A/N: Thanks for the feedback; glad people are actually finding this, since it's getting buried almost as soon as I update. Just a note for Charlie: I honestly don't remember if Molly ended up dead or not; I know Vi and Rona both survived, and Kennedy, and that Cho-Ahn didn't survive. In any case, I wanted her painting a mural, so… we'll just pretend she got out.
Here's the second bit of Chapter Two. You can see now why I had to cut it in half. Also a warning that there's some language towards the end of the chapter that you wouldn't ordinarily find in my fics… but, well, that's what it sounded like in my head. The rating has been upped to PG-13 to cover it.
Chapter Two (B) - I Think It's Going To Rain Today
Two weeks later, the Slayer Training College was nearly ready for business. The dormitories were decorated and furnished, as were the seminar rooms and Giles' office. There was still work to be done on the gym, since a physical training programme had yet to be devised, and some equipment still to arrive for the kitchen. The common room had been sparsely furnished, the idea being that the girls would fill it with things to make it homely as their training progressed.
The attic, when it had become accessible, turned out to be of a decent size, and they were working turning it into an extra room. The initial plan had been to use it for storage, but then one of the girls made the suggestion that it would be sensible to have an adult staying at the Centre with them. Of course, the others had complained at that, but it was a logical idea. Hence, the attic was to become another bedroom-cum-study.
The girls had been appearing from around the world in drips and drabs as Robin and Faith found them. The renovation of the building had been interspersed during the last week by frequent drives to the airport, train station, or bus depot to collect them, and, as a result, the house was getting rather overcrowded. Nobody seemed to get a moment to his or herself. It was probably just as well.
A council, of sorts, had already started to form. Giles had arranged a meeting for them all, so they could be debriefed, and Robin had also expressed an interest in becoming a Watcher - though, Faith, quite vehemently, refused to be his Slayer. The few members were still sorting out accommodation for themselves, trying to find places to live that were close enough to the Training Centre. The one - currently, anyway - female member had volunteered to stay at the Centre with the girls, but, being a gentleman, Giles had offered as well. Luckily, the attic was large enough to accommodate two bedrooms, with a joint study in the centre.
The Watchers arrived all together, turning up on the doorstep and looking lost. Buffy was the one to answer the door; when she'd realised who they were, she'd merely gestured to the veritable forest of sleeping bags in the living room, and told them where the nearest hotel was.
The days went on and turned into weeks; Giles held his meeting, and told the Watchers to sit tight until things were well and truly sorted, giving them some reading matter in the meantime. The attic was finally finished, as was the kitchen and the gym; all that was left to do was to tidy the garden area up, but that could wait. Eventually, though, when everybody was getting sick of falling over each other, it reached the stage where the girls simply had to go. In a matter of hours, Giles and the other Watchers had transported them to the dorms, provided food, and left them to it. Their live-in Watcher, a Ms. Charlotte Travers - "no relation" - settled in upstairs and made sure they were all comfortable, while Giles went back to the house to help Buffy and the others straighten it out.
They moved furniture around, helped Giles pack his things up, and then collapsed on the sofa, for the first time since they'd moved in a month ago. For a few moments, they sat in blissful silence.
"Hey…" said Xander. "You hear that?"
Everybody listened. "Hear what?" asked Dawn.
He grinned. "Exactly…"
Buffy groaned and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe we fell for that…"
The brief conversation lulled again, and, rather than the yelling and giggling that had filled the house for the past month, there was only the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, and the quiet hum of distant traffic. Finally, there was room to breathe.
"Ah… silence," said Giles, breaking it. "Glorious silence. I'm rather sorry I won't be here to enjoy it."
"Well, you could always stay," said Andrew. "They've already got one Watcher in the attic."
Giles looked at him. "Locked away where she can't be of harm to herself and others?"
"Sorry. You know what I meant."
"Besides, they do need me, and I'm not willing to leave Ms. Travers in charge of that many young Slayers so early on. And, in all honesty, I thought you'd welcome the extra space."
"We do," said Willow. "Space is welcomed and given cookies. Or, uh, something like that."
"Yeah, Giles," added Buffy. "Really, it's fine. You just go and do your big boss thing; we'll be okay."
He smiled, grateful they were all being so understanding about it, and not trying to make him stay. But then, he realised, it wasn't as if he was leaving the country; he'd only be a few miles away, and, unless there was a crisis, they could handle things perfectly well on their own. Willow and Kennedy would be spending a lot of time at the Training Centre as it was - at least, if the former took up his offer - and so would Buffy, to a lesser degree. Dawn would also doubtless drag him back for 'family dinners', and he was always willing to lend a friendly ear if any of them felt like talking. And, considering that the house now gave them ample opportunity to do some serious reminiscing, that seemed a very real possibility.
Xander sat up suddenly. "You know what we should do?" Everyone gave him questioning glances. "We should go out for a meal, or something. We've been here… what? Over a month? And we haven't had time to even investigate this town, yet."
"I beg to differ," said Giles, mock-indignantly. "I recall us taking some very educational field trips."
Dawn snorted inelegantly. "Cemeteries and possible vampy hotspots don't count, Giles. He means investigating the nightlife. Finding a replacement 'Bronze', stuff like that."
