Act II:
Zeppo Reloaded
Part 2: Iceberg Peak
******
"Winning isn't everything, but it sure beats anything that comes in second."
Paul 'Bear' Bryant
******
Late-January, After Midnight East Side Docks
"You understand what needs to happen?" He stood in the shadows, awaiting the response from Jansen, Pappy's appointed advocate. He hated having to repeat himself, but the Boss wanted to ensure that this whole shebang went smoothly. "Most importantly, when?"
"Yes, I do, sir." The response was respectful, yet thoughtful. Just the type needed when speaking with your better. The last advocate that forgot that by addressing him by name was fed to a starving minion. In truth, he didn't really mind actually, but for appearances sake.
"This is a critically important mission, Mr. Jansen," he paused, letting the other man soak that in. "The Boss will be greatly pleased if it comes off without a hitch." He paused again, leading Jansen like a puppet. "However, if things go badly. . ." He trailed off, shrugging for effect.
His night-vision noted the not-quite shudder, enhanced hearing picked up the suppressed gulp. He smirked coldly, The Boss wasn't exactly known for suffering fools gladly. Neither was he, for that matter. Maybe that fear could inspire the necessary results.
"You do not have to worry, sir." Jansen's calm still had an undertone of fear. "Everything is on schedule and will proceed tomorrow night according to plan."
"For your sake," he smirked again, vamping out. "I certainly hope so."
The gulp wasn't so suppressed this time.
*******
Same night, Private home,
"You are wondering just how much do I know?" They sat in his uncle's home office. It was comfortably furnished, designed with casual elegance in mind, in character with the rest of the house. In all the times Xander had visited him, the place had never failed to feel like a home. This feeling he often contrasted with his own house, which instead felt like just simply a place to stay. He shook out of his reverie, and stared at his uncle, nodding succinctly.
"I know that you run with the blonde Slayer." Xander blinked. "I know that you've been hunting on your own, but sometimes have help." Xander gaped, his uncle shrugged. "I also know that you've cast a definitive shadow on the Hellmouth. The word is out about Silent Death riding a black bike. You have a number of people, and demons, either breathing fiery anger and/or pissing in their boots, Nemo." Xander shook his head; his uncle had made the obvious connection. Uncle Rory smiled proudly. "Not bad, especially for one so young."
Xander flushed, never really used to accepting praise well. "Thanks, Unk. But, I mean, what I want to say. . ." He stopped, trying to gather himself.
"'Who am I, really?" Rory said calmly.
He shrugged nonchalantly, masking his concern. "Yeah, that."
"Well, I'll answer that with a question." Rory leaned forward. "What do you think I do for a living?"
Xander's eyes narrowed in thought. "You work as a consultant for a security company, right?"
Rory nodded. "Yes, and no. I do work for a security company; Twilight Security Group, to be precise." He fished out a business card and handed it to Xander. Xander examined the card, casually memorizing all details like he'd been taught. The name sounded somewhat familiar, but not to him exactly. It tugged at the part of his mind where the Soldier resided. He noted the emblem, a sunset montage. Shrugging, he started to hand it back to Rory, who gestured for him to keep it.
"While the company does do simple security, especially personal and corporate security work, their primary purpose is to. . ." Rory looked skyward for a moment. "Make a difference against the 'shadows,' and the boogiemen, you know what I mean?" Xander nodded slowly. Rory continued. "Twilight Security Group is a multinational privately-held paramilitary corporation 'discretely sanctioned' by both NATO and the UN," Xander's eyebrows rose. "To offer member nations, legitimate governments and other institutions accelerated conflict resolution, intelligence, expertise, and intensive training for operations in the paranormal theater."
Xander gaped. "'Discretely sanctioned?' The UN? NATO?"
Rory nodded. "The only reason TSG is not considered 'black,' per se, is because we are totally independent; therefore we answer to no one institution or entity, though we do receive government contracts, quietly, from those in the 'know.'"
He paused, letting that soak in. "Our personnel tend to be mostly former special operations soldiers, intelligence operatives or police officers from various nations; we also do get some civilians who want to help," he smiled. "Such as myself."
Xander goggled.
Rory chuckled sardonically. "You think you and your band of 'misfits' are the only ones who fight the dark?"
Xander snorted. Any illusions he held about that were shattered when he was "introduced" to the Ten. But still. . .
He gestured helplessly toward Rory.
"Me?" Rory looked amused.
