Living on a Hellmouth means Xander is used to freaky things happening. So when, after three hours of trying to sift through the paperwork that has built up in the foreman's office, Xander begins to feel like his head might explode, he makes a beeline for the door because there's no saying it won't actually happen.
Three hours ago, helping with paperwork had seemed like a pleasant change to the chaos and head-hurting-ness of casa de Summers. Now he's getting homesick for teenage yelling and ultimate evil. So it's a surprise to find the house empty when he arrives at Buffy's.
He treads softly through the house until he hears decidedly organised shouting coming from the back yard. The girls are lined up in rows, doing something that looks like caffeine-fuelled Tai chi. It'd be cute if he didn't know what it was for. Buffy is leading the group, looking focused and calm for the first time in a while. With the sun red and low on the horizon, it looks like it could be a scene from a movie. Dawn is sitting on the porch step, a book open in her lap, but she's not paying it any attention. She looks around and smiles when Xander approaches.
"They're not trying to kill each other anymore," he announces, astounded, as he takes a seat beside her. She watches the group a moment more, and Xander can't help but worry that Dawn is still clinging just a little to her moment of almost-Slayer-hood. He knows what it's like to be the one watching the group, after all.
"Buffy's way of de-stressing the potentials," she explains. "I think it's actually working. They're not yelling at each other anyway, so it's good enough for me." She grins at Xander, and he responds in kind. At least he has work and his own apartment when he needs to escape. Dawn's the one sharing her room with five strange girls.
He scans the rows of girls, some of whom still aren't recognisable. He wonders if he'll ever learn all their names. Then wonders if he'll have time to try.
His gaze comes to rest at the end of the furthest row, on the definitely non-female figure standing a little apart from the formation. Andrew's face is blocked by the camera in his hands, but Xander can just hear him muttering something to himself. Or possibly to the camera. He's oddly impressed to see that Andrew is still wearing the yellow shirt from yesterday with his black pants: at least he has the sense to conserve his resources.
Xander looks back at Dawn, nodding his head in Andrew's direction and furrowing his brow.
"Willow's got him taping the training sessions," Dawn informs him with an amused smile. "He was whining about being bored and Buffy was ready to strangle him, so Willow gave him the camera. It's supposed to be so the potentials can learn from the tapes, but I think he's trying to turn it into ESPN coverage."
Xander considers this for a moment.
"Does he even know what ESPN is?"
She giggles, and Xander is happy. It's not a sound he hears much lately.
They watch a moment longer, until Dawn snaps her book closed, startling him.
"Well, the reading isn't happening anymore. I'm gonna get a drink." Her invitation is unspoken, but Xander gratefully gets up and follows her into the kitchen. There is companionable silence for a blissful couple of minutes as Dawn helps herself to a glass of juice and Xander decides to fill a jug of ice water for the trainee Slayers, until the back door slams, shattering the peace.
Three potentials, not one of whom Xander can name, storm into the kitchen and crowd around the refrigerator. They rummage around inside, emptying tubs and jars on to the counter, until Xander hears an outraged "hey", and all three of them turn back into the room.
Before they can explain the problem, Andrew comes clattering into the kitchen, camera still in hand.
"What did you do?" Xander doesn't know which one has spoken: they're becoming interchangeable. It probably doesn't matter though, because they've all fixed Andrew with the same accusatory glare.
Both he and Dawn swivel their eyes to the accused, who takes a second to process the question before his face lights up in realisation.
"Convenience food," he explains, only to be met with three identical impassive stares. "See, I cooked the meals in bulk and put them in the Tupperware boxes so all you have to do is microwave." His face is defiantly hopeful. Xander decides it doesn't help.
"But now there's nothing in here for in between meals."
Xander just knows that Andrew is about to respond with something about not eating between meals. 'Please don't,' he thinks as hard as he can in the vain hope that Andrew can tap into the telepathy thing Willow's got going between her, Xander and Buffy. 'I can't take any more yelling, and they'll just eat you alive.'
Fortunately, both his ears and Andrew's life are spared when Buffy and Willow appear in the doorway. Behind them, the rest of the potentials have gathered together and are unashamedly staring at the impasse.
"What now?" Buffy's voice suggests that the de-stressing exercises aren't as good as Dawn had hoped.
Three voices break into a confused jumble of speech, with Andrew's name the only recognisable part. Xander watches him fidget under the weight of the words. Flash of egg-yellow bruises, of wide rabbit-eyes and a green towel...
Buffy does the Giles-eyes thing, and Xander watches her clench and unclench her fists for a moment.
"You know what?" she breathes, glancing at the girls, "you deal with it. If you can't even handle him then what hope do we have?" She turns and stalks out of the kitchen, pushing past the gaggle of potentials that have crowded behind her. Willow casts an imploring glance at Xander, then shakes her head and goes after Buffy. Beside him, Dawn eyes the girls with trepidation, then puts down her glass and leaves without a word.
