Man, that ranks as one of the weirdest dreams, ever. Stretching in the darkness before dawn, Xander yawned, digging his fingers into his hair so he could find the first knots before he headed to the bathroom to do a more thorough job with brush and comb. Too much Halloween candy, Xan-man. Not that anyone would have believed there could be such a thing, but obviously...
Wait a sec. That was... an awful lot of hair, wrapped around his fingers.
And this wasn't his bedroom.
Xander jerked up in his borrowed sleeping bag, almost planting an elbow in the middle of Jonathan's snoring chest. Sitting up against the side wall with a blanket around him, Kenshin lifted his head.
"Sorry," Xander mouthed, slipping out of bed to find some clothes in the almost-dark. Know Giles left some sweats around here somewhere... darn it, I'd have to turn on a light. And Jonathan's still pretty zonked out. His fingers found rough cloth that looked darker than black in the dimness, and he shrugged. What the heck. At least I'll be decent for breakfast. He stepped into the hakama, tied it properly, bare feet shivering against the floor as he tried to figure out how to work the haori. It'd been so much easier last night, with the instructions...
The first glimmer of sun peeked over the horizon, and his blood caught fire.
My heart...
Xander felt the beat pick up, working harder, louder. Readying itself, for-
No! No way! We wiped out the youki! We were us again!
He tried to breathe. Tried to cry out - for Buffy, for Giles, for anyone who would hear. Tried to deny the sudden wave of alien memories and inhuman instincts forcing their way forward. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't!
Clawed hands closed around his shoulders. "Xander-san. Xander. I am here."
Kenshin.
Help me.
"I am here..."
Xander panted for breath as golden light painted them both, feeling the odd slide of bone and flesh and nails as his body shifted with the rising sun. This wasn't right. This wasn't him. He was Xander Harris, all-around regular guy who hung with a Slayer, not-
Fingers stretching, strengthening into claws. Long dark hair growing longer, bleaching to pure white. An ache in jaws and teeth and head, as fangs tried to shift the very shape of his skull.
Not me, not- I never said yes, damn it! I can fight this-
He gasped for air, Kenshin's scent rolling over his lengthening tongue.
Kitsune-hanyou. Kitsune-hanyou with steel, and cotton, and sweet-and-sour Chinese takeout...
And Buffy-scent.
Kitsune-hanyou who submitted to Buffy. Alpha female. My pack.
Mine!
Xander buried his nose in that steadying scent, feeling the tickle of red strands across his ears as they grew pointed and furred and climbed to rest within his hair. Whined when the fox tried to pull away, knowing it would hold the adolescent kit there firmer than any snap or growl. Dug his toes into the thick rug, enjoying the odd feel of softness against the roughening pads of his feet. Rubbed his jaw alongside the other's, letting pack-contact soothe the slight, sharp pain as fangs slid finally into place.
"...Xander-san?"
"Dawn's over," Xander sighed, shaking back his hair with a fanged grin. "I'm me again."
Red brows climbed. "Sou ka?"
"What, you don't believe me?" Xander answered in the same tongue, cracking his knuckles as he listened to the breathing, sighs, and swears of the stirring Summers house. Kami, it was good to hear again; forget numb noses, humans were almost deaf! "What's a guy got to shred to prove he's back to - normal..."
Normal. This feels normal. I - I'm-
"Head down," Kenshin said swiftly, pressing light on his shoulder. "Slow breaths."
"Good Lord," Jonathan drawled behind them, sitting up and kneading his forehead. "I had the most awful dream-" He froze, scent carrying a quick taint of unease, shock, resignation. "Damn."
"Pretty much sums it up," Xander agreed. Jonathan speaks Japanese? Whoa.
Jonathan made an expert fist, sighed, and shook out his fingers. "I presume we're not the only ones affected."
Xander cocked an ear to the rest of the house. There was an excited female gabble from Buffy's bedroom, a thumping of what sounded like high-heeled shoes flung against the wall from Mrs. Summers', a series of grim antique Japanese and British curses from downstairs as Giles found his glasses unusable-
"Augghhh!"
And Cordelia had just discovered fangs and purple hair, if that ear-piercing shriek was anything to go by.
"Guess misery really does love company," Xander grinned. He had no clue why knowing Cordelia was in the same boat as the rest of them made him feel better; it just did. At least now Queen C can't complain we're the only ones who bring weirdness to Sunnydale High's social life. He drew a breath, teasing out scents of grass, birds, exhaust, friends old and new-
Took another sniff to confirm, and stared at Kenshin. "You didn't know!"
"Iie." Violet eyes were wide as the swordsman looked over the inu-hanyou holding him. "Your scent was human until just before dawn. Then - it changed, and I felt your ki surge forward..."
He's almost as freaked out as I am, Xander realized. He wants to trust me, but at the same time he's scared. Why? He reached up to rub behind the kitsune's ears, one packmate to another.
Kenshin flinched back.
Oh, man! Giles was right. Kenshin doesn't know what he is. He doesn't even remember being hanyou before, the way I do. Inuyasha's memories were a low whisper in the back of Xander's mind, fitting themselves around the rest like sneakers that just needed a little breaking-in. Monks, magic, youkai races by the dozens; he knew things, now, that he'd barely skimmed over in Giles' books.
Pretty cool. If interspersed with occasional disgusting, Xander thought, recalling the feel of enemy flesh clinging to his claws. Okay, think. If he doesn't know 'packmate'... maybe we can try something a little more obvious.