"Well, yeah." Xander looked a little chagrined.
"You're not the only one with secrets, young man." Rory playfully waggled a finger.
Xander rolled his eyes. "Obviously." He shook his head ruefully, looked like his real secret was safe. For now. "So, Unk, how long ya been a demon fighter?" He smirked, cocked his head.
Rory snorted at his flippant tone before pausing pensively, turning serious. "Sometimes it feels like forever." He shrugged.
Xander sobered somewhat, "Yeah." He thought of the last three years that felt like a damn eternity. "I know what you mean."
******
Same Night,
Elsewhere
He walked into his apartment. He knew it was a secure building; he knew that before he decided to "rent" it. Still, he checked his surroundings thoroughly, as he'd been trained to do. Finding nothing amiss, he finally relaxed, but not totally. Never totally.
He moved to his office area. He'd only been in town for a short time, but he'd already grown comfortable in his surroundings; his employers excelled at taking care of their people, all their people, unlike some other organizations he knew. This was going to be an unusual operation; fortunately, he had allies in place. Speaking of which. . .
He logged into his system and checked his messages. Hmmm. . . So that what's happening? He'd heard some whispers and did some further checking. That whole debacle is going to end up having some nasty repercussions. He sighed. If the whispers were true, it wasn't as if Rip had much choice, but still. He shrugged, forwarding the info along, with complete trust.
There was one from Jules, talking about a successful operation. He smiled; he was really proud of Jules. To confront and conquer adversity was quite admirable, and for one so young. . .
He checked the time; it was too late for contact. He'd have to touch base with Jules later. He logged out, shut down his system and headed to bed. He was going to be very busy tomorrow. Soon, it will be Showtime.
******
Later that night,
Private Home
"Whoa!"
The wind whistled past Xander, serenading him as he sailed through the air, before landing flat on his back with a decisive thud. He laid there, swallowed a groan, sucking oxygen. He wasn't hurt, at least not physically; the cushioned mat, his skill in proper falling, and his uncle's easy control reduced any real chance of that. But his pride and ego was something else. After that display in the alley, he knew that it really should not be a shock, but seeing and feeling are two different things.
"Had enough?" Rory asked lightly.
"Just.." Xander paused, panting. "Getting my second wind." He looked up at him. Rory had the nerve to smile. He scowled, glared at the ceiling. Why he'd asked to spar his uncle in the first place was just baffling.
He realized that since Kodiak left, he had not had any real challenges. He often tended to catch his prey by surprise and, by the time they knew what hit them, they were dust. He had been working with Faith, but the option of sparring had never came up. Plus, he'd never really considered checking himself against a Slayer before. He was glad he didn't now.
The particularly galling part was the fact that he knew Uncle Rory was going on cruise. And he was still lighting Xander up with ease. Xander tried everything, every trick Kodiak or the Soldier 'taught' him, or that he just made up, with no results. He might as well have been fighting a damn ghost.
Rory reached down and extended a hand; Xander accepted it and rose to his feet, a touch slowly. Before he could resume a ready stance, his uncle held up a hand.
"Let's call it a night, Alexander." He flashed Xander a proud smile while pulling off his protective headgear. "You are pretty good, kid."
Xander scoffed, pulling off his own. "I could barely lay a hand on you."
"Well," Rory drawled. "I've also been doing this for longer than you've been alive."
"Point." Xander conceded, albeit reluctantly. Rory chuckled.
"There is more to the art of combat than just simple physical attributes, or even a laundry list of techniques and tactics. You have only begun to grasp that, I see."
Xander nodded, remembering all the physically 'superior' opponents he'd taken out.
He thought back to the hours in the library, watching Buffy or Faith train or spar. He'd seen Kendra fight a couple times, Angel too. Nobody, even the 'uber-warriors,' could match his uncle's level of mastery and skill. And he was human. Kodiak was close, yet, he was another non-slayer, non- vamp, non-'uber.' The 'ubers' are faster, sure; stronger too. But if it came down to a fight between his uncle and any 'uber,' he'd know who he'd pick, after tonight.
"Look, after I get back from that business trip in a day or so, I could start training you, if you wish?"
"You wouldn't mind?" Xander's surprise was apparent.
"Not at all, Alex. It would be a pleasure."
Xander paused for a moment, pensive; he thought about where he was, where he is, where he wanted to be. "That'd be cool, thanks."