"I think I meal sounds like a great idea," added Andrew, though it wasn't really his place to mention it. Nobody reprimanded him for it, so he cautiously added, "Uh, that is, for you guys. I can stay here and keep house, if you want."
"You're welcome to come, Andrew," Buffy told him, reassuringly. "So? Giles? Eating out on you?"
He let out a long-suffering sigh that he was unable to refuse them anything, and nodded. "All of you go and get changed, I'll look in the phone book."
A round of cheering and 'Yay!'s resounded in the room, and everyone made their way upstairs, leaving Giles alone in the living room. The very empty and quiet living room. It was taking some getting used to. Without the mass of trainee-Slayers, the house was actually larger than it looked. It also had carpets; nobody had been entirely sure of their existence while the floor was obliterated by sleeping bags.
He'd struck lucky in buying it; the people selling were beginning to despair of ever moving and were very close to taking it off the market completely, until Giles came along. It was just the right size for the seven of them - six, now he was moving out - while they were sharing rooms, and once Xander was able to buy his own place, Dawn and Buffy could have a room each once more, relegating Andrew to the box room at the back. In some respects, it might not have been the best plan; it resembled the house on Revello Drive more than any of them might have liked, but it couldn't be helped. The layout was just different enough for it not to matter.
The banging above his head finally stopped and migrated to the stairs. Buffy, Dawn and Andrew all emerged, followed a few minutes later by Xander. They took in Giles' position - clutching the telephone book, open to a random page - and Xander asked:
"Well? Where are we going?"
Giles snapped out of it. "What? Oh… Um…" He scanned the page in an attempt to look knowledgeable, realised it was for something completely unrelated, and shut the book. "I thought it'd be more fun to drive into town and pick a place when we get there. Or, at the very least, pick the place we argue least about."
"Sounds good to me," said Buffy, "so long as it's not pizza."
"But I wanted pizza!" The admonition came from both Dawn and Andrew simultaneously, in a frighteningly similar high-pitched whine. The effect was so uncanny it caused the remaining three occupants of the room to burst out laughing.
"You can have pizza any night of the week, Dawn. And Andrew," said Buffy. "It'd just be nice to have something different for a change."
They both mumbled, but said nothing more. Giles looked at his watch. "Are those two ever going to grace us with their presence?"
Xander cast a glance up the stairs.
Willow brushed her hair, pinned it up, then let it fall again, then repeated the indecisive process a few more times. Behind her, Kennedy systematically put back all of the shirts she'd rifled through to find one she wanted to wear, placing each hanger on the rail with an audible 'clink'. There was no denying the fact that she was annoyed about something.
Another 'clink' caused Willow to wince and lose the battle against her curiosity; it was probably better to get to the bottom of her girlfriend's annoyance before they went out, rather than letting her simmer all through the meal. She turned, giving up entirely on fixing her hair.
"Kennedy?"
"What?" Clink.
"Is… is something wrong?"
"Nope." Clink. "Nothing's wrong. What makes you say that?" This time, the accompanying 'clink' was louder, and joined by a guarded, dark expression in Willow's direction.
"Oh, I don't know. Just the fact that you're trying to make the wardrobe cry, and that you haven't said anything since Xander suggested the meal."
The final shirt now put back, Kennedy shut the wardrobe; the door was pulled flush by its springs and hit the centre stopper with a resounding 'bang', partially aided by the force with which it had been pushed in the first place.
"The fact that you've forgotten isn't making me any less annoyed, Will."
Much as she knew it was a very bad idea to ask, Willow was utterly confused. "Forgotten what?"
Kennedy looked even more annoyed, and hurt. "You said we could spend the evening together. Now that the house is empty again and we've all got time to ourselves, you said we could spend some quality time, just the two of us." Now, Willow remembered; she'd suggested it in the midst of moving the armchair out of Xander and Andrew's room, and promptly forgotten about it in the energetic flurry of the rest of the day.
She looked down, chastised. "Yeah, I did…"
"Yeah. You did." Kennedy rolled her eyes. "God, what does it take? Am I always going to come second to your friends?"
"That isn't how it is, Kennedy," explained Willow. "It's just… It's Giles' last night in the house with us, and Xander wanted to make it special."
"And what Xander says goes, right? Who made him president of the world?"
"He's my best friend!" She realised straight afterwards that she'd said this slightly too defensively, and mentally smacked herself.
"So what I want doesn't matter?"
"That isn't what I said. Look, if it's that important to you, I'll just tell them we made plans already and-"
"Oh, no, don't go out of your way on my account," interrupted Kennedy. "It might mess up precious Xander's plans. Go to your meal, Willow; just let me know when you want to make time for me."
Willow was reaching the end of her tether, but tried not to let it show. When Kennedy was in a mood like this, she was impossible to reason with. "And then explain why you're not coming? Oh, yeah, and how would that go, Kennedy? 'She doesn't want to come with us, guys. She's too much of a martyr, and plus, Xander, I think she hates you.' Nice. That'll go down well." The younger girl said nothing, but her silence was challenging. Finally losing patience, Willow continued, "Look, if you want to be accepted, it's a two-way thing. You have to make the effort, and everybody else will. You chose to stay here, and that means learning that not everything revolves around you."