Backing off a few feet, almost to the bed, Xander bent his knees. Loosened his shoulders. Tilted his head, ears pricked forward, and gave Kenshin a sideways look.
Come on, Kenshin. I know you can get this.
Biting his lip, the swordsman wavered, obviously caught between kitsune instinct's recognition of an invitation and human confusion.
Xander stifled a sigh, turning it into an interrogatory whurf. :Play?:
:Play...?: A higher pitch. Not quite the note inu blood expected. But familiar; like an almost-grown version of the sound Shippou made those times the two of them had scuffled without the others around to see.
Close enough. Xander lifted lips off fangs, just a little. :Let's play!:
And pounced.
"Sunblock. Sunblock, right," Cordelia's voice floated out of the bathroom, accompanied by a liquid smack of lotion-covered hand against her forehead. "Oh, this is so not happening..."
Buffy traded a glance with Willow, sighing when she realized her friend was once more entranced by the red-and-gold sparks she could shake out of her fingers. "Will. Focus."
"Focus. Is me," the young witch nodded, dusting multicolored sparkles off her hands. "Cordelia as half vampiric fay, bad. You with Shinigami in your head, really bad. Your mom as ermine-hanyou - well, not bad, she's really pretty, but-"
Buffy bit back curses straight from the back alleys of the L2 colonies. "I thought we killed this thing last night!" Duo's memories had vanished with one painful splash of holy water, becoming just a wisp of dark blood in the currents of her mind. Until the sun had risen, and woken the God of Death once more...
"More like a temporary server down," Willow shrugged. "Halloween's over. We should be safe. At least 'til next year."
Thump. Thud. Thwump.
"Safe, huh?" Buffy jerked her chin toward the spare bedroom, where a frazzle-haired, sweatpants-and-t-shirt-wearing Jonathan had just darted out into the hall as if his life depended on it. "Then what's that?"
"Puppies," Jonathan answered, shaking his head as a low dog growl was answered by a higher, foxy yip. "Very big puppies-"
Thump! The house shivered.
"-who I believe just went out your window," Jonathan finished.
Buffy looked at Willow. Willow looked at Buffy. Two minds with one thought, one realization, one unified plan of attack.
"Camera!"
Digital camera in hand, Buffy dashed past a coffee-guzzling Ms. Calendar and a still-not-coherent Watcher, heading out the back. She hesitated on the back doorstep, making sure of just where the rolling ball of red and white and gray and blue was before she started snapping shots of the best blackmail material ever.
"Ooo!" Willow was bouncing up and down behind her, stifling gleeful squeals as the two boys play-fought across the back lawn, claws pulled in, fangs snapping near - but never quite on - sensitive ears. "Oh - ow - that probably hurt, but-"
"I believe they're both skilled enough to keep it to bruises." Giles stepped out behind them, regarding the yipping, growling tangle with an amused smirk. "Hmm. Not as bad as I feared. I knew Battousai could play with children, but I doubt he's ever had the chance to engage in a youthful scuffle before."
"Oh, come on," Buffy sighed, lining up a shot of Kenshin with a good grip on white hair and an evil glint in his eyes, just before Xander managed to hook an ankle under his knee and send them both down again. "Hanyou or not, he had to be a teenager sometime." Not like he had a destiny. Not like he had to kill, and die, when he was just a kid...
"He was no more a teenager than you are, Buffy." Giles' voice was quiet, touched with respect and regret. "The first time I saw him, the first time I ever caught a glimpse of the redheaded demon who'd been Choushuu's deadliest hitokiri for two years... he was only fifteen."
Fifteen. Buffy numbly handed the camera to Willow, letting her have a chance to work out her cuteness-capturing urges. He was an assassin, he said he chose to kill...
Fifteen. Nobody's sane at fifteen. Duo wasn't; that's why G picked him for Deathscythe, you don't ask a sane person to take a Gundam up against a whole world army, they'd tell you to go to hell. I sure wasn't, when Merrick told me I had an inheritance waiting in a graveyard. If I'd had any idea what I was getting into that night- She shuddered.
And if - Saitou - saw him two years later, that means he started when he was thirteen... "Who did that?" Buffy asked fiercely. "And can I still hurt them?"
"Perhaps fortunately for them, they're all quite dead," Giles said dryly. "It is easier than most people realize to convince an intelligent, idealistic young man to kill. And he did kill, quite knowingly, for five years. What is truly amazing is that he was able to stop."
Buffy shot a glance his way, trying to pick apart that odd, satisfied tone in his voice. Giles is proud of him?
"All right, all right, I'm coming, it's not like you have to slather this stuff on before you hit sunlight, Jonathan," Cordelia's irate tone drifted down from an upstairs window. "What's so - oh. Oh!" A hint of girlish squeal softened her voice. "Aww..."
Buffy blinked against the flash as Willow snapped several shots, catching the contrast of firerat fur and dark blue cotton against the green lawn, hair and arms and legs tangled together in a puppy-pile, white-furred ears poking out through loose scarlet as Xander chewed on a leather tie and a mouthful of Kenshin's hair.
"The Fox and the Hound," Joyce chuckled, leaning over her daughter's shoulder for a good look. "Aww is right."
White ears swiveled toward yet another buzz of camera, followed by shocked gold eyes. "Will! You wouldn't!"