Potentials to the left of them. Potentials to the right of them. Exhausted and annoyed.
"Andrew? Get in the car."
*****
tbc
Three hours ago, helping with paperwork had seemed like a pleasant change to the chaos and head-hurting-ness of casa de Summers. Now he's getting homesick for teenage yelling and ultimate evil. So it's a surprise to find the house empty when he arrives at Buffy's.
He treads softly through the house until he hears decidedly organised shouting coming from the back yard. The girls are lined up in rows, doing something that looks like caffeine-fuelled Tai chi. It'd be cute if he didn't know what it was for. Buffy is leading the group, looking focused and calm for the first time in a while. With the sun red and low on the horizon, it looks like it could be a scene from a movie. Dawn is sitting on the porch step, a book open in her lap, but she's not paying it any attention. She looks around and smiles when Xander approaches.
"They're not trying to kill each other anymore," he announces, astounded, as he takes a seat beside her. She watches the group a moment more, and Xander can't help but worry that Dawn is still clinging just a little to her moment of almost-Slayer-hood. He knows what it's like to be the one watching the group, after all.
"Buffy's way of de-stressing the potentials," she explains. "I think it's actually working. They're not yelling at each other anyway, so it's good enough for me." She grins at Xander, and he responds in kind. At least he has work and his own apartment when he needs to escape. Dawn's the one sharing her room with five strange girls.
He scans the rows of girls, some of whom still aren't recognisable. He wonders if he'll ever learn all their names. Then wonders if he'll have time to try.
His gaze comes to rest at the end of the furthest row, on the definitely non-female figure standing a little apart from the formation. Andrew's face is blocked by the camera in his hands, but Xander can just hear him muttering something to himself. Or possibly to the camera. He's oddly impressed to see that Andrew is still wearing the yellow shirt from yesterday with his black pants: at least he has the sense to conserve his resources.
Xander looks back at Dawn, nodding his head in Andrew's direction and furrowing his brow.
"Willow's got him taping the training sessions," Dawn informs him with an amused smile. "He was whining about being bored and Buffy was ready to strangle him, so Willow gave him the camera. It's supposed to be so the potentials can learn from the tapes, but I think he's trying to turn it into ESPN coverage."
Xander considers this for a moment.
"Does he even know what ESPN is?"
She giggles, and Xander is happy. It's not a sound he hears much lately.
They watch a moment longer, until Dawn snaps her book closed, startling him.
"Well, the reading isn't happening anymore. I'm gonna get a drink." Her invitation is unspoken, but Xander gratefully gets up and follows her into the kitchen. There is companionable silence for a blissful couple of minutes as Dawn helps herself to a glass of juice and Xander decides to fill a jug of ice water for the trainee Slayers, until the back door slams, shattering the peace.
Three potentials, not one of whom Xander can name, storm into the kitchen and crowd around the refrigerator. They rummage around inside, emptying tubs and jars on to the counter, until Xander hears an outraged "hey", and all three of them turn back into the room.
Before they can explain the problem, Andrew comes clattering into the kitchen, camera still in hand.
"What did you do?" Xander doesn't know which one has spoken: they're becoming interchangeable. It probably doesn't matter though, because they've all fixed Andrew with the same accusatory glare.
Both he and Dawn swivel their eyes to the accused, who takes a second to process the question before his face lights up in realisation.
"Convenience food," he explains, only to be met with three identical impassive stares. "See, I cooked the meals in bulk and put them in the Tupperware boxes so all you have to do is microwave." His face is defiantly hopeful. Xander decides it doesn't help.
"But now there's nothing in here for in between meals."
Xander just knows that Andrew is about to respond with something about not eating between meals. 'Please don't,' he thinks as hard as he can in the vain hope that Andrew can tap into the telepathy thing Willow's got going between her, Xander and Buffy. 'I can't take any more yelling, and they'll just eat you alive.'
Fortunately, both his ears and Andrew's life are spared when Buffy and Willow appear in the doorway. Behind them, the rest of the potentials have gathered together and are unashamedly staring at the impasse.
"What now?" Buffy's voice suggests that the de-stressing exercises aren't as good as Dawn had hoped.
Three voices break into a confused jumble of speech, with Andrew's name the only recognisable part. Xander watches him fidget under the weight of the words. Flash of egg-yellow bruises, of wide rabbit-eyes and a green towel...
Buffy does the Giles-eyes thing, and Xander watches her clench and unclench her fists for a moment.
"You know what?" she breathes, glancing at the girls, "you deal with it. If you can't even handle him then what hope do we have?" She turns and stalks out of the kitchen, pushing past the gaggle of potentials that have crowded behind her. Willow casts an imploring glance at Xander, then shakes her head and goes after Buffy. Beside him, Dawn eyes the girls with trepidation, then puts down her glass and leaves without a word.
Potentials to the left of them. Potentials to the right of them. Exhausted and annoyed.
"Andrew? Get in the car."
*****
tbc