She stopped, taking in Kennedy's expression. Some of the anger had dissipated from her eyes, replaced by sadness and confusion. Willow suddenly remembered, once more, how young she was, and that she was used to so much more than this; she came from a household where everything was done for her. When Kennedy still hadn't spoken, she sighed, and tried to make amends. "I'm sorry… If it's any consolation in the slightest, I'd love you to come to this meal with us. I really do want you to get to know everyone better."
"Okay, I'll come. I guess I shouldn't be such a brat about these things." By way of an explanation, she added, "I'm just… I'm just tired. Everything's been completely insane since Sp-"
"I know," Willow interrupted, before she could say the name. Nobody had mentioned him since the incident, mainly for Buffy's sake, and eventually just out of habit. "I know it has."
"That's another thing," she said. "When are we going to talk about what happened?"
"When Buffy's ready."
Kennedy wanted to snark. She wanted to comment on the fact that the household still revolved around the One and Only, despite her passing on the torch… but she didn't. It wouldn't help matters, at this point. So instead, she just nodded acceptingly. "I guess that's fair enough."
"Well, I'm starving. You ready?"
"As I'll ever be," she said. The two of them headed out of the room and down the stairs, meeting the rest of Willow's friends - and Andrew - in the lounge. The female members of the group exchanged banal compliments on each other's outfits, accepting the praise with fixed smiles and giving as much in kind; the menfolk rolled their eyes and dragged them out of the house. It was a forced normality, and all of them knew it; but normality was something nobody was used to, and all they could do was act as though they knew what it felt like.
As they piled into the back of Giles' people-carrier, Kennedy wondered just how much longer it would be before Buffy was 'ready', and secretly hoped that the conversation over dinner wouldn't return to reminiscing about Sunnydale. Her mental checklist of 'things-not-to-mention' was getting too long to remember - a certain dearly departed witch, a vengeance demon, and a bleached blond vampire forming the very top of it, and what-happens-when-Willow-gets-mad coming somewhere near the bottom - and she got the distinct impression everybody else's was, too…
They found a pleasant and not-too-crowded restaurant along the main shopping street of the town, with a table big enough to accommodate all seven of them without needing to book in advance. It was cosy-looking and served a wide range of meals, meaning that everyone could agree on it.
Starters dispensed with, the group was waiting for their main courses to arrive, chatting amongst themselves. Andrew had been grilling everyone for information about themselves, realising somewhere in the proceedings that he really didn't know them that well beyond their respective roles in the gang, and they were humouring him as patiently as they could. He was currently engaged in conversation with Willow, asking her about magic, and occasionally looking worried he'd said the wrong thing; Willow tried to answer as many of his questions as she could, amused by his random terrified expressions. She was sure the polite thing would have been to tell him she wasn't likely to hurt him like she'd threatened last year, but it was proving too funny letting him panic.
She'd prodded Kennedy knowingly at some point, so the brunette was currently talking to Xander; the conversation was slightly slow, but they were both making an effort, and he told enough light-hearted jokes to lighten the atmosphere when it got awkward. The one thing they did have in common was Willow, so much of their conversation surrounded anecdotes from her and Xander's younger days. Buffy and Dawn were engaged in a sisterly argument about hair products, stemming from a comment from the elder that her hair was still retaining the horrible greasy finish from weeks ago, even though it had mostly disappeared.
And Giles… well, Giles was on the telephone, making sure that things were going swimmingly at the Training Centre. He'd apparently gotten hold of one of the girls rather than their live-in Watcher, and his pained, worried expression wasn't shifting.
"…so everything's fine? You're sure? There's nothing yo- What was that noise?"
In the sparsely-furnished common room, Vi looked around to find out. In the midst of their pillow fight, Rona had somehow managed to fall off the coffee table with a resounding crunch, and the rest of the girls were now in hysterics. Without bothering to cover the receiver, Vi shouted, "Would you keep it down?! I'm talking to Giles!"
He winced, holding the receiver away from his ear as Vi's deafeningly high-pitched yell resounded down the 'phone. When he was sure it was safe again, he ventured, "Vi, is Ms. Travers there? I'd really like to speak to her…"
"Sure," she said. The phone was put down, the distant sound of giggling still obvious in the background, and then Vi was yelling again, luckily further away. A few moments later, the phone was picked up again.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Travers?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
Giles rolled his eyes; he might have known Vi wouldn't be specific. "It's Rupert Giles. I'm just phoning to make sure everything's all right."
"Oh. Yes, everything's fine here, Mr. Giles. The girls are settling in nicely." Another round of hysterics sounded in the distance. "Very nicely."
"Good. I'm sorry to be so paranoid, but I had to be sure. They're accustomed to being around each other, and they've made the new girls quite at home in the short time they've been here."
"I must say, they've made me very welcome, too," said the female Watcher. "I'm starting to look forward to staying here. It reminds me of my university days." Here, she paused, covered the receiver, and said into the room, "If you break that, you're sleeping in the garden."
Giles smiled, calming a little, and wondering what he'd been so worried about. However, there were still things to check. "Sounds like it," he said. "Just to check: are the doors locked?"
"Yes."
"Both sets? And all the windows?"
