Beth occupied an armchair in the lounge, aware that she should be doing her homework, but was having none of it. There were much more fun things to do anyway, like counting how many specks there were on the window.
"I hope you're doing your homework," her mother called from some other location in the house, probably the study upstairs as she tried (and failed) to organize the desk. "When Giles gets here, I don't know how long it will take him to run all his little tests and ask all those questions. You need to free up your afternoon."
"I know," Beth groaned, trying to recall what number she had been at before her mother so rudely interrupted her counting.
Once Giles had been informed of Beth's recently acquired slayer status, to say he nearly fainted from joy would be an understatement. According to witnesses (namely Buffy), he had sputtered and stuttered his way through his response, which ended with him making plans to fly out to Bellevue himself to see all the beautiful impossibilities Beth possessed. He had, ever since her birth, kept extensive and so very thorough records of her growth, strength, and numerous skills. He loved her as any honorary grandfather would, but sometimes the scholar in him spilled through the seams. Now, with a new twist in the tale, he would shove anyone out of the way to get a look-see first.
"He had better bring me something cool," Beth told her mother.
"You've been to Scotland," Buffy reminded her. "You lived there."
"Your point?" she asked. "I still want stuff." She could almost hear her mother roll her eyes.
She looked out the window again, wondering when her father's car would pull up into the drive. For whatever reason, Spike had been put in charge of Giles Pick-up duty. Which was beyond weird, because even though they were both British, they were two very different kinds of British and antagonism still simmered between them. Maybe it was because Buffy wanted the house to look at least a little bit cared for and Spike would only shove things under other things. Which Beth was pretty sure her mother was doing right now, considering the amount of cursing she heard coming from upstairs.
"Don't repeat anything I just said," Buffy warned her.
"I won't," she assured before adding, "not like dad hasn't said anything worse."
"Don't remind me," her mother groaned, the heels of her boots clicking loudly against the steps as she descended the stairs. "The library is as clean as it's ever going to get. I'm done. I don't clean. I am not a homemaker, and if that's what anyone thought I was, they're only kidding themselves."
"After dealing with Dad, Giles will probably handle books with a slightly severe touch," Beth reminded her.
Buffy thought for a moment. "But he's stuffy Giles. He likes his books."
"Think of it this way: Does he love books more than he hates Spike?"
Buffy didn't really need to think about that one. "I see what you mean."
"Do you think Giles is gonna make me do a bunch of jumping jacks or something?" she wondered aloud. "Last time he made me run that treadmill with the heat rate monitor on, mumbling 'fascinating' the whole time. Can't I just answer some questions? Fill out a couple of surveys?"
Her mother cracked a smile. "Unfortunately, when Giles gets in his teachy mode, nothing could possibly distract him."
"Unless dad says something suggestive about your sex life," she sniggered.
"Don't make me relive that," Buffy groaned.
She turned her head to look out the window when she heard the thrum of a car motor pulling into the driveway. From her vantage point, she could see the two silhouettes in the car. "Guess it's time to go be a test subject," she muttered.
-.-
Giles' teachy mode was one-part amusing and one-part disturbing. Amusing in the way he puttered around Beth, mumbling questions to himself and then proceeding to answer them almost immediately, and disturbing because he could become so single-minded, he seemed to forget his subject was in fact alive.
"Ow," she emphasized when Giles became a bit haphazard with the needle for her blood test.
"Apologies," he said quickly, as he looked up at her and saw her less than happy frown.
"You're just so used to dealing with dead things, aren't you?" she muttered good-naturedly.
"Well, it would hardly be practical to have a live demon in the Council," he reminded her.
"But really, really fun," she concluded with a lopsided grin.
He sighed in the only way a tired old man can, shooting her a withering look. "Your father's influence is far too strong."
"Would you prefer I take more after my mother?" she inquired, Cheshire grin on her face.
"Lesser of two evils, I suppose," he conceded. He withdrew the needle from her arm, inspecting the vial. "I think that should be enough for lab tests."