"Smile!" Willow said brightly.
"Smile?" Kenshin echoed, baffled. And blinked, caught off-guard by the flash.
"Camera," Xander snarled.
"That's a camera?" Red brows went up. "They've become smaller, that they have."
"And this one's about to become pieces!" Xander leapt out of the swordsman's loose grip. "Sankon Tetsusou-"
Dropping to one hand, Kenshin swept his feet out from under him. Xander swore as he hit the ground, rolling back to hands and knees with a determined glint in gold eyes that echoed that glittering steel-blue in violet-
Giles cleared his throat, letting out a low whoof. And looked just as startled as the rest of them when two faces whipped toward him, both reddening slightly. "Er, yes. Quite. Diverting as I'm sure that was for the both of you, we had best be inside before the neighbors take note. Hanyou on Halloween are unremarkable; on All Saint's Day, in broad daylight... kami, I've no idea how we'll handle Snyder..."
"Sick," Buffy said firmly, as the guys dusted themselves off and everyone hurried back inside. "We call in sick, Giles. At least today," she added when her mother looked ready to protest. "Tomorrow - well, let's see what we figure out today, okay?"
"It's going to take me at least a few hours to figure out how to sneak Kenshin into the school computers, anyway," Willow nodded, slipping the camera back to Buffy before Xander could catch her with it. She smiled at Kenshin. "Because - well, you probably don't have records, and the ones you did have would look pretty weird, someone from 1930's Japan trying to apply to high school, especially after you - whoa, died - and... I'll be quiet now."
"It is all right, Willow-dono." Kenshin gave her a shy shrug. "I knew this would not be a simple task. And yet-" he craned his head toward the front door, "-it may not be so difficult as you expect; that it may not."
"And what makes you think I'm going to make it any easier, baka deshi?" Hiko's voice grumbled through the wooden panels.
A red brow climbed. "Perhaps only that you arranged for me to be here in the first place?"
"Say what?" Already opening the door, Buffy couldn't decide which swordsman to glare at first. Where's Angel was almost on her lips; a dumb question, seeing how high the sun was, but who said love was smart? Priorities, she told herself firmly. "How many did you find?"
"Of those fully other than human who didn't try to kill us on sight? A half-dozen or so," Hiko answered, stepping inside. "Though from the amount of bright ki out there, either Sunnydale is holding a swords tournament and no one told me, or there were a good few dozen more who went as something human. And why on earth you think I'd arrange for you to be anywhere, deshi-"
"But you did," Giles nodded in realization as Buffy closed the door. "No spell in your keeping could end up in evil hands. Unless you allowed the scroll to be stolen."
"Knowing the sorcerer might kill a kitsune in the process!" Jenny's eyes flashed, hand dropping near the saber at her belt.
"A kitsune who would have my deshi there to defend her." Hiko fixed her with a level look. "You are Jedi, Ms. Calendar. I know you understand the duty of a master to a padawan."
"Well, I don't," Joyce said flatly, looking Hiko straight in the eye. "What could you possibly have done that would need this to make up for it?"
"Not something done," Kenshin concluded, as Hiko kept silent. "Something left undone. Shishou?"
The quiet plea in that voice did what her mother's frown couldn't. Tall shoulders slumped slightly under the heavy cloak; the swordsman stepped near his student, brushing a hand over the fall of scarlet hair. "Kitsune blood," Hiko said quietly. "Red hair, eyes like the sky at twilight, ki shining like a star... you were so obviously of our kind, I never worried that your scent was all but human. I thought you were only young. That you would grow into your strength. Your healing. It was only years later, when you brought Kenji to me that first time and I knew he had but a trace of youki within him, that I realized you never would." He shook his head slowly. "I was your master. It was my duty to fit my training to your strengths. Instead, I gave you a weapon that destroyed you."
"You taught me to save lives," Kenshin insisted. "There are no debts between us, shishou. If anyone is owed, it is you." He smiled. "You saved Kenji."
"That's the useful thing about getting to brats while they're still toddling," Hiko said dryly. "It was close, but he was still young enough for me to hunt down some... old friends' assistance. You weren't."
"Shishou-"
"But now the debt is paid," Hiko stated. "You have your training. You can use it without killing yourself. I expect you will, though if you don't take some time to relearn, you're an even bigger fool than I thought; full-strength kitsune-hanyou youki is more powerful than the ki you're used to channeling, and immeasurably wilder. You have a legal identity, more or less; I've enrolled you here, and if that bakayarou of a principal looks into your paperwork-"
"Oh, believe me, he will," Giles put in.
"He'll find notes in your Social Services file that you were home-schooled by eccentric and borderline psychotic Japanese relatives before the state saddled me with you," Hiko finished. "That should cover most of your glaring idiosyncrasies." He looked his student over, topknot to straw sandals. "As for the rest..."
"Oro?"
"Thank goodness for UV-proof windows," Cordelia muttered, tapping up her sunglasses as she relaxed in a Californian teen's natural environment - the mall. Her hair had finally cooperated in form, if not color, smoothing into an elegant over-the-shoulders fall that set off her new soft-gray and emerald blouse and skirt in a way that spawned mass jealous disbelief in various store clerks. Her food court table was piled with bags of more outfits, all selected for maximum effect with her new looks. She'd dispensed a healthy amount of sarcastic style advice as Buffy and Willow dragged Xander through the men's department, fuzzy ears tucked under a black ball-cap, gold eyes cringing in fear. She'd even managed to trade one or two barbs with Hiko as he half-carried his shocked student through Modern Clothing 101. And all was about as right with the world as it was going to get.
