Thursday, April 26th, 2001 ~ The Magic Box ~ Sunnydale, California
The jingle of the bell over the door to The Magic Box was the only cheerful note in Sam's current situation as he meekly followed Anya into the shop.
The morning had begun well. He had awakened just after sunrise feeling well-rested and confident that today he and Al would be able to discover why he was here and make progress in righting whatever wrong had occurred. Even the fact that he was forced to wear yesterday's clothing, until he had an opportunity to retrieve Giles' car and make a trip to his apartment, couldn't dampen his optimism as Sam toweled off after his shower. He found himself humming as he dressed and went downstairs pleased that Buffy and Dawn were apparently not morning people, which had allowed him unfettered access to a bathroom with plentiful hot water. He couldn't summon details, but he had numerous vague memories of Leaps where this hadn't been the case.
By the time Buffy made an appearance, Sam had made coffee and the first waffle had just finished browning. He offered it to her and received a sunny smile of thanks that more than made up for the complaint his stomach raised at being forced to wait for sustenance.
Things went rapidly downhill from there.
Dawn shuffled moodily into the kitchen a few minutes later. She didn't seem to be completely conscious and Sam wondered if she was responding entirely on some basic, primitive level that had been activated by the odor of food. His theory was supported by the fact that she wordlessly snatched the plate which held the second waffle from his hand, slathered butter and poured syrup over it, cut off a huge section and shoved it into her mouth before either Buffy or Sam could say a word.
Buffy reacted first and a colossal argument erupted, during which an alarming array of personal habits and traits were dredged up in a debate over which of the sisters was less deserving of contact with other human beings. While Sam watched the mutual character assassination in morbid fascination, Anya and Xander arrived. The next two waffles went to them, the fifth to Dawn and the four of them made a serious foray into the supply of juice, fresh fruit and milk. Sam barely had time to wolf down the sixth, undersized waffle and snatch up the lone remaining banana before Buffy announced that they needed to get going or Dawn would be late for school.
Buffy herded them out the front door and Sam had to content himself with the fact that she squeezed his hand and smiled at him. She also promised to meet him at the shop after she had finished the household chores and done some grocery shopping.
Now, he was faced with an undetermined length of time in the company of the one person here who knew he wasn't Giles but was openly distrustful of what she had been told of his true identity and intentions. Sam gathered his fortitude and turned to meet Anya's baleful glare across the counter, where she was preparing the cash register for the day.
"Anya," he began carefully. "I know I haven't been able to find a way to convince you to trust us, but it's not like we've done anything to hurt any of your friends, right? Can't you try to give us the benefit of the doubt?"
"Oh, of course, you didn't kill Buffy or Dawn in their sleep. What am I thinking, withholding information from you? I will now tell you everything I know. Are you prepared to take notes?" she responded in a voice that dripped sarcasm. "And where is your little companion? Off spying on my fiancé and his friends?"
Sam heaved a deep sigh. He had been expecting Al to appear any minute for over an hour now and had no idea what to say to Anya about the Observer's continued absence. The sound of the Imaging Room door grinding open caused him to abandon his attempt to construct an excuse.
"Top o' the mornin' to you, kids. How's tricks?" Al greeted them merrily.
Anya ignored him and returned to the task of readying the shop for opening.
Sam gave Al a relieved smile. "Morning, Al. Much better now, thanks," he replied.
Al chortled and let his gaze travel slowly over Anya. "I can't understand why you'd be so happy to see me when you've already got such lovely company," he said to Sam, while continuing to ogle Anya.
"Save it, shorty," Anya snapped, subjecting Al to a withering glance. "I am impervious to what you seem to consider charm and your outfit is even more disturbing than the one you wore yesterday," she informed him before stalking off to unlock the front door and turn over the 'Closed' sign.
"Sheesh," Al said, turning to Sam with a shake of his head. "What crawled up her butt and died?"
"She's still worried we might turn out to be bad guys; and she has a legitimate point about the suit," Sam explained, squinting and then his rubbing eyes.
"This lovely ensemble?" Al scoffed. He ran a thumb and forefinger down the lapel of his sulfur yellow suit and then adjusted the bolo tie which rested under the collar of a hot pink silk shirt with maroon accents.
Anya snorted and disappeared behind a row of shelves and display cases.
"I suppose there's no accounting for taste," Sam allowed, diplomatically omitting the fact that it was Al's taste he was questioning.
"Yeah, I guess," Al agreed.
"Has Ziggy come up with anything?" Sam asked eager to get down to business.
"Some background information but nothing that seems directly related to why you're here," Al replied.
Anya returned from her tour of the shop and planted herself in front of the two men. "You go over there now," she demanded, pointing at the table where Buffy and her friends had gathered the night before. "Don't interact with the customers, don't touch the merchandise, don't annoy me and I may allow you to remain in my presence."
Sam and Al edged away from her and turned toward the table.
"I'm not holding out much hope for us not annoying her. She seems to be permanently annoyed," Al observed, in a stage whisper to Sam.