She pressed a small piece of gauze over the needle poke, pressing down gently. "So are we done here then?" she asked. She had already completed the weightlifting and reaction time tests, along with endurance and speed. Giles had been over the moon when he realized her vampiric heritage increased her slayer abilities. If properly trained, Beth could easily be the most dangerous slayer out there. Sure, such praise made her glow, but she couldn't help but resent the reason why she was so strong. After all, it was all anyone had ever taught her to do.
"Of course, I would like to stay a few days more and make some simple observations, maybe sit-in on a training session or even a patrol," Giles told her.
She pouted. "I haven't patrolled at all since I became a slayer. I think Mum's too scared and Dad's not going to disobey her if it means getting thrown into a tree or something."
His lips thinned. "Still as violent as ever?"
She nodded. "And she tells me to use my words."
"Alright then. Buffy is rather headstrong. She never listened to me before and I can hardly think of a reason as to why she would listen to me now," he grumbled, packing up his supplies. He sat down on the desk, facing her. "But more immediate, do you have any questions? I understand this must be quite a shock to you."
She shrugged. "Sure, I guess. But it's not like you have any of the resources to answer any questions I'd have, huh? It's not like part-vampire slayers are a common occurrence and I imagine if one had ever existed, the Council would have killed it at the earliest convenience."
He winced slightly at the mention of the old ways of the Council. "Of that I have no doubt," he agreed, looking a bit tired. "No matter how extraordinary you are, I'm always reminded that we're all—not just you—running into this blind."
"It'd be cool to have someone who could explain this all to me. Sometimes there are things I feel that I can't put into words and I just wish there was someone that inherently got it," she admitted, sighing a little. "Dad's helpful sometime, but he was always one or the other, even with his soul."
"Such a great obstacle," he agreed. "But no matter. Someone has to be the beginning of something, wouldn't you agree?"
"Stuff doesn't come out of nothing," she conceded, "but I guess what you can tell me is if I have to go back to the Academy or not."
Giles paused, choosing his words carefully. "I am well aware of the…circumstances that surrounded you at the Academy. My duty as a former Watcher is to try and provide the best learning environment for slayers as I possibly can. Now, with a fully equipped training center, providing such an environment has over the last few decades has been simple. As for you, your case is different and I must say, it would be for the best to return to the 'old school' way of teaching slayers, as one might say."
"No one says 'old school' anymore," she teased. "And that was a lot of words that meant absolutely nothing to me."
He smiled. "The Council will be sending a Watcher to you."
A grin broke out onto her face. "Are you serious? You're sending someone here? I don't have to go back?"
He nodded his head in the affirmative. She let out a happy little screech, pulling him into a tight hug.
"Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou!" she breathed.
"Can't breathe," he choked out, patting her on the back,
"Oh right!" she released him instantly, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm a lot stronger now, huh? Gotta remember that."
"That would probably be for the best," he gasped out, trying to regain normal breathing patterns again.
"But really, thank you. This means a lot to me," she continued.
He smiled and readjusted his glasses which had gone a bit askew when she rushed him. "And I hope you will treat your Watcher with utmost respect."
She sobered up immediately. "Of course," she assured, nodding her head frantically. "I won't do anything to screw this up, I promise. Do you know who you want to send?"
"I plan to interview for the position when I arrive back in Scotland. Most of the Watchers now have never taught outside of a classroom, not to mention I must consider that you are a special case. I'll need to find someone who can adequately work in a less inherently educational environment and can properly handle your, erm, condition."
"A bit of a double-whammy," she noted.
He nodded. "Oh, most assuredly."
She grinned. "I'd've though that phrase'd be too American for you to understand."
"I trained your mother, did I not? Sometimes I was unsure if she was even speaking a language remotely English."
She grinned. "So onto other topics of importance: what'd you bring me?"
-.-
Giles left three days later, babbling on and on about the new research he'd have to do and all the new doors Beth had opened in the Supernatural community. She nodded as if she understood any of the jargon he rattled off. Fortunately for her, she was able to close the door on him. Buffy, on the other hand, having decided to join Giles on his flight back to Scotland to settle her own business and help with the Watcher interviews, would have to listen to her old Watcher go on and on for a dozen more odd hours.