If you leave out the whole blood-drinking aspect, Cordelia thought starkly, staring into her cappuccino.
Oh, she was luckier than Shido. Food seemed to do her some good. Giles thought it was the whole can't-match-it-exactly-so-take-a-random-swing aspect of Ethan's spell; NightWalker-type vampires didn't exist in their reality, so the transformation had gone for the closest thing that did. And the closest thing seemed to be a cross between a youkai and what Giles called an Unseleighe Sidhe; fairy creatures that ate, and drank, and did everything else humans did... and drank blood.
Hiko had brought some. She'd looked at it. Swallowed dryly. Left it in Mrs. Summers' fridge.
I can't. I just - can't.
"Eyaghhh." Ushered by his two grinning wardens, Xander set down his bag and dropped into the white plastic chair across from her. "I know, I'm just a guy, with all the fashion sense of a blind gorilla. But would somebody please tell me what would be wrong with wearing my old clothes?"
"They wouldn't fit," Cordelia said absently.
"Huh?"
"Well, they might," Willow spoke up. "I mean, your sleeves would be too short, but the rest of it... only they'd be really tight - at least, some places - and - oooh, not going there..."
"Buff?" Xander blinked. "Babbling Willow translation?"
"Xander... I know it's freaky, but take a good look in the mirror next time we toss you something to try on," the Slayer said matter-of-factly. "Longer sleeves are the least of your problems."
"Oh, for goodness' sake," Cordelia muttered under her breath. Leaned forward, making sure nobody was in easy earshot. "What these two are trying to dance around telling you is that you're not built the same anymore." Not that he isn't - built - ahem. "Take advantage of it. And make sure you get clothes you can move in; the last thing we need is you splitting seams when the football team tries to stuff you into a locker."
"Hey!" But Xander's yelp got applied to a shell-shocked, all but shivering swordsman, various bags clutched in his arms, who slipped into the seat by Willow as if it were the last refuge from the Apocalypse. "Kenshin?"
"Oro..."
Cordelia raised a lavender brow. Poet's shirt with loose sleeves, dark blue with just the right undertone of yellow to keep a redhead from going deathly pale. Subtle black belt. Charcoal jeans with the kind of cut and gussets for movement she'd seen on a few martial-arts instructors. Not bad, not bad at all. Mix that with the long red hair to die for, and he'd have instant Sunnydale High social standing as dangerously cute. So what was his problem? The last time she'd seen someone that scarlet, Harmony had led a newbie freshman into committing social hara-kiri. "What happened to you?"
"Shishou," the redhead said numbly. "Clothes. The - things - you call underwear..."
"Ah, but you've missed so much over the decades, deshi!" Hiko appeared behind his student, cloak wrapped around their swords, smirking. "No man should be blind to the wonder that is the push-up bra."
Kenshin buried his face in his hands. "Oro..."
"I like you," Xander said, giving Hiko an amazed grin.
Thus proving there is no justice in the universe, Cordelia thought, as she and the other two girls trained glares on the idiot that should have made him one more greasy spot on the floor.
"What? What'd I say?"
"Xander-san," Kenshin mumbled, not looking up. "If you do not yet know, you will only learn through painful experience, that you will."
"Hey! Last time I checked, you were on our side of the fence, buddy." Xander hesitated. "You are, right?"
Hiko snorted.
Now Kenshin did raise his head, one red brow quirked up. "Simply because my preference is not for nanshoku, does not mean I am boorish enough to guide my eyes where they have not been invited."
"Er- ah-" Xander stammered. "Well - I knew that. That is-"
"Nan-what?" Willow asked innocently.
"He said he's not gay," Cordelia filled in tactlessly. Better yank dog-boy out of this hole before he digs himself any deeper. "So. Did you-" she glanced under the table, where Kenshin was still in those antique sandals and Xander's feet were jammed into a spare pair of Giles' ugly brown leather monstrosities. "No, you did not hit sneakers yet. Come on." You so owe me for this, Xander. Nothing helps a girl's mood like new shoes.
"Why is no one staring at us?" Kenshin ventured as they headed shoe-ward through the gabbling crowds. "You said we will need the charms Jenny-dono and Giles-san even now seek elsewhere to pass within school confines, and yet we are here, in a marketplace. And save for the pickpockets, no one marks our passing."
"Pickpockets?" Xander asked.
Cordelia held up three fingers, Kenshin two, Buffy four. "One guy with a toy poodle got a little too close," the Slayer added. "I stomped his toes while you were still arguing with Willow about the merits of plaids versus stripes. Of which I have to say, eww."
"These people won't see you every day. They're not looking past odd hair and teenagers to see fangs and claws. The charms are meant for those who will," Hiko said dryly. "Even so, this isn't Tokyo, deshi. Red hair doesn't mean you're a demon. Come to think of it, in Tokyo these days, even lavender hair isn't that bizarre. An extreme fashion statement, but not bizarre."
"So Japan truly has changed," Kenshin said quietly.