Rory waved it off. "Then it's settled," he looked at the clock, noting the late hour. "Your room is still made up, plus you've got some clothes here. Feel free to take a shower and crash." Rory sighed. "I still have a couple of things to do before I leave tomorrow."
"Okay, Unk." Xander started to move toward the exit to the gym room. He paused at the door. "Unk?"
Rory turned to him. "Yes, Alexander?"
"Thanks," he intoned solemnly, with heartfelt subtext. "For everything." They stared at one another for a beat. Rory nodded.
Rory smiled warmly. "Good night Alexander. Pleasant dreams."
Xander smiled back. "Night, Unk."
******
Almost dawn, Sunnydale Motel
She was having the dream again.
She knew it, and she knew she knew it. Still, she couldn't do anything about it. Like usual, like always.
All she could do was bear witness. She felt her pain. Watched her eyes bulging in obvious agony. Smelled the blood from the plethora of wounds. Heard the screams for help, for mercy. Heard the pleased cackling of the leeches enjoying the show. Enjoying having the Slayer at their mercy.
"Stop!" "No!" "Please!"
She had screamed her own throat raw by then, trying to break her restraints. She could hear the chains grinding, straining against her unnatural strength backed by a hellishly desperate rage. She was making progress; slow, drawn-out, agonizing progress. And her mother in everyway but blood, her Linda, couldn't afford any delay.
It was building to the moment; the same moment. No matter how many times she suffered through this dream, she never got used to that. She knew she never would.
Kakistos had drawn this particular fun out as long as he'd felt necessary. She could see he was bringing it to an end.
She watched Linda turn toward her, locking her gaze on her young protégé, her 'lovechild,' as she called her often. Before, she'd thought it sappy, gave her those icky, fluttery feelings. Now she would've given anything to hear Linda say it again.
"I love you, Faith." Linda's raw throat allowed her to only mouth the words across the distance, yet Faith could hear her voice as if she were whispering in her ear. "Forgive me?"
"Mom!"
She watched Kakistos' jagged hoof drive through Linda's neck, decapitating her with brute force. Linda's head rolled twice, and stopped; her dead eyes glaring at Faith, accusingly.
"You let me die!"
"NO!"
She came awake with a rush, bucking upright in her bed, body coated with a cold sweat. She panted heavily, peeling at her damp t-shirt. Slowly regaining her breath, she looked around, checking her surroundings. She noted the time; too late to be early and too early to be late. She sighed.
For a moment, she flirted with the idea of calling X. She knew that he'd make her feel better, if even just over the phone. She hated to admit that; went against the whole loner thing she had going. But he was the first and only person she'd let in since Linda. Which was a scary idea. She didn't come here for this.
She dismissed the thought, moved to the bathroom. She'd catch a quick shower, wash off the nightmare, then run through some of the old combat exercises and drills Linda showed her. She smirked; if she ever really cut loose on B, it would be just over so quick B's bottle-blonde head would spin.
She sighed again; whenever she used any lessons Linda taught, it felt like Linda was still there. She'd heard that as long as someone remembers you, you would never die.
If she had her way, Linda would be an immortal.
******
Shortly After,
Elsewhere
"It has begun, she is still strong, but shaken."
"Excellent work. You are really quite good at this, you know."
"What of the other? Do you wish the same methods?"
"No, not necessary, the reports I am seeing state she is off her game of late. It was the 'Gypsy' that concerned me."
"Why not eliminate both?"
"In due time. I have not waited over a century for my destiny just to let some young hooligans foul everything up."
"I understand, master."
"Of course, Edward. Care for some quiche?"
******
Next Day, Afternoon, Sunnydale High School
The sun shined down in the quad. The students mingled, eating and gossiping, some playing catch. From what he could see, it was a normal day at Sunnydale High School. And nobody was all the wiser. He laughed ruefully, appreciating the sense of déjà vu. For the second time in 3 years, Xander learned that the world is both much bigger and more complicated then he'd believed. And for the second time, that knowledge came at the hands of a loved one. He sighed; *at least Uncle Rory's not dead, or undead for that matter.*
Still, it beat the alternative. Where the Council was their only known allies, short of his own 'friends.' Now, from what his uncle had told him, there were some real helpful assets out there. They sound like they were on the 'up-and-up.'