"Bye Rupert," Spike said to Giles. The absent-minded wave he gave to Spike in reply showed just how preoccupied his mind was. Buffy gave Spike a farewell kiss, and he was a bit reluctant to let go. Beth tried not to roll her eyes as she hugged her mother and urged Giles out the door faster. Finally, the two were in the car, driving down the road and out of sight.
"Goddesses, I thought he'd never leave," Beth muttered.
"Got quite the gob on him," her father snorted, walking back into the house.
"Could be worse," she mused. "Could have two Gileses."
He visibly shuddered.
"Now," she began, "Giles brought up with me a very important part of my slayer training. And I know that I don't have a Watcher just yet, but I do think you can play as a substitute at this point."
He looked over at his daughter and raised a very curious eyebrow. "An' what exactly is this 'very important part' you're talkin' about?"
"Patrolling, of course," she said with a little laugh. "Now, before you protest, remember: you used to take me out all the time so I could drive the getaway car. It's not like I haven't been out doing this before."
"No, you haven't. Now you're goin' to want to be in the thick of things," he reminded her sternly.
"I'm going to have to be in the thick of things sooner or later," she retorted "Best I do it with adult supervision, yes? Besides, I can impress my Watcher by already being prepared."
"It's a Watcher's job to teach you. They don't expect you to be prepared," he responded.
She pouted. "Yeah, but I'm your kid. My mum in the legendary Buffy Summers. I can't be mediocre, or, goddesses forbid, unprepared! There are expectations I have to reach! I don't want to go out there not knowing my arse from a Strom Demon."
"'M startin' to think takin' you out in the first place was a bad idea."
"No, it was a perfectly fine idea," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "What's a damn tragedy is you not taking me out now."
"I'll think about it," he finally decided. He shot her a hard look when she opened her mouth to speak again, adding, "an' don' think you can pressure me into an answer. You bloody Summers women. Think you got me on a short leash."
"Oh no, of course not. Not you," she assured with a resolute nod of her head, though she was using all her self-control to not snicker aloud.
He father glared at her, expressing his discontent with her disbelief. He could be strong. He knew it. He had no weak spots for the women in his life. He would stand his ground. It would show Buffy a thing or two and finally get her to shut up.
-.-
If there was one thing Spike was ever going to regret teaching his daughter, it was not colorful language or even how to pickpocket (he was far too damn proud about what a natural she was). No, it was going to be teaching her how to fight dirty, hands down. Beth knew all the tricks and threw out all the stops. She knew that once her mother returned home, all bets were off and he would be in the clear. Buffy didn't give under their daughter's puppy dog eyes like he had a million times before. No, Buffy folded her arms, gave Beth that Never-Going-To-Happen stare while Spike stood in front of her, pretending it was him their daughter couldn't crack. Right now, she had a narrow window of opportunity and she was not wasting a moment.
She went with the subtle: telling him how much she was improving her accuracy and impact and becoming involved in the pre-patrol planning (trying to systematically take down demon clans actually involved work, much to Beth's distaste); and the not-so-subtle: as in, outright begging and pleading with going. It was the not-so-subtle that got to him. Maybe it was because he could deflect indirect attempts by pretending he was denying his very own flesh-and-blood, daddy's little girl, daughter. But when she begged, and said please, and made those big eyes at him, well, getting what she wanted worked as well as it had when she was five and had the whole "cute" thing going for her. She could all but literally see her father's resolve crack. She just needed the perfect moment to pounce, sending it all crashing.
Her moment came on a Saturday night. She had just gotten off the phone with Nadja, who had talked incessantly about some girl in her English class. Nadja swore up and down she had no interest in the girl, let alone anyone, but Beth would at least say she had some serious platonic-crushing going on.
She walked down the stairs, geared up for a movie night with her father when she caught him at the front door, pulling on his boots. His leather duster was draped on the bench next to him and she knew.
"You're going out?" she asked casually, leaning against the banister.
"Patrolling," was his short reply, paired with a suspicious glance her way. He had also taught her a great poker face.
"Just you?" she continued.
"S'not like your mum's here," he responded in a clipped tone.
