Wow, more reviews! Thanks for the support; it really has encouraged me to press on with this thing as much as possible. This is really going to be a short stop gap chapter, setting the scene as it were, as I need to get to work properly on the next one, detailing Xander's reactions to the bulk of the 'Becoming' episodes, which I am determined to get right. No spoilers, no spoilers, but they will shift things slightly from canon. I emphasize the word 'slightly'.

Oh damn, disclaimers: I don't own the characters, but I bow before the mighty god that is Joss Whedon.


The corridor that led to the library was dark, although not dark enough for the posters and notices on the boards on the walls to be unreadable. One was an announcement from the new coach that trials for the new swim team would be on Friday, with a space beneath it for people to sign up for it. So far the space was mostly blank, except for a scrawled 'are you nuts?' and a crude forgery of Principal Snyder's signature.

Another was an announcement from Snyder saying that running in the corridors was now a detention offence, with another scrawled amendment beneath that saying that blinking, dribbling and possessing free will were all now offences as well.

Dark as the corridor was, the spot opposite the library doors was occasionally lit by short flashes of light, to the accompaniment of the clash of metal on metal.

Inside the library two swords clashed, were withdrawn and then clashed again, the blades reflecting the lights above. There was a pause and then the two opponents engaged again, in a blur of blows, up, down and across.

The two men fighting were using rather different styles, one holding his sword in a two-handed grip and the other grasping his sword in one hand. The latter was breathing more heavily than the former, who was also sweating rather less. The clashing sounds increased as the first man started a series of blows that pressed the second back across the floor of the library until, following a swirling spiral of juddering blades, he finally disarmed his opponent by flicking his sword away from him, sending it skittering across the floor.

Rupert Giles rubbed his hand thoughtfully, settled his glasses more firmly on his nose and then smiled, holding his hands out. "Ouch. Well done, Xander. You've gone further than I can teach you, I think. Your style is, is somewhat unconventional and your habit of using a two handed grip might be a problem if you meet someone who is less... well, chivalrous and punches with the hand he isn't fencing with but, frankly your technique is highly effective. You also seemed to have speeded up somewhat."

Xander grinned. "Yeah, well, I was only partially using the force there. If I was really using it, I'd have been a lot faster." He hefted the sword, thoughtfully. "This thing is better than the one I used before."

The Watcher snorted and picked up his own sword, before walking over to the heavily disguised weapons cabinet. "Yes, well, a practice sword is a practice sword. But there are some better ones out there. Like that one. Or- " he lifted out a different sword from the cabinet. "Like this one. Here," and he handed it over. "Try that for size."

Reaching out, Xander took the sword and pulled the blade from the scabbard. It was long, perfectly balanced and sharp as hell, as his finger wincingly told him, with the handle of the hilt wrapped in red leather. The crossguard was curved, with a small eagle engraved on both sides of it.

"It's perfect," he breathed and then made the blade sing through the air.

Giles smiled. "It belonged to an older cousin of mine, he, he forged it himself in the '60s, as part of that 'return to the soil' subculture. He wanted to be a more active Watcher, but sadly he never had the chance, as he was trained but never called as a Watcher before he died. I think that you can put it to rather better use than I can."

Following an impulse that he really couldn't explain, Xander sheathed the sword and then, holding it with the hilt on his chest, he bowed briefly to the Watcher. "Thank you."

Giles nodded. "No, no, you're welcome to it. Between you and Buffy you've fairly exhausted me when it comes to swordfighting lessons recently, but frankly it's been rather exhilarating." He closed the cabinet and then slumped into a chair. "More exhilarating than tomorrow might be, I fear."

"What's up tomorrow? Apart from exams?" asked Xander, frowning. Another effect of using the force had been the fact that his memory had improved a great deal. This meant that his test scores had also improved, taking him from the murky waters of D-minuses to the heady heights of the A brigade. This was both good and bad. On the one hand his parents were exhibiting odd symptoms of pride and delight. On the other Snyder was convinced that he was somehow cheating and kept lurking in random corridors so as to pull a passing Xander into rooms and spring spot tests on him. So far Xander had passed every test with flying colours, but Snyder was still sticking with his 'Harris is a cheat' riff.

"Oh," said the Watcher, "I had a call earlier today from Doug Perry, from the Museum of Sunnydale. Some construction workers found some kind of artifact and they need my help to identify it. I'm going there tomorrow morning to take a look."

"Another wacky piece of rock," quipped Xander. "I do so not envy you." Then he looked back at his new sword. "Thank you again though."

Giles looked up at him reflectively. "And, and after the exams – are you still going to adhere to your plan?"

He received a slow nod in response. "Yeah, I talked to my uncle last night. He's quite pleased about it, he's always offered the place to my folks to stay during the summer. I told him that I'll take good care of it." His gaze grew introspective. "It's right on the edge of the desert, Giles, miles from the nearest house. Lots of privacy to train. All the comforts of home. Not that I'll need them."