"Yes. And no." Hiko frowned. "You saw what was happening before your death. For a time, it only became worse. The free press Katsuhiro fought to establish suborned to the state, schools beating children to make them obedient soldiers, officers brutalizing soldiers to turn them on Japan's enemies... when I saw the photos published of what happened in Nanking, I could only thank the kami you and Saitou had already departed the world. That the Revolution you fought and bled for had come to this... it would have broken your hearts."
"And what were you up to during World War II?" Buffy asked pointedly.
"Surviving," Hiko said dryly. "I wasn't about to go decapitate our government. The Emperor's family does still maintain Shinto traditions, they would have seen me coming. And between trying to keep my part of Kyoto halfway sane, and help members of certain families stay out of the military by any means possible - dear gods, a Sagara in the military would have been a bloodbath, much less a Myojin or a Kamiya - believe me, even a master has limits." He shrugged slightly. "Afterwards, the American Occupation banned kenjutsu for years. They didn't look too closely at a traditional potter, his apprentices, and his doctor and farmer relatives, but we had to stay hidden quite some time. So many swords lost..."
"Winter Moon!" Kenshin gasped.
"Is safe," Hiko reassured him. "It might have been even if I had not hidden it. Swords from the Sengoku Jidai are national treasures now. But that would have left it in a museum; not where it should be, with the master of Hiten Mitsurugi. Or a master," he said, half to himself. "You have no idea what you started with that idiot sakabatou."
"Reverse-blade sword?" Xander tilted his head, ears obviously twitching under the black cap. "What would anybody use something like that for?"
"Cheating death." Hiko strode through the tag-detector unit into the shoe store, heading past summer sandals to many shelves of sneakers. Frowned at a pair with black stripes, then motioned Kenshin to follow him around a corner. "Let's try over here, for a start."
"Ah, good afternoon, sir! And miss," a cheerful bleached-blond store clerk laying in wait pounced. "How can we help you to-"
"Miss?" Kenshin said darkly.
"...Sir?" the clerk tried to salvage the situation.
"Why do these say Womens on the side, shishou?"
"I've seen your feet, deshi. Your odds of finding anything in men's sizes are... small."
"Shishou!"
"Somehow, I get the warm and fuzzy feeling it's a wonder those two haven't killed each other yet," Buffy observed, handing down a sample of men's sneakers to Xander as he worked his borrowed shoes off.
"Oh, well, they're guys," Willow put in. "It's not like they can actually act like they care about each other. Except you do sometimes, Xander..."
Rescue the poor kid, Cordelia thought; Willow's fumbling attempts at salvaging Xander's wounded pride were all too like Shido's memories of little schoolgirl Riho's blushing confrontations with tough-talking, experienced, and usually nude Guni. "Xander, I know you and dogs are supposedly color-blind, but I thought Inuyasha could at least tell red went with his skin tone." She gestured at the sneaker currently in hand. "You are not going to wear fluorescent yellow-accented sneakers."
Xander took a look at the striped abomination in his grip, debating the merits of throwing it at her. "And I suppose you're going to stop me?"
"If humanly possible." Cordelia went through the stack of boxes beside him, sorting and tossing with efficiency trained by years of fashionable sales. "Look at your hand. See that skin tone? Not so easy to tell the blue undertone under store lights, but when you throw in the pure white hair, it's a given. You're a Winter. You need drama. Pure colors; black, red, charcoal gray. Or ice tones. Medium colors wash you out, make you look undead - and I think we can all agree that's not a good look for anybody in this town. And yellow, especially that yellow, is of the Antichrist."
"But I like yellow!" Willow protested.
"Autumns do." Cordelia pointed at the redhead's betraying freckles. "See? Gold tone. That's how you tell the difference between an Autumn like you and a Summer like Buffy. Summers tan; Autumns burn. Buffy needs to hit the middle ground between true primaries and ice tones; you need to check out the camouflage palette. The thing to remember is you don't want yellow, you want yellow undertone. Like this," she waved at her own outfit, "only stronger colors. Shido would be a Spring. Do you know how hard it is to find that season in style?"
Willow stared at her.
"What?" Cordelia said impatiently. "I know your mother picks out your clothes, but come on! This is grade school fashion, here!"
"Different colors... look good on different people?" Willow turned wide eyes on Buffy.
"A lot of the time, yeah," the Slayer nodded. "I guess I just thought you knew. Most of the time you show up in good colors..."
She's going to cry. I just know it. Cordelia slipped out of sight, heading for the high heels. Funny; even the heady scent of leather pumps wasn't doing much for her spirits. It was one thing to mock Willow's stunning lack of fashion when she knew anyone with two brain cells to rub together wouldn't be caught dead in Rosenburg outfits. Quite another to view those taunts in the light of Willow's utter and complete ignorance of the basics.
Like Willow telling me to hit "Deliver" in computer class. She knew I didn't know what I was doing - but she didn't rub it in everyone's face.
Cold. She felt so cold.
More than cold, Cordelia realized numbly, sitting down on a green-padded bench as the sounds around her faded into an indistinguishable roar. I'm... thirsty.
Human conversation muddled together, yet her hearing felt unnaturally acute. Heartbeats pounded at her, calling, calling...
"Hey."
"Xander." A red and white blur in front of her, carrying the heady scent of inu-hanyou. "I'm in trouble."
"Yeah; I can smell it." The blur moved closer; she heard hair rustling, felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek.
Heartbeat. So strong. "Idiot... get away..."