"So, you'll be dancing by yourself then?" she asked with a barely suppressed grin. She was not disappointed to hear him sigh. He looked up from his shoes and glowered at her.
"What?" she asked, giggling a bit. "It's your fault. You decided to have bleached hair."
"I did it first," was his petulant mutter.
"In this day and age, with that heartbeat, no one is going to believe you," she informed him sagely.
He finished putting on his boots, standing up and shrugging into his jacket.
"You know," she went on, knowing full well she had all of his attention, "it can be pretty dangerous to patrol on your own."
"Slayers used to do it all the time," he responded, looking for his car keys. She trailed dutifully behind him, pretending to help him look.
"And I'm sure that fact has absolutely nothing to do with their short life-spans," she said solemnly. "It's always best to go in pairs."
"Vampire," he reminded her, finding them under a pile of his wife's purses.
"Ex-Vampire," she emphasized. "As in, past tense. Not anymore. You're as much as a vampire as I am."
He turned, raising an eyebrow at that.
"Wait. That came out wrong," she said, frowning. "You know what I mean."
"I think you mean to ask me if you can go."
"Would one patrol be too much?" she whined. "We don't have to tell Mum. I'll do everything you ask and I won't run off on my own. I'll be in your eyesight and everything."
He sighed. "You're not goin' to let this go until you run it into the ground, are you?"
"Not until it's seated at the right hand of Satan in hell," she promised, raising her right hand.
He sighed again, this time a bit more resigned. "Alright."
Her face broke out into a grin. "Are you serious? I can go patrolling with you tonight? Like actual patrolling? With fighting, not car-sitting?"
"Yes," he assured.
She may have been fifteen, but no way was she not going to happy dance. Besides, it made Spike feel a little bit better about not holding his ground since his daughter was so happy.
"You will do everythin' I say though," he directed.
"Of course! Not a hair out of line, nu-uh! Not me," she promised, still a bit giddy about actually getting her way. Sure, it was a common occurrence with her father, but she liked the rush regardless.
"Now get ready and be in the car in five minutes or I'm leavin' you here."
She did not need to be told twice.
-.-
Containing her excitement turned out to be one hell of a herculean task. She didn't want to seem immature, thus prompting her father to turn the car around and leave her at home. No, she had to be calm. Cool. Prepared for everything.
"You need to stop jumpin' in your seat," he told her.
"I'm not jumping," she replied, immediately stilling her body.
"Wriggling, squirming, whatever you're doin' stop," he warned.
"I'm just energetic. Ready to use some of this slayer stamina," she said with a confident grin.
He sighed and pulled into the parking lot outside one of the few graveyards in Bellevue. She frowned.
"What, no big demon rings to take down?" she asked. "What about that vampire clan you've been trailing?"
He tried to hold back a snort and failed. "'M not takin' you to one of those on your first day. Gotta start slow."
she pouted in the passenger seat, slumping down as she crossed her arms. "But I wanna punch things."
"An' you will. New graveyard means new victims."
"So I'm starting with fresh out of dirt vampires?" she asked in disbelief. "I could have taken those on when I was five."
"Which means you can take them on now. C'mon, get out of the car."
She blew a strand of hair out of her face, unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing out of the car. She slammed the car door shut with a slightly satisfying bang and hoped her father felt that in his soul. If his wince was anything to go off of, he did.
"Now, the basic rules ar—"
"Remain vigilant. Don't get cocky. Don't try to be Bruce Lee and go all hidden dragon on their asses. Aim and stake," she stated blandly. "I know this. I learned this. This is Slayer 101. Potentials kill newly risen vampires. Actual slayers kill actual vampires."
He frowned. "A new vampire can just as easily kill someone as an older one can. It's not about takin' down the biggest bad you can find. It's about savin' lives."
Well, he just had to go and sound all noble, didn't he?
"I get your point, but I'm still disappointed. Besides, one day I am going to run into some Big Bad and I should be prepared, right?"
"Jus' start walkin'."
She huffed, but did as he asked, just like she said she would. Now was not the time to prove to him that she would disobey him because she was some petulant little tantrum kid that didn't like it when they didn't get what they wanted. She could be mature. She was fifteen.