Reaching into the jacket that hung from another chair he pulled out the training manual that he had so carefully assembled. Almost every page was full of writing now, writing that Giles still couldn't understand.

"It should be enough," Xander said carefully, flipping through the pages slowly. "Enough to take me to the next level. After that? It depends."


Spike was feeling uncharacteristically concerned as he lounged in his wheelchair, smoking a fag. Frankly he was bloody worried, something that normally happened to the other buggers around him.

The object of his worry was currently out hunting, on one of his increasingly frequent hunts for the Slayer. Angelus was getting obsessed with the girl, obsessed to the point of being a bleedin' stupid prat.

The danger was that Dru was definitely under his thrall and if the Slayer chose to get pissed off at Angelus when Dru was around, the chances were that they'd both get dusted quite fastish.

Spike blew some more smoke out and stared at the ceiling. You should never take a Slayer lightly. At all. Alright, he'd killed two of them himself, but those were on grounds of roughly his own choosing. Sort of. Okay, there was an element of chance there. But you should never take one on when she was on her own ground. And Spike had suspected for some time that this was not your normal Slayer. This one was stronger, but he hadn't the foggiest why.

However, he also more than knew that he was in danger of losing control of his own little pack. Angelus had been recruiting his own boys, had been placing them in key positions, and had been assuming more and more control next to a clearly joyful Dru. He was losing her to him.

Angelus had also been assuming that Spike was still stuck in this bloody wheelchair. He tapped his toes thoughtfully. Yup, he felt up to a waltz or two.

Many vampires lacked two things, prudence and a long-term vision, but these were things that he'd been able to pick up over the years. Although he had to admit that he hadn't shown much tact over getting rid of the bleedin' Anointed One. Or was it the Chosen One? Irritating One had been a better phrase.

Angelus had always been a violent, murderous, easily provoked bastard. Not that that was a bad thing in a vampire, after he was himself. But he lacked that vital element of caution in times of stress. What was the Old Master had said? "I give him a hundred years." Well, that had been bang on the nail that had, Angelus had gone for about a century before he had been cursed into being a complete bleeding heart wanker. Now that he was back to his old self he was making up for lost time. And irritating the slayer.

He frowned in concentration and then shook his head.

Bloody mad, he thought, bloody mad. What an odd idea. The slayer as a possible ally against Angelus? Naaah.

Then he heard footsteps and turned his head to the doorway, making sure that his foot was still again. Dru and a minion were walking in, clutching a newspaper and why was she looking so excited?

Bollocks, something was up.


It was only a piece of paper, but Giles was staring at it as if it was ticking. Not that Xander could blame him.

"It looks like Miss Calender was trying to replicate the original curse, to restore Angel's soul again," said Willow.

"She said it couldn't be done," said Giles faintly.

"Well it looks like she tried anyway," replied Buffy, "And it looks like it might have worked."

Giles, true to form, had taken off his glasses and was polishing them absent-mindedly. Then a voice behind him piped up. "Why would you want to?" asked Cordelia. "I mean, I know that this might be a good thing, but the guy did murder Jenny Calender."

There was a pause and then much to his own surprise, Xander cleared his throat. "Yes and no," he murmured. "He's not Angel any more, don't forget, he's Angelus, the Scourge of Europe. With no soul the demon inside has taken over again and it was the demon that killed Miss Calender. Angel really has fallen to the dark side and the spell might be his only ticket out of it, his only hope for the balance."

Damn he thought, I can't believe I just said that. Me, standing up for Deadboy! Pigs might freaking fly before today. But it's true, and for a moment he fought back a clear memory of a small blond-haired buy running towards him up the landing ramp of a ship while two light sabers clashed in the background. There was good in everyone. Sort of. Then he remembered the reference to the dark side and almost bit his tongue in annoyance, although he realised that he had kept the reference the right side of pop culture.

Nevertheless, Willow was staring at him amazed and even Giles was looking surprised. Buffy however was running with the momentum that he had provided.

"Xander has a point, although it does wig me out a little that he's all Angel-proness now. Angelus killed Jenny, not Angel, and if we can get Angel back he can help us to make Spike and Drusilla go poof in the night."

"Go what in the night?" asked an appalled Giles.

"Poof. Dusty vamps, you know the way that they go all poofy."

The Watcher shuddered. "Please be more careful with your use of language. Certain words don't always have the same meanings. But to return to this spell, this would entail a greater knowledge of the black arts than I possess."

Willow started making 'Ooing' noises at this and Giles turned back. "I've been going through Miss Calender's files and researching her notes, and I may be able to work this," she said.

There was a silence in the room. Willow looked excited, Cordelia looked sceptical, Buffy looked quietly hopeful, Giles looked deeply uncertain.

And then Xander felt a disturbance in the force. Something horrible was going on. Something was moving.