"Yes."
"And the girls are all comfortable? There's enough food? Hot water? How about-"
Ms. Travers laughed. "Yes, everything's perfectly fine. I'm hoping they'll wear themselves out at some point tonight so I can get some sleep, but they're fine. Stop worrying."
"I'm very sure I won't," he said, lightly, "but thank you for putting my mind at rest."
"Goodbye, Mr. Giles." She emphasised the farewell, implying that he really did have nothing to worry about, and that remaining on the telephone wasn't going to change anything even if he did.
"'Bye." Finally, he disconnected the call, and gave Buffy back her cell phone. She took it with an amused smile, having heard most of his end of the conversation.
"So," asked Xander, "are they dead yet?"
Buffy gave him a look, but Giles didn't seem to mind the question. "Thankfully, no. Actually, they seem to be enjoying themselves."
"See, what did I tell you?" That was Buffy, who had tried to convince him things were fine at the Training Centre, but had failed. He nodded to suggest that she'd been right all along, and she smiled. Neither said anything more for a while; Buffy seemed to be thinking about something. Giles didn't want to push, so waited until she spoke up.
Just as she was about to say something, a couple of the waiting staff arrived with their main courses, and all of the conversations lulled into sorting out who'd ordered what. They all began to tuck in, snippets of sentences occasionally rising between bites and requests for the salt.
Buffy twirled her fork into her spaghetti, still looking thoughtful, but hadn't eaten any of it. Giles watched her out of the corner of his eye as he carved a chunk from the steak he'd ordered, while occasionally commenting to the others. Buffy continued twirling, creating a sizeable sphere of pasta on her fork, until Willow finally noticed and attracted her attention.
"Buffy? Is something wrong with your meal?"
She looked up from the depths of the plate. "Huh?"
"Your meal," she repeated. "Is there something wrong with it?"
"Oh… No. I was just… just thinking." She seemed distant, still. Everyone at the table was now looking at her, wondering what was wrong. They were getting used to her being quiet, lost in her own thoughts, but most of the time she managed to snap herself out of it before they could worry. Suddenly, she put down her fork - still with its ball of spaghetti attached - and addressed the table in general, her voice low. "I was thinking… we lost so much when Sunnydale caved in. Not just our possessions and our home; we lost all the memories we made there, too… of the people we met, the places we hung out, the apocalypses we stopped - except, y'know, the last one, since there's that huge crater and it's kinda hard to miss…" Realising she was rambling, she tried again with a sigh. "And it's not like we have any photos left, either. So I was thinking maybe we should at least try and get some of those memories back, y'know?"
"Sounds great, Buff," said Xander, reassuringly. "But how? I mean, I'm sure our relatives have some photos, but it'd be difficult to explain why we need 'em."
"I'm not really talking about photos," she explained. "I meant more… markers. Grave markers…" Her friends said nothing, so she expanded a little on the idea. "Not even grave markers, really. Just stones, to remember everyone by. Giles? Could we maybe get a plot somewhere?"
He considered it. "I don't see why not… But are you sure-"
"Yes," she said, adamantly. "I think it'd really help us all. We've lost so many people, Giles, and not just recently. Can you honestly picture yourself without Jenny's grave to visit?" She was right, he realised, and as he pondered the possibility, she added, "Or you, Willow; don't you wish there was something for Tara?"
The witch nodded solemnly, lost for a moment in nostalgia; Kennedy grasped her hand beneath the table, partially for comfort, and partially to prove her own existence.
"Actually, I really miss talking to Mom," said Dawn, quietly. "When things got tough… it was sorta comforting." She met her sister's eyes across the table. "I think it's a great idea."
Both sisters turned to Giles once more. He nodded. "All right. I'll see what I can do."
Buffy cast a glance to Xander; as of yet, he'd not said anything. Cautiously, she said, "What about you, Xander? Do… do you want something for Anya?"
He gave her a weak smile. "Yeah… I think she'd like that. Just give me some time to… to think of what to put on it. I want to get it perfect."
"I know." Buffy swallowed nervously, fighting her emotions back. There'd been a higher purpose in her suggesting the marker idea, but she was terrified that nobody else would accept it, least of all Giles. She picked at her fingernails, took a sip from her drink to cure her suddenly parched throat, and took a deep breath, steeling herself. She stared steadfastly at the table, unable to meet her friends' eyes. "There's another reason, too," she said. "I want something… Oh, God… I want something to remember him by. I don't think I can go on like this any more, without something… I mean, he died a hero, he saved us all - he saved the world - and he deserves it…" Looking up again, and seeing only supportive and sympathetic gazes, she found the strength to continue. "I want a marker for him. I want to bury him, at least in memory." Repeating it, she said, stronger, "I want a marker for Spike."
The marker's solemn epitaph had been planned in her head at the crater's edge, and she needed it set in stone; she owed him that much. There was silence. It was the first time she'd said his name since the Hellmouth caved in, and everyone was shocked, including Buffy herself. Hearing his name had brought back feelings she'd hoped to forget, but she fought it, awaiting whatever reactions she might get.