It was interesting, though. When he'd asked him why no strike-team had ever taken the Hellmouth, all Uncle Rory did was snort. Seems like certain local big shots didn't 'appreciate' the offer. And without jurisdiction, TSG was stuck, being 'discrete' and all. It made the kind of sense that didn't; it also made him curious. He was going to have to check some sources. He chuckled internally; *Research Boy rides again!*
Tabling the thought for now, he rose from his seat, noticing some football players tossing around a ball. He remembered his uncle's lessons; all his father taught him about sports was how to 'get him a cold one and stay out of the way.' He decided to relax, be a teenaged boy again for once.
"Hey Bobby!" He waved his arms. "Toss me one?"
The star safety turned around, noticed who was calling him. Bobby laughed. They were not exactly chummy, but after Xander saved his life over the summer, they got along okay. Bobby gestured toward the ball, ignoring his friends who implored him not to do what he was about to do. Xander grinned.
The ball sailed through the air, a perfect spiral that was tailing away slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, Xander spotted Cordelia walking into the Quad, looking as gorgeous as ever. The slight distraction caused Xander to take his eye off the pass. When he looked up again, the pass was practically on top of him; he bobbled it badly, flipping into the lap, and lunch, of Jack O'Toole, resident psycho and 20-year old junior.
"Great, just great," Xander mumbled under his breath. "There's no way this will end pretty."
Jack's eyes turned to him with that dim-witted rage they must issue to bullies from birth. *Time to channel Martin Luther King and geek my way out.* He sighed internally. *Murphy's 3rd: Don't look conspicuous, it draws fire. Can't afford any trouble right now.*
"Boy, I'm so sorry." He turned up the geek act. "Bobby's throwing arm is- his arm's like spaghetti. We're all so sad for him; is your lunch okay?"
"What are you, Retarded." Jack looks even more angry. *Great, this peanut-brain is getting riled.*
"No! I mean I had to take that test when I was seven, a little slow on some stuff, mostly math and spacial relations, but certainly not 'challenged' or anything." He looked fearful and submissive. "Can I buy you another soda?"
Jack glared. "I ought to cut your face open."
Xander rolled his eyes, internally. *Damn, this ain't going well. Inject some backbone then cower more?*
"Hey, it was an accident, okay? Cool down."
Predictably, Jack stepped up, obviously itching for a fight. "You wanna be starting something?"
*Here comes the geek.* "What? Starting. like that Michael Jackson song, that was a lot of fun. 'Too high to get over, yeah yeah.' You remember that fun song?"
Xander watched Jack's aggression dim. "I get my buddies together, we're gonna kick your ass till it's a brand new shape. Now get out of here."
Exhaling in obvious, and not-so-obvious, relief, Xander grabbed the ball and left. He tossed it easily back to Bobby, who shrugged. Xander shook his head. Bobby shrugged again and returned to his catch.
"Boy, of all of your humiliations I have witnessed," came a familiarly caustic tone. "That was the latest."
Xander turned to her. "I could've taken him." He said this with genuine sincerity; if he didn't need to stay off the radar, Jack would be in the Nurse's office right now.
"Oh Please!" Cordy bit. "O'Toole would macarame your face. He's a psycho." She paused, looking him up and down. "Which is still cooler than being a wuss."
Xander turned to her; she smirked, itching for a battle of her own.
"It must be hard when all your friends have, like, superpowers. Slayers and witches and werewolves and vampires and you're like, this little nothing." She paused again, her eyes lighting in her perverse merriment. "You must feel like. Jimmy Olson!"
Against his will, he had to laugh. Irony much? "I was just." He realized what he was about to say and to whom. "Hey, mind your own business." He even mustered some defensive anger into his voice.
"Ohh, hit a nerve?" She was on a roll. "The boy who had no cool."
"I happen to be an integral part of the group. I have a lot to offer." *They just don't know how much.*
"Oh please!" She scoffed.
"I do!" He had some real anger building now. *How dare she? I saved her life, dammit!*
"Integral part of the group," she mocked. "Xander, you're the useless part of the group. You're the Zeppo!"
He stood there for a moment, trying to reign in his anger. She was still hurt from his betrayal and he understood that. Plus, last night made him realize that superpowers were somewhat over-rated. But still, sometimes.
"Cool. Look it up." She points to Jack. "It's something a sub- literate that's repeated 12th grade 3 three times has and you don't."
She turned and walked away, apparently satisfied with her final word.
"There is no part of that, that wasn't fun." She smiled wickedly.
Xander stood there, remembering his deep breathing exercises. It was times like this when having a secret identity really sucked. He chuckled ruefully and walked away.
"And I thought Peter Parker had it rough before."