"How's about that one?" she asked, pointing to a mound of dirt. "Looks pretty new. Vampire, you think?"
"Scott Peters," Spike responded, "thas who we're lookin' for."
"So not Percy Merriweather," she responded. May you have died with most of your blood still in your body.
"'S like the First all over again," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He did not miss training baby slayers.
"You know," she reminded him, "I'm only a greenhorn because you and Mum never let me do this before. I could have already been skilled in the way of vampire slaying. Besides, I totally kicked Harbinger ass back in May. I think I'm a little better than some bright-eyed potential."
"Beginner's luck," he replied, in what she believed to be a snooty manner. Oh, Mr. Hoity-toity ex-vampire man thought she needed to be trained. She had this in the bag, dammit!
Of course, waiting for the vampire she was going to put in the bag was frustratingly boring. They had found the man's grave relatively easy, and she was then directed to take a seat and wait. And wait.
The fifth time Beth sighed in the last three minutes, Spike had enough of it. "Alright, if you don't like this, I can take you home."
"No way!" she argued, jumping up. "I am here and I am going to stake somebody's arse, be it Scott Peters' or Percy Merriweather's—what a god-awful name. I will see this through!"
She turned back to look at the gravestone. Freshly dug earth, recently buried, all really boring.
After another minute or so, she asked, "Do we actually know he's going to rise? Shouldn't he have done it by now? How long exactly does it for a vampire to rise again?"
"Things like this require patience," he sighed. "An' risin' can take a while, depending on the bloke."
"Well, he should hurry up."
"If you can't wait, you can always go home."
She glared at her father. "You're trying to get rid of me, aren't you?" she accused. When he failed to respond, she walked up to him, pointing a finger to his face. "You are! You are trying to get rid of me! Because when you do, you can go off and do fun slayer things instead of grave-sitting! Oh, don't even try to deny it."
"S'not that," he began, but she wouldn't let him finish.
"You were the one who picked such a boring task anyway," she reminded him, on a roll. "You wanted to wait for stupid Scott. We could have gone and done something more fun, but no, you thought it'd be too dangerous. Uh, hello, helped keep a Hellmouth from opening last May? I think that speaks for itself."
He opened his mouth for a retort, but he stopped before any words came out, his eyes widening ever so. She didn't have time to ask her what caught his attention before he jerked up and pushed her out of the way.
"Hey!" she protested. Not because it hurt or she stumbled or anything, but because of the principle of the thing. Shoving was rude.
Of course, when she turned back to face her father, she noticed the dug-up grave and the vampire who was currently trying to—albeit unsuccessfully—take a bite out of her father. The vampire would be easy enough to take down, but her father right now was almost playing with him, as if waiting for her to reenter the fray. And although she was trained to fight as a slayer should, that didn't stop her from approaching the vampire and shoving him.
"Don't interrupt!" Beth told the vamped Scott Peters.
He stopped attacking, looking at her with bewilderment "Did you just push me?" he asked. It was rare that someone just came up and pushed a vampire.
"Yeah, I did. Got a problem with that?" she asked. "I was having a conversation with my father and you interrupted by trying to kill me!"
The vampire shrugged unapologetically. "I'm a vampire. I kill people. It's what I do."
"Yeah, but you can wait your turn!" she snapped, yanking a stake out of her jacket pocket and thrusting it into the vampire's heart in one swift motion. He didn't even have time to blink.
"Didn't you say something about 'remaining vigilante?'" her father asked once the dust settled. She scowled in response.
"Can we do something cool now?" she asked, almost whined. "Did you not see how easy that was for me? He didn't even have time to fight."
"An' if I hadn't been here to watch your back, he would've gotten you," he reminded her sternly.
"And what? Turned me into a vampire?" she snorted. She sobered immediately. "Can I even do that?"
He let out another sigh. "Let's not find out that way."
"Well, can we at least do something fun now?" she begged, kicking a loose pebble.
"I heard that Jerry Smith from AT&T might've made a tasty snack a few nights ago."
"Dammit."