Nobody quite knew what to say that wouldn't sound contrived. They supported her decision, but didn't know how to tell her without it sounding fake. Everyone offered smiles and nods; Willow picked up a strand of grated carrot from her plate and nibbled at it; Giles sipped the wine he'd ordered.
Eventually, the first person to speak up was, surprisingly, Andrew. "I think that's the bravest thing I've ever heard," he told her. Everyone looked at him questioningly. "I mean it," he explained. "I don't think you have to be brave to be a Slayer; it's just part of the package, am I right?" Buffy hadn't really considered it, but she nodded, realising he was right. "But… okay, I didn't really know him that well. I don't really know any of you that well, and I don't know about your history or anything like that, but I do know that Spike loved you, Buffy. I think anybody who saw you together could tell that much. And we can all see how badly his… um… sacrifice has hit you. So, acknowledging it? That's really brave. I don't think I could do that."
Buffy's eyes twinkled with unshed tears - from force of habit more than anything else - but she smiled at him. "Thank you, Andrew." Andrew's words encouraged the others to come forward. They all offered words of encouragement and support, while Giles merely squeezed her hand and gave her a small nod that showed he understood, and he wasn't going to deny her this one request; it was all she could have wanted. The atmosphere lightened again, and they all continued eating. Buffy wiped her eyes, took a bite of her pasta, and felt slightly better. It still hurt; it probably always would. But at least now she had something to remember him by. Later, she'd ask Dawn if she minded the marker being next to Joyce's, but she doubted there would be a problem.
Pulling herself back to reality before her memory could take over, she addressed the young Slayer sitting two seats down from her. "Kennedy?"
"Yes?"
"Is there anyone you'd like to remember?"
She thought about it. "Well… most of my family are in L.A., but… I think we had a great aunt who lived in Sunnydale. Or maybe it was a second-cousin. I don't really remember. I did find the grave, though, when we were in the cemetery one time."
"Well, if you find out who it was, we can maybe put her in the plot, too."
"Thanks," she said, grateful for the offer, "but I think she was a family outcast, or something. The token madwoman that every family has."
Buffy grinned. "Fair enough. If you change your mind…"
"I'll let you know."
Andrew prodded absently at his meal, apparently deep in thought. After a few seconds, he looked up. "Buffy, um…"
"Uh-huh?"
"These markers… I was wondering… could I maybe have a couple of spots?"
"Sure, but… for who?"
Nervously, he said, "My friends. 'Cause I don't think they had markers to begin with, and I'd like to remember 'em."
"I don't see why not," said Buffy.
Dawn, however, looked less accepting. "Why d'you want a marker for Jonathan, Andrew? Didn't you kill him?" she asked, bluntly.
"Dawn!" admonished her sister.
"What? It's true!"
Andrew looked chastised. "She's right; I did. But I was under the influence of the First, and-"
"Oh, and that makes it okay?"
"No, but I'm just saying: that's what happened. I know what I did was wrong; I know that maybe if I'd just ignored it, the Hellmouth wouldn't have gotten all… Hellmouthy. But he was my best friend. He and Warren were my only friends." At this point, remembering, he risked a glance to Willow. She looked guilty, only able to meet his gaze for a matter of seconds, but he knew the circumstances, now. "Don't worry about it," he told her. "He did worse things than you'd ever be capable of; I know that, but there were good times before it went wrong, and I still want to remember him."
"Maybe we don't," said Dawn, determined to make him feel bad about it - or, at least, determined to vent her teenage frustrations on somebody. "You and your 'best friends' made Buffy's life a living Hell, do you know that? Warren killed one of the best, purest people I've ever known; he tried to kill my sister. Do you have any idea what that could have done to us? Again?"
"No," he said. "And I didn't know he'd try to do that. Neither of us did. We were just up for some fun, that's all. Warren went crazy all on his own." He sighed. "But before that, he was my friend."
Dawn was about to say something else, but Giles intervened, trying to be at least fairly diplomatic. "Dawn, enough! Andrew, you are perfectly entitled to space in the plot."
Everyone else was pointedly trying to ignore the exchange, eating to distract themselves, and Buffy had also long since given up on trying to talk to her sister. The teenager was still unconvinced. "So that's it? He gets to preserve the memory of a loser and a murderer?"
"Hey! Geek, yes; loser, no."
She shrugged. "One and the same to me."
"Well, you're a… you're a brat! No, wait, you're a memory implanted by monks." Mocking her, he said, "Oh, well, one and the same to me."
She was about to say something else, when she realised something: how did Andrew know her origins? "How did you-?"
"That'd be telling," he taunted. "Incidentally, how was that party you went to when you were meant to be studying at your friend's house?" In mock-remembrance, he added, "Oops… my bad…"
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "What party?"
Dawn ignored her; she'd face the comeuppances later. "You read my diary?"
"No, you stole my Limited Edition gold-plated Enterprise memorabilia pen to write it with, and I had to go looking for it. You should really be more careful where you hide things."
Her mouth dropped open. "I don't believe you! Haven't you ever heard of personal space?"
"Hello? Limited Edition! Roughly translates as 'Do Not Use'!"
By now, the other occupants of the restaurant, what few there were, had started to mutter amongst themselves, and cast disdainful glances towards the escalating argument. Andrew should have been old enough to know better, but Dawn was continually baiting him.