Part 2: Iceberg Peak
******
"Winning isn't everything, but it sure beats anything that comes in second."
Paul 'Bear' Bryant
******
Late-January, After Midnight East Side Docks
"You understand what needs to happen?" He stood in the shadows, awaiting the response from Jansen, Pappy's appointed advocate. He hated having to repeat himself, but the Boss wanted to ensure that this whole shebang went smoothly. "Most importantly, when?"
"Yes, I do, sir." The response was respectful, yet thoughtful. Just the type needed when speaking with your better. The last advocate that forgot that by addressing him by name was fed to a starving minion. In truth, he didn't really mind actually, but for appearances sake.
"This is a critically important mission, Mr. Jansen," he paused, letting the other man soak that in. "The Boss will be greatly pleased if it comes off without a hitch." He paused again, leading Jansen like a puppet. "However, if things go badly. . ." He trailed off, shrugging for effect.
His night-vision noted the not-quite shudder, enhanced hearing picked up the suppressed gulp. He smirked coldly, The Boss wasn't exactly known for suffering fools gladly. Neither was he, for that matter. Maybe that fear could inspire the necessary results.
"You do not have to worry, sir." Jansen's calm still had an undertone of fear. "Everything is on schedule and will proceed tomorrow night according to plan."
"For your sake," he smirked again, vamping out. "I certainly hope so."
The gulp wasn't so suppressed this time.
*******
Same night, Private home,
"You are wondering just how much do I know?" They sat in his uncle's home office. It was comfortably furnished, designed with casual elegance in mind, in character with the rest of the house. In all the times Xander had visited him, the place had never failed to feel like a home. This feeling he often contrasted with his own house, which instead felt like just simply a place to stay. He shook out of his reverie, and stared at his uncle, nodding succinctly.
"I know that you run with the blonde Slayer." Xander blinked. "I know that you've been hunting on your own, but sometimes have help." Xander gaped, his uncle shrugged. "I also know that you've cast a definitive shadow on the Hellmouth. The word is out about Silent Death riding a black bike. You have a number of people, and demons, either breathing fiery anger and/or pissing in their boots, Nemo." Xander shook his head; his uncle had made the obvious connection. Uncle Rory smiled proudly. "Not bad, especially for one so young."
Xander flushed, never really used to accepting praise well. "Thanks, Unk. But, I mean, what I want to say. . ." He stopped, trying to gather himself.
"'Who am I, really?" Rory said calmly.
He shrugged nonchalantly, masking his concern. "Yeah, that."
"Well, I'll answer that with a question." Rory leaned forward. "What do you think I do for a living?"
Xander's eyes narrowed in thought. "You work as a consultant for a security company, right?"
Rory nodded. "Yes, and no. I do work for a security company; Twilight Security Group, to be precise." He fished out a business card and handed it to Xander. Xander examined the card, casually memorizing all details like he'd been taught. The name sounded somewhat familiar, but not to him exactly. It tugged at the part of his mind where the Soldier resided. He noted the emblem, a sunset montage. Shrugging, he started to hand it back to Rory, who gestured for him to keep it.
"While the company does do simple security, especially personal and corporate security work, their primary purpose is to. . ." Rory looked skyward for a moment. "Make a difference against the 'shadows,' and the boogiemen, you know what I mean?" Xander nodded slowly. Rory continued. "Twilight Security Group is a multinational privately-held paramilitary corporation 'discretely sanctioned' by both NATO and the UN," Xander's eyebrows rose. "To offer member nations, legitimate governments and other institutions accelerated conflict resolution, intelligence, expertise, and intensive training for operations in the paranormal theater."
Xander gaped. "'Discretely sanctioned?' The UN? NATO?"
Rory nodded. "The only reason TSG is not considered 'black,' per se, is because we are totally independent; therefore we answer to no one institution or entity, though we do receive government contracts, quietly, from those in the 'know.'"
He paused, letting that soak in. "Our personnel tend to be mostly former special operations soldiers, intelligence operatives or police officers from various nations; we also do get some civilians who want to help," he smiled. "Such as myself."
Xander goggled.
Rory chuckled sardonically. "You think you and your band of 'misfits' are the only ones who fight the dark?"
Xander snorted. Any illusions he held about that were shattered when he was "introduced" to the Ten. But still. . .
He gestured helplessly toward Rory.
"Me?" Rory looked amused.
"Well, yeah." Xander looked a little chagrined.