"Buffy's got our end of the aisle blocked off. Kenshin's keeping the clerks distracted the other way. You can't feed on Willow, she's too small to push you off if you lose it the first time and if she freaks and throws a spell we could have toasty Sidhe treats. But I know you can take a little from me."
"You... sure?..."
"Shut up and bite me, wench."
I'll show you wench, you-! With a silent snarl, Cordelia bit down.
Salty. Metallic. Warm, filling her mouth, swamping her tongue with glittery tingles. She swallowed, feeling the rich taste push out the chill in her bones.
Somebody call ZNN... there's something out there better than chocolate!
"Oh..." Xander leaned into her, tracing the tips of two fingers over the pulse in her throat. "Oh, man..."
Don't stop, Cordelia thought blissfully, letting crimson trickle over her tongue as those knowing, clawed fingers worked. Distantly she heard what might have been a Willow-yelp, quickly stifled. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that tickling, tingling caress from just behind her ear down to her collarbone. Either he's been poking into some of the "mature" sections of Giles' books on the weird, or he's a really good guesser.
Part of her wanted it to last forever, leaning into those feathery caresses. Feeling that heartbeat against her own, nurturing her, supporting her. But she'd... really had enough... and they were in public...
Cordelia withdrew her fangs, licking the wound clean so it would heal. Ooo-kay, that's a definite queasiness factor kicking in here. "Um. Thank you?"
"Ahb... ze thee... ooo..."
Frowning, she waved her hand in front of dazed gold eyes. "Hello? Wakey-wakey?"
Wordless, Xander grinned at her.
"Blue screen of death," Cordelia muttered. "Buffy! Where do you hit 'reset' on this idiot?"
"I hear there's a dice game down by the docks after moonrise," Kenshin's archaic Japanese floated over to them.
"Huh? What? Where?" Xander shook himself. "Which docks? You haven't even been near the beach yet!"
"Weird. Worked, but weird." Buffy crossed her arms as she peered around the racks toward the red-haired swordsman. "How'd you know that would work, anyway?"
Kenshin hesitated. Sighed. "Souls do not change that easily, Buffy-dono. Your lives here and now, I do not know... but the four of you I knew very well once, that I did."
"A fact which makes me amazingly glad the Wolf is here as well," Hiko said dryly. "Your friends tend to be too heroic for their own good."
"Excuse me?" Cordelia cut in. Heroic? Her? As if!
"We're not... you know," Willow added. "I mean, we're there with the research when Buffy's up against the bad guys, and we try to help, but... you're giving me a look. Which I'm not really sure I'm up to. Looks. I mean, I have enough trouble with guy looks, and teacher looks, and Snyder looks - you know, I think I can deal with demon looks better than Snyder looks-"
"Willow-chan," Hiko said levelly. "The fact that you're still here is proof enough." Turning, he headed for the counter. "Come on. I want to see if the Miburou's killed anyone yet."
Deep breaths, Giles told himself firmly, standing in a shadowed corner as Jenny negotiated with the Dragon Cove Magic Shop's Rumanian shopkeeper. As he should have expected, had he been doing his job as Watcher instead of yielding to wolf and hound instinct to hide his pack until they were fit to face the world again, there had been a run on the various components of the more common illusion charms last night. Some of the more fragile herbs couldn't be had for love, or even money. Which left Jenny currently bargaining with the shopkeeper for ingredients to more subtle and less known incantations, meant more to blur the eye than make signs of demon blood vanish. Bargaining the man behind the counter seemed to be taking a truly unholy pleasure in drawing out, knowing he had the technopagan over the metaphorical barrel. Try, as young Willow has so often told a certain Slayer, counting to ten. Ichi, ni, san, shi-
Kneading his forehead, Giles let out a deep sigh. Not quite what I had in mind.
It could have been worse. He might have accepted Mrs. Summers' quiet offer of a fortifying glass of wine for the adults last night.
And given Saitou Hajime's rather homicidal behavior whenever alcohol enters the equation... as Buffy might say, don't go there.
Not that he thought killing Ethan would have been ill done. But the thought of yielding up that much of himself to a life that was over and ended chilled him.
I could never understand how Father and Grandmother could be so unswervingly dedicated to their calling, Giles thought. One has choices in life, and to choose to serve the Council's will, even in name only, even if it is to protect a Slayer from that same Council...
But if their souls had been true Watchers before, and they were as haunted by their memories as we are by ours... perhaps for them there was no choice.
I knew I was a disappointment. I never could understand quite why.
And none of that touched on the true source of his unease. To remember who he had been, what he had done... to feel the ruthless, honorable, bloodthirsty soul that was still a Wolf of Mibu accept Dreizhen's demonic memories and powers as no more than his right... to know he was no longer reacting as the Watcher looking after Buffy's innocent and eager friends, but as a pack adult watching over adolescent cubs as they learned to make their own kills...
They're children, Giles thought desperately. Only children.
Children in your keeping, older memory pointed out. This is war, old Wolf. You remember war. It would not stop for Okita. It would not stop for Battousai. It will not stop for them. You would keep them alive? Then teach them, Miburou.
Teach them to fight. To kill.
Battousai will help.
Yes; he would, wouldn't he? The rurouni might not have, trying to take the fight entirely on his own shoulders... but the wanderer who had settled in Tokyo seemed worn away like an old penny.
If I'd seen Tokio go forth and die, again and again, I'd have lost my peace as well, Giles admitted, tasting the air as the shopkeeper's scent changed to something nearer agreement. Not that I had much to start with.