"It's a pen!"
"It's a pen that's been touched by the one and only William Shatner, in person, and now it's got your fingerprints all over it."
At this point, Xander intervened. "Dude. Seriously?"
Andrew grinned. "Yeah, I know. It's, like, the coolest thing ever."
"Xander," said Buffy, wearily, "you're not helping…"
"Sorry." He returned to his food.
Dawn was running out of steam, and words failed her. She couldn't believe that Andrew was getting so worked up over a ball-point pen, and that he'd chosen to get revenge by reading her most personal possession. She could only be glad he'd not aired anything more incriminating from it… not that there was anything incriminating, of course. "You're an idiot."
"Well, you're a bigger one."
"Geek."
"Thank you."
She screamed, frustrated. "Ugh! Asshole."
Buffy frowned. "Dawn, language."
"P'tach," accused Andrew. Xander sniggered; Willow punched him in the arm and glared.
Oh, wonderful, now he was resorting to made-up insults. "Moron."
"Tralk." (A knowing grin from Xander, and an expression that said "Harsh…")
"Scrud."
The slanging-match went on for a few more pointless seconds, Dawn's name-calling ranging from the mindless to the downright insulting, and Andrew's becoming increasingly more science-fiction based, until even Xander didn't know what he was referencing. It was finally brought to an abrupt halt by the restaurant manager approaching the table.
"Is there some kind of problem, here?" he asked, with forced politeness.
"No," said Giles. "No problem. Just, um, family issues. We… we recently lost someone, so…" He trailed off, hoping the excuse was self-explanatory.
"I see," said the manager. "I appreciate that, sir, it's just that… well, the other guests are starting to complain about the noise. If the two siblings would care to go outside, perhaps? Or we can gladly offer a room elsewhere in the building for them to work it out."
"Thank you, but it won't be necessary," said Buffy, giving Dawn the glance she reserved especially for such situations.
"Very good." Satisfied, the manager departed; he'd been lenient, presumably, because they'd obviously recently moved to the town. The table sat in guilty silence for a while, Dawn giving Andrew her best evil eye, and Andrew staring determinedly back. After a while, however, he merely gave up, drained his glass, placed his cutlery neatly on his plate, and stood.
"Y'know… I think I'm gonna go. I need some fresh air."
"You don't have to, Andrew," offered Buffy, apologetically, on behalf of her sister. "I'm sure Dawn'll-"
"Let him go," said her sister, "if he wants to."
Andrew nodded. "Thanks for the meal, Giles. Sorry this had to happen. I'll… I'll see you all later at the house, I guess." He gave a half-hearted wave, then turned tail and left.
"Nice going, Dawn…"
The brunette had seen Andrew's dejected expression as he turned, and the way he slumped as he walked off, and was now feeling slightly guilty about starting the fight. After all, Andrew had lost his friends, no matter what the circumstances. Nevertheless, his reading her diary was inexcusable. "Sorry, Buffy" she said, sighing impatiently, "I just-"
"I don't want to hear it. When we get back, you're going to apologise." Before she could protest, she added, "And I don't care how difficult it is, or how much you don't want to." Lowering her voice to a tone only Dawn could really hear, she said, "I cannot deal with this right now. You're nearly eighteen. Start acting like it."
He'd lost track of how long he'd been wandering the streets, but knew it had to be in the region of several hours. It had been early evening when he left the restaurant, and the sky was darker now, the air chillier; Andrew began to wish he'd worn a jacket. Leaving had essentially accomplished nothing, but at least now he was less likely to provoke Dawn, or say something he'd inevitably regret. Their argument had appeared childish at the time, but what she'd said had hurt; he had it within his power to hurt her back, but it wasn't in his nature. The Scoobies had all been through more than he had, and she deserved the chance to vent, even if it was him Dawn took her frustrations out on.
She'd been right. He had killed Jonathan, and Warren was a murderer. Andrew knew that he had no right to want to remember them, in fondness or otherwise, but he had nobody else. They'd been the only friends he'd had, all through high school. He was trying to be friends with the Scoobies, but it was difficult. The circumstances weren't ideal to begin with; he'd gone from unwilling hostage to spare wheel, and he got the impression that everyone was just too polite to brush him off. There'd been the occasional moment before the battle, when he thought, maybe, there was a chance they might all be friends. He and Anya had just been getting closer right when she…
No. It wouldn't do to think of Anya, nor to remember the horrors he'd witnessed that night. It was too raw and fresh in the very back of his conscious memory, and to bring the images to mind was too much to deal with. He blamed himself for her death; she'd only been protecting him from danger… or had she? Maybe he'd just imagined it. Maybe he'd just told Xander that because it was what he wanted to hear, and maybe, now, Andrew was believing it for himself. Why would Anya protect him? Why would she lay her own life on the line for someone she barely knew and had hardly even been civil to?
Thinking about it made his brain ache. It would be so much easier for everyone if he left, like he'd told Xander he would. Except he had nowhere to go, and nobody to go to. His family had either moved out of Sunnydale before the battle started, or ended up dead in the aftermath. Both of his best friends were gone. He was pretty sure that Buffy and her friends were only tolerating him; Dawn had made it obvious during the meal that she didn't like him, and the only person he could really, honestly, see himself being friends with was Xander. Xander needed him, after all, or so he'd said. To leave now… to leave wouldn't be fair on him.