"You're not the only one with secrets, young man." Rory playfully waggled a finger.
Xander rolled his eyes. "Obviously." He shook his head ruefully, looked like his real secret was safe. For now. "So, Unk, how long ya been a demon fighter?" He smirked, cocked his head.
Rory snorted at his flippant tone before pausing pensively, turning serious. "Sometimes it feels like forever." He shrugged.
Xander sobered somewhat, "Yeah." He thought of the last three years that felt like a damn eternity. "I know what you mean."
******
Same Night,
Elsewhere
He walked into his apartment. He knew it was a secure building; he knew that before he decided to "rent" it. Still, he checked his surroundings thoroughly, as he'd been trained to do. Finding nothing amiss, he finally relaxed, but not totally. Never totally.
He moved to his office area. He'd only been in town for a short time, but he'd already grown comfortable in his surroundings; his employers excelled at taking care of their people, all their people, unlike some other organizations he knew. This was going to be an unusual operation; fortunately, he had allies in place. Speaking of which. . .
He logged into his system and checked his messages. Hmmm. . . So that what's happening? He'd heard some whispers and did some further checking. That whole debacle is going to end up having some nasty repercussions. He sighed. If the whispers were true, it wasn't as if Rip had much choice, but still. He shrugged, forwarding the info along, with complete trust.
There was one from Jules, talking about a successful operation. He smiled; he was really proud of Jules. To confront and conquer adversity was quite admirable, and for one so young. . .
He checked the time; it was too late for contact. He'd have to touch base with Jules later. He logged out, shut down his system and headed to bed. He was going to be very busy tomorrow. Soon, it will be Showtime.
******
Later that night,
Private Home
"Whoa!"
The wind whistled past Xander, serenading him as he sailed through the air, before landing flat on his back with a decisive thud. He laid there, swallowed a groan, sucking oxygen. He wasn't hurt, at least not physically; the cushioned mat, his skill in proper falling, and his uncle's easy control reduced any real chance of that. But his pride and ego was something else. After that display in the alley, he knew that it really should not be a shock, but seeing and feeling are two different things.
"Had enough?" Rory asked lightly.
"Just.." Xander paused, panting. "Getting my second wind." He looked up at him. Rory had the nerve to smile. He scowled, glared at the ceiling. Why he'd asked to spar his uncle in the first place was just baffling.
He realized that since Kodiak left, he had not had any real challenges. He often tended to catch his prey by surprise and, by the time they knew what hit them, they were dust. He had been working with Faith, but the option of sparring had never came up. Plus, he'd never really considered checking himself against a Slayer before. He was glad he didn't now.
The particularly galling part was the fact that he knew Uncle Rory was going on cruise. And he was still lighting Xander up with ease. Xander tried everything, every trick Kodiak or the Soldier 'taught' him, or that he just made up, with no results. He might as well have been fighting a damn ghost.
Rory reached down and extended a hand; Xander accepted it and rose to his feet, a touch slowly. Before he could resume a ready stance, his uncle held up a hand.
"Let's call it a night, Alexander." He flashed Xander a proud smile while pulling off his protective headgear. "You are pretty good, kid."
Xander scoffed, pulling off his own. "I could barely lay a hand on you."
"Well," Rory drawled. "I've also been doing this for longer than you've been alive."
"Point." Xander conceded, albeit reluctantly. Rory chuckled.
"There is more to the art of combat than just simple physical attributes, or even a laundry list of techniques and tactics. You have only begun to grasp that, I see."
Xander nodded, remembering all the physically 'superior' opponents he'd taken out.
He thought back to the hours in the library, watching Buffy or Faith train or spar. He'd seen Kendra fight a couple times, Angel too. Nobody, even the 'uber-warriors,' could match his uncle's level of mastery and skill. And he was human. Kodiak was close, yet, he was another non-slayer, non- vamp, non-'uber.' The 'ubers' are faster, sure; stronger too. But if it came down to a fight between his uncle and any 'uber,' he'd know who he'd pick, after tonight.
"Look, after I get back from that business trip in a day or so, I could start training you, if you wish?"
"You wouldn't mind?" Xander's surprise was apparent.
"Not at all, Alex. It would be a pleasure."
Xander paused for a moment, pensive; he thought about where he was, where he is, where he wanted to be. "That'd be cool, thanks."