Now the steel core of the hitokiri remained, and that man had never been afraid to let his comrades fight beside him.
Well, behind him, anyway, Saitou's memory supplied. Which was just as you wanted it. Why waste time with those of lesser skill when the Demon of Kyoto was at your blade?
Gods. He wanted another of those duels. Wanted the dance of steel against steel, nerve and wit and deadly grace flowing over the battleground like leaves in the whirlwind. Wanted it even more now that they were allies instead of enemies; how better to test his own strength, than against the one man who'd faced down Shishio Makoto's own hell?
Patience, Giles reminded himself. You had some skill with the sword in this life, but neither your training nor Saitou's had a hellhound's youki to deal with. Practice first. Until then, wait. Battousai's not going anywhere.
Though it seemed as if they finally might be. Jenny made a slight gesture with one hand; the shopkeeper winced, gave her a nervous laugh, and finally turned to the register to ring up the total.
Wait. I know that sign. Stepping out of the shadows, grateful for his gloves - though he doubted they fooled the shop's owner for a moment - Giles raised an eyebrow at the computer teacher. "You've dealt with gypsies?" he asked in an undertone.
"You... could say that." Jenny looked dispirited. Lifted her chin. "Giles. I have something to tell you. But not here." She nodded toward the parking lot.
Nervous, Giles concluded, teasing that faint scent out of her controlled calm as they stored their packages in his back seat. And... hurt? "Jenny. If someone's done you harm-"
Putting on her seatbelt, Jenny shook her head. "It's funny, don't you think? I know the Jedi aren't real. That Mira's just someone I made up, based on the stories. And yet, I..." Words failed her.
"If there is one thing I've learned living on a Hellmouth, it is that reality is more affected by our perception of it than most would imagine," Giles stated, securing the driver's side door. He left the seatbelt off for the moment; no matter how much he knew the belt was advisable for safe driving, the car was still off, and instinct balked at being tied down a moment longer than necessary. "You are real, Jenny. And apparently you are also Jedi. Therefore, logic would argue, the Jedi are real. Even if, at this point, you are the only one."
"At this point?" she echoed, startled.
"Ethan's spell created creatures and powers compatible with this reality," Giles clarified. "If the ability of a Jedi to touch the Force exists here, then those with that ability, however untrained, are also likely to exist." He raised a dark brow. "And you are a teacher, Ms. Calendar."
"Oh." She blinked, the full seriousness of the situation sinking in. "Oh, god... Rupert, if I find someone, teach them... oh god, what if I screw up?"
"You won't be alone," he reassured her. "If memory serves, ki manipulation has a fair amount in common with the basic concepts laid out by Lucas, and I am not inexperienced with those skills. Though Battousai is the true expert." Giles frowned. "And he will help, qualms at passing on the Hiten or no. I'll see to that."
"But... I can't," Jenny protested. "I just can't. Rupert, I've walked on the Dark Side so long, and I didn't even know!"
What? "Jenny-"
"I'm not Jenny!" She buried her face in her hands, the salt scent of tears leaking through her fingers. "My name is Janna."
Part of him wanted to hold her close, tearing the throat out of whatever had hurt her so. A darker part fought to pull away, sensing a trap. Giles split the difference, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. "Perhaps you'd best start from the beginning."
"The beginning. Oh, god." She drew in a shuddering breath. "The beginning... was in Romania. 1898."
1898. Korea was firmly in Japanese hands. Battousai was long retired, tending Kaoru's garden, only using the Kamiya Kasshin style if he had to fight; and he did, still, sometimes, even with Kenji and Yahiko finding all the trouble young masters of their styles could wish for. Takani had finally tied Sagara's wandering feet to Tokyo, raising a small horde of stubborn, smart doctors and brawlers to be. Saitou was beginning to slow down a bit, but he was still terrorizing the streets, Giles recalled. Why else does that year seem familiar?
"They say the night was reft by storms," Jenny said quietly, "the very heavens keening for the most beloved daughter of the Kalderash tribe. Crying vengeance on the demon that killed every man, woman and child that touched her life, before finally trying to turn her, too, into a vampire. But the tribe caught him before he could force her to take his blood. They caught him, and bound him, and cursed him to pain as eternal as theirs. As... ours."
"Angel," Giles breathed.
Jenny nodded, eyes closed tight. "My people... see vengeance as a living thing. Something that must be done, must be served. We've... watched him... ever since that night. Always watching, always in the shadows, making sure he suffers as we suffered." She shook her head. "Once we knew he was here, with the Slayer... there aren't that many of us who can pass as gaijo. Much less a high school teacher. So - it was up to me. To watch. To make sure he never forgot what he had done, why he deserved to be tormented..."
Giles tried not to feel. Not to react. "The Kalderash are steeped in magic. Surely you must know the human soul escapes the vampire's grasp. There are remnants of personality, yes - but they are the demon's, wholly. What justice could there be in forcing Angel to suffer for Angelus' crimes?"
"It's not about justice, Rupert! It's vengeance. It's the way of my people. And I can't - do it anymore..."
"Jenny." Giles unlatched her belt, gathering her up as she cried. Dark and unjust as they might be, they were still her tribe. To leave their ways would be to leave the only family she had ever known.
And all I can offer her is a fledgling pack of hanyou and magic-touched youngsters. Oh, Jenny.