He shivered against a breeze that had picked up, and took in his surroundings. He'd been wandering aimlessly, heedless of the direction he was going, and now realised he was utterly lost. He'd moved from the reputable central area of the town, where the restaurant had been situated, to one of probably many back alleys. Music from a seedy nightclub thumped through the wall to his left, and the one to his right smelt suspiciously of something he didn't want to think about; the only light came from two dim bulbs above the club's back door.
Well done, Andrew, he chastised himself. Way to get yourself lost. He turned back on himself and headed towards the street at the end of the alley, since there was only a dead end in the direction he'd been going. With any luck, there might be someone he could ask for directions, or, at the very least, a passing taxi.
The street was practically deserted, however, and his mild enthusiasm began to wane. It would be just his luck to get murdered out here when he didn't even know where he was; but then, he doubted anyone would miss him. Frustrated, he kicked at a tin can in his path, battering it into a dented lump with the toe of his trainer, until finally hefting it at a nearby wall. It was fitting; wasn't that exactly how he was treating Buffy's hospitality, throwing it back in her face by getting into arguments and walking out on their get-together? He felt sickened by himself.
I shouldn't even be alive, he thought. I'm not a hero. And yet Buffy had taken him in; she'd accepted him, tried to fold him into her group despite their previous differences, and he'd not even thanked her. He'd not even offered his commiserations, awkward though they would inevitably be, just stayed out of everyone's way. They all thought he was useless, and childish, and he didn't know how he could prove them wrong. No matter what he did, it didn't seem to make a difference.
Then again… he had managed to get himself lost in a new town, so maybe they were right.
Further ahead, he could see vehicle headlights. That was at least vaguely more promising than the deserted side-street he was currently on. Struggling to force his negative thoughts back, he stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and headed for the traffic.
The argument wasn't mentioned again after Andrew had walked out. There was little point in reprimanding Dawn for it, and even less point going after Andrew. He needed time to think, and Dawn knew she'd pushed too far. Instead, the rest of them enjoyed the rest of their meal, and kept the conversation light. Xander was quiet, as was Buffy, but nobody prodded them. They were both thinking about the latter's suggestion.
Giles drove everyone home straight afterwards, and they disbanded to their respective rooms. Dawn wisely remained downstairs to watch television, leaving Buffy to her thoughts; Xander headed upstairs, still looking ponderous, and Giles had gone to make sure he'd packed everything up, ready for the next morning. Willow and Kennedy were spending their 'quality time' together, purely because Willow had promised they would.
Buffy lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. It was early yet, not even eleven o'clock, a time when she would ordinarily have been patrolling. Now that she didn't have her Slayer duties to worry about, she realised that she had too much time, and not enough to do to fill it. Since sleep wasn't going to happen - after all, why should this night be any exception? - the bed was the most comfortable place to mope, and she could, at least, pretend to be asleep when Dawn finally surfaced from the living room, so as to avoid more difficult conversations and her sister's inevitable awkward apology. She hadn't bothered to draw the curtains; the glow from the streetlamp outside bathed the room in a warm, yellowish glow. From her position, Buffy could see the sky through the window. It was clouding over, wisps of grey obliterating the usually clear stars; rain was inevitable.
She closed her eyes, breathing out, trying to focus her mind on all the things that needed to be done. Giles wanted her to help at the Training Centre, for one. The girls needed guidance from a real Slayer; it was all very well training them and teaching them, but Buffy had the experience, and Giles would rather she shared it. If Willow took up the offer of teaching them magic, she entertained the notion of considering it, but promised nothing. Slaying, as far as she was concerned, was no longer her job; she'd had seven years of it, and was ready to go into early retirement. Of course, it would be a while before she got any peace; the house was to be Base Camp for Faith and Robin whenever they found a new Slayer, and for whenever the Hell they returned from whatever part of the world they were in at the moment. Buffy envied them, a little. She knew they had a difficult job to do, but they were seeing the world in the process. Faith had sent postcards, only from other parts of the country, so far, but soon they'd be in Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia… places she could only dream of. And, aside from that, they were together. Faith was happy; Buffy didn't begrudge her that… but God, she was jealous.
Her mental check-list had vanished some time ago, as thoughts of Faith and Robin dredged up associated memories of their last few weeks in Sunnydale. She was too exhausted to keep holding them back, and let the remembrance wash over her. Conversations with people, whether amicable, argumentative, or downright weird - pop-psychologist vamp in the cemetery, whose name even now she'd forgotten again, seemed to keep coming back to haunt her - all filled her brain. Forcing Andrew to cry, refusing the dark power that had created the First Slayer, and the night she nearly gave up completely… it all came back. And then, try as she might, nothing could stop the memories she'd tried so desperately to repress from returning: the decision to remove the chip; the night Giles set them up; the trigger; the moment she found out about the soul, the image of him draped over the cross forever engraved on her mind with the scent of burning flesh and the feeling of complete helplessness… and that night he'd found her, saved her from herself, forced her to carry on when she was ready to give up.
