow wriggled free of Oz's embrace. "I feel sticky."
"We're doing it right."
"Up, Mister. You go shower. I'll strip the bed."
"Yes, boss." Oz rolled to his feet and went into the
bathroom. Willow got up, stripped the sheets off the bed, and
then put fresh ones on. She looked at the clock. "Two hours?
We've got time." She went into the bathroom and joined him in the
shower.
Twenty minutes later, after they had cleaned their bodies and
dirtied their minds, they went back into his bedroom and got
dressed. Oz packed his clothes for the trip, and he went
downstairs to prepare breakfast while Willow loaded the washer.
They sat next to each other at the kitchen table and leaned into
each other while they ate their grapefruit and their waffles. It
was a quiet time for them, a day of peace.
"If only this would last, Oz."
"I'll do everything I can to make it last."
"But the vamps will be back soon. Hell always says 'Hello!' on
the Hellmouth."
"All the more reason to enjoy today. Shh." Oz led her into the
living room, took out his guitar, and played a tune he was
writing for her. The "Ping!" of the washing machine eventually
interrupted them, and she got up to transfer the clothes to the
dryer while he grabbed his duffel and his electric guitar. They
loaded his van, and Oz dropped Willow off at her home. She then
called Jonathon; they agreed to meet there for lunch and to work
on the service.
---
The Chase house was nearly empty; the bankruptcy filing had taken
nearly everything, and the bare walls and floors mocked Cordelia
as much as the squalor of Xander's basement mocked him. Xander
woke up and saw Cordelia standing at the window, facing
outside. He walked behind her and slipped his arms around her
waist.
She froze for a moment, and then she dropped her hands to his and
pushed them away. "Don't."
"I'm not trying to." And he wasn't trying to pull her back to
bed. Xander knew better.
"Just go, Xander." Her voice was weary and teary.
"I'm not going, Cor. I won't leave you like this."
"How can you stand to look at me? Everything's gone."
"You're still here. You're what's important. Not things."
She fell back toward him, and he caught her and wrapped his arms
around her again. This time, she accepted them.
"I'm not leaving, Cordy. I'm here for you, for us." Cordy sagged
in his arms, and he lowered her to the floor. He got in front of
her and held her gently while she burst into tears. He rocked her
gently, the way her favorite nanny used to do when she scraped a
knee.
"Don't let them destroy you, Cordy. They're not important,
really. You are. You'll never give up, and you'll survive them
all. I know it." Cordy looked up at Xander. "And you know it
too."
---
It was a day of enforced rest for Buffy, Joyce, and Giles. A
torrential rainstorm had hit the Bay Area, and no one wanted to
brave the weather. Joyce and Giles sat around the indoor pool
while Buffy compulsively swam laps.
"Do you swim, Rupert?"
"Certainly. Watchers need to be able to survive in any
terrain. Slayers tend to survive just naturally." He winced at a
memory.
"That bad, huh?"
"Master Sergeant Swinnerton was a right old bastard, retired from
the SAS. I was the oldest trainee that form--sorry, that year,
and I wasn't 18 any more. On marches, I always ended up trailing,
and so he'd load my pack with an extra sword or two.
"I finally got my revenge on him. We were practicing hand-to-hand
combat. Of course, he paired me with him. After a a minute of
getting my ar--sorry, behind--kicked by him, I used a Ripper
trick on him."
"You used magic on him."
"In a sense, yes. I stepped back and made some motions with my
right hand, like this." Giles demonstrated. "'You gormless
bastard!' said old Swinny, and he lunged at my hand. Whereupon I
kicked him in the left leg, breaking it. He fell, and I pinned
his arm and put my hand around his neck. 'It's against the rules
for trainees to use magic. It's not against the rules for
trainees to fake using magic.' I visited him in hospital after
that, and he told me never to change. He's still a bastard
though."
"I'll bet your bosses weren't pleased."
"Most weren't. Travers certainly wasn't. But the Council Chairman
was. 'The Watchers need someone who can bend the rules to
succeed,' he said."
"I see why you and Buffy get along so well."
"There are few rules we haven't broken at least once. That's why
we're still here."
"Does your Council understand that?"
"No. Good riddance."
"You say that, but it must be wrenching for you."
"Ah, but one must grow up eventually."
They heard a loud splash next to them, and they turned toward the
sound. Buffy had finished her laps, and she was holding onto the
side of the pool in front of them. "Hey, Giles! When was your
last workout?"
Giles groaned, and he said, "A fortnight ago, I'm afraid."
"Well, you'd better get back in shape, or I'll wipe the floor
with you when we get back."
"May I remind you that we have nowhere to train?"
"I guess I'll take that job at the Y."
"Train in public?"
"Do you have a better idea?"
"I'm afraid not. But, Sla--we're not supposed to do that."
