Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 17:
Dee was abnormally silent when she stepped into Oz's office the next morning.
"So," Oz started as she sat down, "how was your night?"
Dee arched her eyebrows at him, but said nothing.
"Anders tells me you managed to fight Anne off." Oz continued when Dee defiantly refused to contribute.
"She'll be back." Dee whispered.
Oz nodded, "Are you okay?"
"I've been better." Dee replied.
"I guess I can believe that."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence before Oz spoke again.
"So, am I going to have to find a new programmer?"
A month ago, Dee would have felt honor-bound to make Oz squirm a little, see how uncomfortable she could make him. But she was past that now. She shook her head. "I came into this slayer thing thinking it was just another job. Like being a cop. It was something I could do, then quit any time. It's not like that, is it?"
Oz shook his head, sadly. "It's not something you do, it's who you are. But now, at least you don't have to be that person alone."
"Oz, what I said last night, about Willow…"
Oz raised a hand, cutting her off, "it's okay."
"Are we? Okay, I mean?"
He nodded, "we're okay."
Dee was silent again, there was apparently something she found absolutely fascinating about the section of carpeting just in front of her chair.
"Um, Oz?"
"Yes?"
"What am I doing not in jail? Or worse, in the papers? You'd think that a bad car crash, followed by something out of a Jackie Chan movie, and a swan dive off the bridge would attract at least a little media and police attention."
Oz shrugged, "let's just say that we've secured the services of a major law-firm in Los Angeles. They managed to keep your face out of the papers, and you out from behind bars."
"Oh." Dee couldn't help but wonder just how much power these guys had.
"Speaking of which, come with me to the garage."
"So, tell me," Dee looked at the beautiful shining silver car parked in the garage, "do you give all of your slayers a $35,000 car?"
Oz shook his head, "it was a $35,000 car" he said, running his fingers along the smooth lines of the Honda S2000 "before they made the mistake of handing it to a bright young woman named Fred and told her to make sure it was running okay. Now the best estimate anyone has is that it's worth over $200,000." He allowed himself a small smile.
"What did they do to it?"
"Well, among other things, they added a false bottom to the trunk, and a compartment under the passenger seat. The one in the trunk is set to hold a couple of battle axes, a sword or two, a pair of Wakizashi, which I hear you've taken a shining to, and if you cram, a crossbow or two. Under the seat, you can fit a few knives, a couple of stakes. Some of the smaller weapons." He paused, indicating her hairdo, "although I hear you wear your weapon of choice pretty much all the time these days."
Dee brought her hand up to the pair of blackwood chopsticks she had holding her raven-hued hair in a tight bun, and shrugged "what better place to hide a weapon, than in plain sight?"
Oz smiled, "Well, technically, the car isn't yours. It's been generously donated by the law firm of Wolfram and Hart, to assist in what they call the charity work we do here. They get some kind of tax break out of it."
"Is this some kind of incentive for me to stay around?"
Oz threw the keys to her, "do you need one?"
Dee looked down at the keys in her hand. This, she knew, was the point of decision. From here, there was no turning back. She took those keys, and she took a place on the front lines in a war which could cost her dearly.
Slowly, she closed her hand around the keys, and placed them in her pocket.
Oz nodded, as if he had known all along that she would remain, "welcome to the team," he whispered.
It was nearing ten o'clock when Dee finally stepped into her apartment. She'd needed some time to really absorb everything she'd seen and done over the last couple of days, and driving had always had a way of clearing her mind. That Fred person had done a hell of a job on that car. She could get used to driving a convertible around San Diego. It didn't quite have all the little idiosyncrasies that her old Volkswagen GTI had had, but it could grow on her.
She sat down, tired, on her bed and looked at the clock. It wasn't too late for a call to L.A., and she knew she would still be up.
Her heart was pounding as she dialed.
"Hello, Betsy?" Dee paused for a moment, "Mom? It's Dee."
It was time to start the healing process.
The End.
Author's note: I have no intention of abandoning the characters I developed here, Dee, Anne, or Anders, so you can probably expect to see them crop up again sometime soon. As far as I can tell, this fic was pretty well-liked by those who read it, something which pleases me to no end. A quick thanks to those who read, and a huge thanks to those who took the time to review.