Rory waved it off. "Then it's settled," he looked at the clock, noting the late hour. "Your room is still made up, plus you've got some clothes here. Feel free to take a shower and crash." Rory sighed. "I still have a couple of things to do before I leave tomorrow."
"Okay, Unk." Xander started to move toward the exit to the gym room. He paused at the door. "Unk?"
Rory turned to him. "Yes, Alexander?"
"Thanks," he intoned solemnly, with heartfelt subtext. "For everything." They stared at one another for a beat. Rory nodded.
Rory smiled warmly. "Good night Alexander. Pleasant dreams."
Xander smiled back. "Night, Unk."
******
Almost dawn, Sunnydale Motel
She was having the dream again.
She knew it, and she knew she knew it. Still, she couldn't do anything about it. Like usual, like always.
All she could do was bear witness. She felt her pain. Watched her eyes bulging in obvious agony. Smelled the blood from the plethora of wounds. Heard the screams for help, for mercy. Heard the pleased cackling of the leeches enjoying the show. Enjoying having the Slayer at their mercy.
"Stop!" "No!" "Please!"
She had screamed her own throat raw by then, trying to break her restraints. She could hear the chains grinding, straining against her unnatural strength backed by a hellishly desperate rage. She was making progress; slow, drawn-out, agonizing progress. And her mother in everyway but blood, her Linda, couldn't afford any delay.
It was building to the moment; the same moment. No matter how many times she suffered through this dream, she never got used to that. She knew she never would.
Kakistos had drawn this particular fun out as long as he'd felt necessary. She could see he was bringing it to an end.
She watched Linda turn toward her, locking her gaze on her young protégé, her 'lovechild,' as she called her often. Before, she'd thought it sappy, gave her those icky, fluttery feelings. Now she would've given anything to hear Linda say it again.
"I love you, Faith." Linda's raw throat allowed her to only mouth the words across the distance, yet Faith could hear her voice as if she were whispering in her ear. "Forgive me?"
"Mom!"
She watched Kakistos' jagged hoof drive through Linda's neck, decapitating her with brute force. Linda's head rolled twice, and stopped; her dead eyes glaring at Faith, accusingly.
"You let me die!"
"NO!"
She came awake with a rush, bucking upright in her bed, body coated with a cold sweat. She panted heavily, peeling at her damp t-shirt. Slowly regaining her breath, she looked around, checking her surroundings. She noted the time; too late to be early and too early to be late. She sighed.
For a moment, she flirted with the idea of calling X. She knew that he'd make her feel better, if even just over the phone. She hated to admit that; went against the whole loner thing she had going. But he was the first and only person she'd let in since Linda. Which was a scary idea. She didn't come here for this.
She dismissed the thought, moved to the bathroom. She'd catch a quick shower, wash off the nightmare, then run through some of the old combat exercises and drills Linda showed her. She smirked; if she ever really cut loose on B, it would be just over so quick B's bottle-blonde head would spin.
She sighed again; whenever she used any lessons Linda taught, it felt like Linda was still there. She'd heard that as long as someone remembers you, you would never die.
If she had her way, Linda would be an immortal.
******
Shortly After,
Elsewhere
"It has begun, she is still strong, but shaken."
"Excellent work. You are really quite good at this, you know."
"What of the other? Do you wish the same methods?"
"No, not necessary, the reports I am seeing state she is off her game of late. It was the 'Gypsy' that concerned me."
"Why not eliminate both?"
"In due time. I have not waited over a century for my destiny just to let some young hooligans foul everything up."
"I understand, master."
"Of course, Edward. Care for some quiche?"
******
Next Day, Afternoon, Sunnydale High School
The sun shined down in the quad. The students mingled, eating and gossiping, some playing catch. From what he could see, it was a normal day at Sunnydale High School. And nobody was all the wiser. He laughed ruefully, appreciating the sense of déjà vu. For the second time in 3 years, Xander learned that the world is both much bigger and more complicated then he'd believed. And for the second time, that knowledge came at the hands of a loved one. He sighed; *at least Uncle Rory's not dead, or undead for that matter.*
Still, it beat the alternative. Where the Council was their only known allies, short of his own 'friends.' Now, from what his uncle had told him, there were some real helpful assets out there. They sound like they were on the 'up-and-up.'