"Giles, how many people saw us in action at the school? Do you
think they'll forget what they saw and did?"
"Joyce, I must beg a favor of you. Please save me a shred of
dignity. Don't come and watch."
"Of course, Rupert."
"Cool."
---
"I think that about covers it. Cordy and Xander have the banners
for the church, you took care of the photo shop, and I've got the
program under control."
"Willow, I hope we don't screw this up. We owe them."
"Let's save our stage fright for Tuesday. Do you want to stay for
dinner? I want to do something--I haven't done it in years, and
it's likely to really confuse Mom and Dad."
"What? Nothing bad, I hope. Where's your Mom anyway?"
"Nothing bad, just an irresistible impulse. And, I don't know
where they are, and I don't care. We had a big fight Wednesday
over Oz. Can you drive me to the supermarket? I'll need some
supplies."
Jonathon looked nervous. "This isn't magic stuff, is it?"
"No, just food. A special type of food."
At times like this, Willow sought things she was familiar with:
familiar foods, familiar books, familiar music, and familiar
traditions. She would reenact an old tradition, one that her
family had not practiced for six years, since her Bat Mitzvah.
They went to the gourmet Yuppie supermarket, and she picked up
some ready-to-eat food for dinner. Then, she went to the ethnic
aisle and picked up some candles. Then, she went to the bakery
and picked up two loaves of challah. They paid for the food and
went back to her house.
"Disasters bring you back to religion?"
"'There are no atheists in foxholes.' I'm going to go to Beit
David after dinner. It's 10 to 6. I hope they get back soon."
"Your Mom and Dad? Do they work too much?"
"Dad tries to get home at a reasonable hour Fridays, and Mom--I
don't know what she's up to. Can you help me set the table?"
"Sure. Which plates?"
"Over there." She set the food in the oven to keep warm, and she
set two candles in two candlesticks. She put the challah onto a
plate and put an embroidered cover atop, and she fumbled around
in the liquor cabinet. "Ah, the good stuff. Chateau Weinstock. I
hate the typical kosher sweet wines. Here, put this yarmulke on."
Her parents got home at 6:05, They put their briefcases down and
walked into the living room. They were surprised to find the
formal dinner set up, and then Willow tossed her father a
yarmulke. A little dazed, he did, and they stood at their seats
as they had done long ago. She proceded to light the candles, and
she led them in singing the prayer: "Baruch atah Adonai,
Elohaynu, melech ha-olam asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav, v'tzivanu
l'hadlik ner shel shabbat."
A tear came to her father's eye as he sang the Kiddush, the
blessings over the wine, though he had to refer to the prayer
book she had found in the bookcase. Then, she prompted her mother
to read the Ha-Motzi, the blessing over the bread.
They sat down for diner, and the conversation was reasonably
civilized. As long as the Shabbat candles burned, none of them
was willing to start a fight. They got through dinner, and Willow
said, "Birkat Ha-Mazon?" At her father's bewildered look, she
said, "I guess not. Jon, can you drop me off at the synagogue?"
"Of course." Willow rushed to her room, hurriedly changed
clothes, and rejoined Jonathon and her parents. The Rosenbergs
looked nearly as bewildered as they had been two nights before,
and the two teenagers walked out.
When she walked into the synagogue, she noticed a family waiting
at the door. The mother said, "Willow? Willow Rosenberg?"
"Yes. Excuse me?"
"Jonathon Levenson told me that you two were organizing the
memorial service. We really have to thank you two." Willow gasped
and looked down at her feet; she knew why they were at the
door. One does not formally mourn on Shabbat, but mourners wait
outside the sanctuary until after the Lecha Dodi hymn.
The father nodded. "We lost our son, Solomon Admore, last
Saturday. I'm sure he appreciates what you are doing for him." He
proceeded to introduce the remaining members of his family, as
tears rolled down Willow's cheeks.
"Were you there?" Mr. Admore nodded again. Willow hugged each of
them and stood with them as the service went on.
She walked with them into the sanctuary, and at the end of the
service she stood up with them to recite the Mourner's
Kaddish. They stayed for the Oneg Shabbat, and then they dropped
her off at her home.
"You'll come to the service?"
"We are honored."
---
"Ugh. I hate this."
"We weren't going to stay at your house, Cordy."
"Your father scares me."
"Try living with him. Let's try not to wake him."
"Oh, he won't be up until morning." Cordy pointed at a pile of
empty cans. They sneaked into his bedroom and went to bed.
Sunlight shined through Oz's window and illuminated the faces of
the sleeping couple. They were on their sides, spoon-fashion with
Oz holding Willow from behind, and they started wriggling as they
started to awaken. They murmured endearments in their
semi-conscious state, and Oz started to lean over her and kiss
her ear.
The alarm clock on the night table rang loud, shattering their
mood, and Oz reached for it blindly to turn it off.