She threw off the covers and went to the open window, staring up at the now almost completely grey sky through bleary, tear-filled eyes. She wouldn't remember that final night, not now. She knew it would tip her over the edge completely, that if she started crying, she'd never be able to stop… and with still so much to do, she couldn't afford to lose herself. So instead, she let the tears flow quietly, bringing some short relief from the pain, though barely enough to numb it, and she stared heavenwards. Haunted by sporadic snippets of conversations, she heard a heart-wrenchingly familiar voice in her mind.
'…It's not worth it if they don't cry…'
Searching through the grey for some sign of a star, she spoke to the night. "Well, I'm crying now." She gesticulated towards herself, wiping tears from her cheeks. "Was it worth it?" There was no answer, just a gust of wind that caught her hair and whipped it around her face, as the rain that had been waiting for weeks finally started. Under any other circumstances, she might have taken it as a sign, but she knew it was just the weather changing. Speaking louder against the breeze through the trees, and the rattle of rain on the windows, she repeated, "Was it fucking worth it?!"
She felt better, marginally, for swearing. It didn't last long, however, because in the next instance, another voice from the front path made her jump. "What, walking out of the restaurant?" She looked down, noticing Andrew for the first time. He was very quickly getting soaked, standing in the downpour, and he was looking up at her, curiously. When she didn't answer, he added, "I… I guess so. I mean, I did some thinking while I was gone. Is that what you meant?" She was glad of the storm; at least the wetness on her face couldn't be attributed to tears now.
"Oh… Andrew… Never mind, I… you weren't meant to hear that."
"Oh." He stood there a while longer, then said, "You okay?"
"Sure," she said, doubting it was convincing, though Andrew didn't push the matter. "Where'd you go?"
"Went for a walk," he told her. "I got lost. But then I found Main Street and remembered the way Giles had driven earlier, so…" He trailed off; the fact that he was back was proof enough that he had remembered.
Buffy was shocked. "You walked all the way back?"
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you call?"
He shrugged. "I figured you all had better things to worry about." Before Buffy could reply to that, he said, "You should probably get back inside. It's raining."
She nodded. Andrew seemed different, not like himself, but since he hadn't questioned her further about screaming to the moon, she decided against interrogating him. Dawn had said some harsh things to him earlier that night, and it figured he'd want to think things through. He said nothing else, though, and she watched him until he entered the house and she could no longer see him. Instead, she heard him ascend the stairs - without a word spoken between him and her sister - and enter his and Xander's room. Their strange conversation would remain between them.
Buffy pulled the window to, leaving it only slightly open in the hope that the sound of the rain might help her sleep, and dried her hair off with a towel. She clambered back into bed, and resumed staring at the ceiling. What she'd screamed earlier rang true, in a way. Had it really been worth it, saving the world? There would always be evil, and she would always have to fight it. Her friends would always have to help her; she would always end up with casualties, and constantly lose the people she cared about. They were two soldiers down in their tiny army, and who knew how many more they could lose? When this Hellmouth was closed, would there be another? And another? How much more of the earth would they have to destroy?
Buffy swallowed at the prospect that, however many years down the line, another Slayer - or Slayers - would be leading her friends into yet another mindless war. It wasn't her problem… but she still felt responsible. The Fate of the world had rested on her shoulders for most of her teenage life, and it was a burden that she would always bear, Slayer or not. It was a burden they'd all have to carry eventually. So, really, was it worth it?
His sacrifice had never felt right. She'd tried to justify it in her mind so many times, tried to work out the reasoning of it beyond the purpose of the amulet. He'd done it willingly; she'd chosen him to bear the trinket; they were both to blame for his decision, in a way. He'd done it to save her, to give her a world to climb back to, without realising that her world was nothing now he'd gone. He knew the price he had to pay, but he'd never anticipated hers.
And yet, deep down, Buffy knew there had to be a reason she was still here. She knew that something had to happen to make it worthwhile. A combination of optimism - what little of that she had left - and Slayer-intuition told her that she was around for some higher purpose than just training new Slayers. Until that purpose became clear to her, however, there was nothing to do except wait, stare at the ceiling, and listen to the Cleveland rain.
A/N: The Andrew/Dawn argument wasn't meant to be as light as it ended up, but writing GeekSpeak for Andrew (and Xander) turned out to be too amusing a concept to pass up. Kudos to anyone that can name the three different references (two of Andrew's and one of Dawn's, though that's less obscure and probably still in use.) In any case, it got me to the point I wanted to get to, so it wasn't completely pointless. If Andrew seems uncharacteristically mopey… I apologise. I do have something planned for him later, so his presence isn't entirely without point.
Lyrics to the song for this entire chapter (both parts) are below.
(Katie Melua)
Broken windows and empty hallways
A pale dead moon
In a sky streaked with grey
Human kindness is overflowing
And I think it's going to rain today
Scarecrows dressed in the latest styles
With frozen smiles to chase love away
Human kindness is overflowing
And I think it's going to rain today
Lonely, lonely
Tin can at my feet
Think I'll kick it down the street
That's the way to treat a friend
Bright before me the signs implore me
Help the needy and show them the way
Human kindness is overflowing
And I think it's going to rain today
(from Call Off The Search; lyrics by Randy Newman)