It was interesting, though. When he'd asked him why no strike-team had ever taken the Hellmouth, all Uncle Rory did was snort. Seems like certain local big shots didn't 'appreciate' the offer. And without jurisdiction, TSG was stuck, being 'discrete' and all. It made the kind of sense that didn't; it also made him curious. He was going to have to check some sources. He chuckled internally; *Research Boy rides again!*
Tabling the thought for now, he rose from his seat, noticing some football players tossing around a ball. He remembered his uncle's lessons; all his father taught him about sports was how to 'get him a cold one and stay out of the way.' He decided to relax, be a teenaged boy again for once.
"Hey Bobby!" He waved his arms. "Toss me one?"
The star safety turned around, noticed who was calling him. Bobby laughed. They were not exactly chummy, but after Xander saved his life over the summer, they got along okay. Bobby gestured toward the ball, ignoring his friends who implored him not to do what he was about to do. Xander grinned.
The ball sailed through the air, a perfect spiral that was tailing away slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, Xander spotted Cordelia walking into the Quad, looking as gorgeous as ever. The slight distraction caused Xander to take his eye off the pass. When he looked up again, the pass was practically on top of him; he bobbled it badly, flipping into the lap, and lunch, of Jack O'Toole, resident psycho and 20-year old junior.
"Great, just great," Xander mumbled under his breath. "There's no way this will end pretty."
Jack's eyes turned to him with that dim-witted rage they must issue to bullies from birth. *Time to channel Martin Luther King and geek my way out.* He sighed internally. *Murphy's 3rd: Don't look conspicuous, it draws fire. Can't afford any trouble right now.*
"Boy, I'm so sorry." He turned up the geek act. "Bobby's throwing arm is- his arm's like spaghetti. We're all so sad for him; is your lunch okay?"
"What are you, Retarded." Jack looks even more angry. *Great, this peanut-brain is getting riled.*
"No! I mean I had to take that test when I was seven, a little slow on some stuff, mostly math and spacial relations, but certainly not 'challenged' or anything." He looked fearful and submissive. "Can I buy you another soda?"
Jack glared. "I ought to cut your face open."
Xander rolled his eyes, internally. *Damn, this ain't going well. Inject some backbone then cower more?*
"Hey, it was an accident, okay? Cool down."
Predictably, Jack stepped up, obviously itching for a fight. "You wanna be starting something?"
*Here comes the geek.* "What? Starting. like that Michael Jackson song, that was a lot of fun. 'Too high to get over, yeah yeah.' You remember that fun song?"
Xander watched Jack's aggression dim. "I get my buddies together, we're gonna kick your ass till it's a brand new shape. Now get out of here."
Exhaling in obvious, and not-so-obvious, relief, Xander grabbed the ball and left. He tossed it easily back to Bobby, who shrugged. Xander shook his head. Bobby shrugged again and returned to his catch.
"Boy, of all of your humiliations I have witnessed," came a familiarly caustic tone. "That was the latest."
Xander turned to her. "I could've taken him." He said this with genuine sincerity; if he didn't need to stay off the radar, Jack would be in the Nurse's office right now.
"Oh Please!" Cordy bit. "O'Toole would macarame your face. He's a psycho." She paused, looking him up and down. "Which is still cooler than being a wuss."
Xander turned to her; she smirked, itching for a battle of her own.
"It must be hard when all your friends have, like, superpowers. Slayers and witches and werewolves and vampires and you're like, this little nothing." She paused again, her eyes lighting in her perverse merriment. "You must feel like. Jimmy Olson!"
Against his will, he had to laugh. Irony much? "I was just." He realized what he was about to say and to whom. "Hey, mind your own business." He even mustered some defensive anger into his voice.
"Ohh, hit a nerve?" She was on a roll. "The boy who had no cool."
"I happen to be an integral part of the group. I have a lot to offer." *They just don't know how much.*
"Oh please!" She scoffed.
"I do!" He had some real anger building now. *How dare she? I saved her life, dammit!*
"Integral part of the group," she mocked. "Xander, you're the useless part of the group. You're the Zeppo!"
He stood there for a moment, trying to reign in his anger. She was still hurt from his betrayal and he understood that. Plus, last night made him realize that superpowers were somewhat over-rated. But still, sometimes.
"Cool. Look it up." She points to Jack. "It's something a sub- literate that's repeated 12th grade 3 three times has and you don't."
She turned and walked away, apparently satisfied with her final word.
"There is no part of that, that wasn't fun." She smiled wickedly.
Xander stood there, remembering his deep breathing exercises. It was times like this when having a secret identity really sucked. He chuckled ruefully and walked away.
"And I thought Peter Parker had it rough before."