"I will protect you," he growled softly, kissing a salt-stained cheek. "I swear it."
Jenny sniffled, but pushed back with a little of her familiar spirit. "I'm a Jedi, Rupert. I think I can protect myself."
"Of course." Giles gave her a toothy smirk. "But it's always good to have a second sword, ne?"
Jenny scrutinized his face and ki, searching for any sign of deception. "You don't hate me?"
"It's not the most pleasant thing to hear. But we all have darkness in our past," Giles admitted. At least I've buried mine. Mostly. "We've all - strayed - from what most might hold as the straight and narrow, for reasons that seemed right and true at the time. And tried to return to the light, once we realized we were lost. At the risk of sounding rather odd, given the circumstances... it's what makes us human."
"Very odd," Jenny murmured, daring to brush a finger across the top of one cropped ear. "I... this is going to sound so stupid, I know, but - does it hurt?"
"No." Giles shook his head, trying to shake the tingle of her touch on sensitive skin. "It's somewhat disturbing, but since dawn, this - form - feels quite normal. I suppose that's only to be expected; the Morrigan and her ilk would hardly want new recruits who wished to become human once more-" He broke off his words, looking away.
"You don't want to break the spell." Jenny touched the side of his face, guiding his gaze back to hers. "Rupert?"
"I should," he said tightly. "My duty, as a Watcher-"
"Is to guide, protect, and train the Slayer, right?" Jenny finished. "I don't see human listed as a prerequisite of the position. Come to think of it, given how I've seen Buffy pummel you and how often you're not in the hospital after getting shot, stabbed, or otherwise supernaturally mangled, I doubt it ever was."
Silence hung in the car. "I'd... never quite thought of it that way," Giles admitted at last. "My family never seemed to believe we were different, outside of our calling, of course. And we're certainly no match for Slayers..." He frowned thoughtfully. "I believe I'll have to consider that. Thoroughly. Fortunately I'd already filed this month's report on the 29th. I'll have some time before the next is due."
Gypsy eyes went wide. "You make reports?"
"Unfortunately, yes. The Watcher's Council is rather strict about that sort of thing." Giles shrugged slightly. "Fortunately for both Buffy and myself, they usually consist of what, where, and how difficult a certain supernatural menace was to slay. Incidental acts of outside assistance and details of the Slayer's personal life are of no interest to the Council." Giles snorted. "Chiefly because they don't believe either exist."
"What, they think the Slayer handles the whole world full of supernatural bad guys on her own?" Jenny crossed skeptical arms.
"I've my doubts they think that far at all." Giles squinted into the sunlight, mentally composing the bare basics. "Right then. Sorcerer, chaos spell leading into the ancient Celtic Unseleighe bargain, successfully broken before dawn, some still affected and loose on the Hellmouth, observations continuing." He nodded.
"Terse. To the point. Not a lie," Jenny observed. "Saitou Hajime must have given his superiors fits."
"Frothing ones." Giles snapped his seatbelt into place, craning his head over his shoulder as he backed out. Carefully. Faster reaction times were not always beneficial.
Jenny took out a pen and notepad as they pulled out, sketching a few quick notes on what charms she wanted to look up. "Should we pick up Jonathan and Mrs. Summers?"
"Her gallery did take damage, and given that she is so graciously allowing us to impinge upon her hospitality until we sort this out, I'd prefer to let her have whatever time she deems necessary to put it to rights. Best to have the charms made first." Giles made a right into traffic, focused on the road. "In any event, neither of those two have much to fear from ordinary eyes. For an ermine hanyou, Signet is very human in appearance; and as for Jonathan's Bond..."
"Based on the fainting, I'd guess he's part Sidhe," Jenny nodded. "Anyone notices anything, he'll just charm them out of it."
Giles arched dark brows. "The fainting?"
"European holy water's been used against Sidhe a lot longer than it's been used against youkai," Jenny clarified. "Oh, it works against youkai, it's purifying power focused on casting out the inhuman, but it's not nearly as effective as - say - an ofuda. It's like anti-virus software, Rupert. If you don't have the right virus definitions in your program, it'll miss even the most obvious adware chewing up your processor time."
Giles sighed. "You do realize I didn't understand half of what you just said?"
"Which is something else we've got to work on," Jenny said firmly. "Honestly, Rupert. If Sunnydale hired you as a librarian, there's something seriously wrong with the school board here. Librarians. Use. Computers!"
"I know."
Jenny's brows climbed at the soft admission; dropped again as she thought that over. She pursed her lips, and nodded slowly. "You just don't want to face down Mrs. Summers about Slayers."
A temporary reprieve, he was sure. But Giles seized the change of subject gratefully. "Would you?"
"Explain to a mother that her one and only daughter has been chosen by the Powers That Be to fight evil - by herself - that I wouldn't take on without a tank and backup? No, I don't think I would..."
Sou ka?- Is that so?
Iie. - No.
Sankon Tetsusou. - "Iron Reaver, Soul Stealer!" or "Exorcising claws!" depending on your translation. Inuyasha's usual claw attack, capable of taking out centipede youkai in a single strike.
bakayarou - "Fool, jerk".
nanshoku - love of males.
Ichi, ni, san, shi - One, two, three, four.
ne? - added at the end of a statement; roughly "Right?" or "Don't you think?"
Ofuda - paper talisman.
gaijo - Romani for "outsider", non-gypsy.