"Ugh. Nice dream." Willow turned her head and saw Oz. "Not a
dream. Why do we have to wake up?"
"The band. We've got to be on the road by 10."
"Aww. No snugglies until Monday."
"You'll survive. I'll survive."
"Don't pick up any groupies."
"Devon's job, not mine."
Willow wriggled free of Oz's embrace. "I feel sticky."
"We're doing it right."
"Up, Mister. You go shower. I'll strip the bed."
"Yes, boss." Oz rolled to his feet and went into the
bathroom. Willow got up, stripped the sheets off the bed, and
then put fresh ones on. She looked at the clock. "Two hours?
We've got time." She went into the bathroom and joined him in the
shower.
Twenty minutes later, after they had cleaned their bodies and
dirtied their minds, they went back into his bedroom and got
dressed. Oz packed his clothes for the trip, and he went
downstairs to prepare breakfast while Willow loaded the washer.
They sat next to each other at the kitchen table and leaned into
each other while they ate their grapefruit and their waffles. It
was a quiet time for them, a day of peace.
"If only this would last, Oz."
"I'll do everything I can to make it last."
"But the vamps will be back soon. Hell always says 'Hello!' on
the Hellmouth."
"All the more reason to enjoy today. Shh." Oz led her into the
living room, took out his guitar, and played a tune he was
writing for her. The "Ping!" of the washing machine eventually
interrupted them, and she got up to transfer the clothes to the
dryer while he grabbed his duffel and his electric guitar. They
loaded his van, and Oz dropped Willow off at her home. She then
called Jonathon; they agreed to meet there for lunch and to work
on the service.
---
The Chase house was nearly empty; the bankruptcy filing had taken
nearly everything, and the bare walls and floors mocked Cordelia
as much as the squalor of Xander's basement mocked him. Xander
woke up and saw Cordelia standing at the window, facing
outside. He walked behind her and slipped his arms around her
waist.
She froze for a moment, and then she dropped her hands to his and
pushed them away. "Don't."
"I'm not trying to." And he wasn't trying to pull her back to
bed. Xander knew better.
"Just go, Xander." Her voice was weary and teary.
"I'm not going, Cor. I won't leave you like this."
"How can you stand to look at me? Everything's gone."
"You're still here. You're what's important. Not things."
She fell back toward him, and he caught her and wrapped his arms
around her again. This time, she accepted them.
"I'm not leaving, Cordy. I'm here for you, for us." Cordy sagged
in his arms, and he lowered her to the floor. He got in front of
her and held her gently while she burst into tears. He rocked her
gently, the way her favorite nanny used to do when she scraped a
knee.
"Don't let them destroy you, Cordy. They're not important,
really. You are. You'll never give up, and you'll survive them
all. I know it." Cordy looked up at Xander. "And you know it
too."
---
It was a day of enforced rest for Buffy, Joyce, and Giles. A
torrential rainstorm had hit the Bay Area, and no one wanted to
brave the weather. Joyce and Giles sat around the indoor pool
while Buffy compulsively swam laps.
"Do you swim, Rupert?"
"Certainly. Watchers need to be able to survive in any
terrain. Slayers tend to survive just naturally." He winced at a
memory.
"That bad, huh?"
"Master Sergeant Swinnerton was a right old bastard, retired from
the SAS. I was the oldest trainee that form--sorry, that year,
and I wasn't 18 any more. On marches, I always ended up trailing,
and so he'd load my pack with an extra sword or two.
"I finally got my revenge on him. We were practicing hand-to-hand
combat. Of course, he paired me with him. After a a minute of
getting my ar--sorry, behind--kicked by him, I used a Ripper
trick on him."
"You used magic on him."
"In a sense, yes. I stepped back and made some motions with my
right hand, like this." Giles demonstrated. "'You gormless
bastard!' said old Swinny, and he lunged at my hand. Whereupon I
kicked him in the left leg, breaking it. He fell, and I pinned
his arm and put my hand around his neck. 'It's against the rules
for trainees to use magic. It's not against the rules for
trainees to fake using magic.' I visited him in hospital after
that, and he told me never to change. He's still a bastard
though."
"I'll bet your bosses weren't pleased."
"Most weren't. Travers certainly wasn't. But the Council Chairman
was. 'The Watchers need someone who can bend the rules to
succeed,' he said."
"I see why you and Buffy get along so well."
"There are few rules we haven't broken at least once. That's why
we're still here."
"Does your Council understand that?"
"No. Good riddance."
"You say that, but it must be wrenching for you."
"Ah, but one must grow up eventually."
They heard a loud splash next to them, and they turned toward the
sound. Buffy had finished her laps, and she was holding onto the
side of the pool in front of them. "Hey, Giles! When was your
last workout?"
Giles groaned, and he said, "A fortnight ago, I'm afraid."
"Well, you'd better get back in shape, or I'll wipe the floor
with you when we get back."
"May I remind you that we have nowhere to train?"
"I guess I'll take that job at the Y."
"Train in public?"
"Do you have a better idea?"
"I'm afraid not. But, Sla--we're not supposed to do that."
"Giles, how many people saw us in action at the school? Do you
think they'll forget what they saw and did?"
"Joyce, I must beg a favor of you. Please save me a shred of
dignity. Don't come and watch."
"Of course, Rupert."
"Cool."
---
"I think that about covers it. Cordy and Xander have the banners
for the church, you took care of the photo shop, and I've got the
program under control."
"Willow, I hope we don't screw this up. We owe them."
"Let's save our stage fright for Tuesday. Do you want to stay for
dinner? I want to do something--I haven't done it in years, and
it's likely to really confuse Mom and Dad."
"What? Nothing bad, I hope. Where's your Mom anyway?"
"Nothing bad, just an irresistible impulse. And, I don't know
where they are, and I don't care. We had a big fight Wednesday
over Oz. Can you drive me to the supermarket? I'll need some
supplies."
Jonathon looked nervous. "This isn't magic stuff, is it?"
"No, just food. A special type of food."
At times like this, Willow sought things she was familiar with:
familiar foods, familiar books, familiar music, and familiar
traditions. She would reenact an old tradition, one that her
family had not practiced for six years, since her Bat Mitzvah.
They went to the gourmet Yuppie supermarket, and she picked up
some ready-to-eat food for dinner. Then, she went to the ethnic
aisle and picked up some candles. Then, she went to the bakery
and picked up two loaves of challah. They paid for the food and
went back to her house.
"Disasters bring you back to religion?"
"'There are no atheists in foxholes.' I'm going to go to Beit
David after dinner. It's 10 to 6. I hope they get back soon."
"Your Mom and Dad? Do they work too much?"
"Dad tries to get home at a reasonable hour Fridays, and Mom--I
don't know what she's up to. Can you help me set the table?"
"Sure. Which plates?"
"Over there." She set the food in the oven to keep warm, and she
set two candles in two candlesticks. She put the challah onto a
plate and put an embroidered cover atop, and she fumbled around
in the liquor cabinet. "Ah, the good stuff. Chateau Weinstock. I
hate the typical kosher sweet wines. Here, put this yarmulke on."
Her parents got home at 6:05, They put their briefcases down and
walked into the living room. They were surprised to find the
formal dinner set up, and then Willow tossed her father a
yarmulke. A little dazed, he did, and they stood at their seats
as they had done long ago. She proceded to light the candles, and
she led them in singing the prayer: "Baruch atah Adonai,
Elohaynu, melech ha-olam asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav, v'tzivanu
l'hadlik ner shel shabbat."
A tear came to her father's eye as he sang the Kiddush, the
blessings over the wine, though he had to refer to the prayer
book she had found in the bookcase. Then, she prompted her mother
to read the Ha-Motzi, the blessing over the bread.
They sat down for diner, and the conversation was reasonably
civilized. As long as the Shabbat candles burned, none of them
was willing to start a fight. They got through dinner, and Willow
said, "Birkat Ha-Mazon?" At her father's bewildered look, she
said, "I guess not. Jon, can you drop me off at the synagogue?"
"Of course." Willow rushed to her room, hurriedly changed
clothes, and rejoined Jonathon and her parents. The Rosenbergs
looked nearly as bewildered as they had been two nights before,
and the two teenagers walked out.
When she walked into the synagogue, she noticed a family waiting
at the door. The mother said, "Willow? Willow Rosenberg?"
"Yes. Excuse me?"
"Jonathon Levenson told me that you two were organizing the
memorial service. We really have to thank you two." Willow gasped
and looked down at her feet; she knew why they were at the
door. One does not formally mourn on Shabbat, but mourners wait
outside the sanctuary until after the Lecha Dodi hymn.
The father nodded. "We lost our son, Solomon Admore, last
Saturday. I'm sure he appreciates what you are doing for him." He
proceeded to introduce the remaining members of his family, as
tears rolled down Willow's cheeks.
"Were you there?" Mr. Admore nodded again. Willow hugged each of
them and stood with them as the service went on.
She walked with them into the sanctuary, and at the end of the
service she stood up with them to recite the Mourner's
Kaddish. They stayed for the Oneg Shabbat, and then they dropped
her off at her home.
"You'll come to the service?"
"We are honored."
---
"Ugh. I hate this."
"We weren't going to stay at your house, Cordy."
"Your father scares me."
"Try living with him. Let's try not to wake him."
"Oh, he won't be up until morning." Cordy pointed at a pile of
empty cans. They sneaked into his bedroom and went to bed.