"I heard that!" Anya retorted.
"I meant for you to," Al countered.
"Al!" Sam said, sternly, as he started rifling through the containers on the counter where an electric kettle, teapot and a variety of cups and mugs sat. "Are you trying to get us kicked out of here?"
"Just testing the boundaries," Al explained, cheerfully unrepentant.
"Well, stop it," Sam warned. He discovered two jelly doughnuts wrapped in waxed paper, presumably left over from last night's feast, and let out a little sigh of satisfaction. Sam carried them over to the table, took a seat and tucked in before they, too, could disappear without warning.
Al raised an eyebrow at Sam's atypical fixation on non-nutritious breakfast fare. "Didn't Buffy feed you...?"
"No," Sam snapped around a mouthful of pastry. "At least not enough now get on with it or run the risk of me dying of starvation before I Leap."
"Okay, okay, I get it," Al cooed in what he probably thought was a soothing tone. "Everyone except Al is grumpy today. I would have thought the kissing last night would have put you in a better mood."
Sam noticed Anya stiffen and shoot a probing glance their way. "Al, please," Sam implored in a strained whisper.
Al punched some buttons on his hand-link, cleared his throat and began his report. "From the address you gave me, Ziggy came up with a telephone listing and bank records of a mortgage under the name of Joyce Summers. From there, she found marriage and divorce records for Joyce and a Henry Summers."
"Buffy and Dawn's parents? Where are they?" Sam interrupted.
Al nodded in answer to the first question. "Ziggy says the father goes by the name Hank. He lives in L.A. and travels extensively overseas. She thinks he's in Spain right now. Joyce is..." Al sighed, giving Sam a troubled look. "She died a couple of months ago from a ruptured brain aneurysm a few weeks after she had surgery to remove a tumor. The EMS records and the coroner's report state that Buffy found her on the living room couch, dead."
"Oh," Sam breathed, seeing the sympathy he felt for the young Summers women reflected in Al's eyes.
Al cleared his throat again and continued. "Buffy has a juvenile record for arson in L.A. County. She set fire to a gym at her high school in early '96. About eight months later, Joyce and Hank got divorced and Joyce moved here with the kids," he concluded, shutting down the display and sliding the hand-link back into his pocket.
"That's it?" Sam prodded. "That's all she found out?"
"I think I mentioned the problem with local records last night," Al reminded him, cutting his eyes expressively toward Anya, who was obviously intent on monitoring their conversation while pretending to be absorbed in dusting the items displayed on a nearby shelf.
"What about Giles, any headway in that department?" Sam inquired, recognizing the danger of discussing ways of finding alternate sources of information to fill in the gaps left by the destruction of the town while Anya was around.
"I'd have to say I'm losing ground on that front," Al admitted. "I meant to tell you last night but got distracted by the whole to-kiss-or-not-to-kiss discussion."
A harsh intake of breath and the sound of bric-a-brac clinking together caused Al and Sam to swing their attention over to Anya, who quickly averted her eyes and returned to her dusting.
Al let out a low chuckle before turning back to Sam. "I was talking to Giles last night and he went so pale I thought he was having a stroke. He clammed up even worse than before. Ziggy says he paced back and forth all night and didn't sleep a wink. This morning it seemed like he couldn't stand to be in the same room with me. He didn't even make eye contact, which pretty much left talking way off the probability matrix."
"Are you sure it wasn't your outfit?" Sam inquired, staying Al's incipient complaint with a placating gesture. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. What do you think set him off?"
Al shrugged in confusion. "It started when I mentioned Buffy telling you she was worried about the knights finding out that Dawn is the key."
The loud crash cut off Sam's next question and Anya was suddenly there, eyes blazing.
"What did you say about Dawn?" she demanded.
The two men glanced at each other in concern.
"I asked you a question and you'd better answer me right now. If you don't I'm calling Buffy and telling her everything," Anya barked out. "And don't think you can stop me."
"All right," Sam replied as calmly as he could. He related a brief outline of his conversation with Buffy the night before, her concerns about her ability to protect Dawn and her reasons for asking Sam, believing him to be Giles, to move in with them.
Anya listened carefully and when Sam finished she looked from one man to the other and back again, her expression serious but otherwise unreadable. Finally, some of the tension went out of her body and she moved forward and took a seat across the table from Sam.
"You knew this last night, before you came back to the house."
She had stated this, not posed a question, and didn't actually seem to be addressing him but Sam answered her anyway. "Yes."
"Then you must have been telling me the truth all along," she concluded. "If you were in league with Glory you would have run off right away to tell her and she would have already come after Dawn."
"I'm glad you believe us, Anya," Sam said. "We really are here to help you and your friends. Will you help us do that?"
Anya considered the hopeful expressions on both men's faces. "Giles is a lot smarter; about this kind of thing, anyway. You should really ask him," she suggested.
"I've told him some of what's going on, Anya," Al told her, gently. "But he only has my word for it. He doesn't really trust me and I can't prove to him that I'm telling the truth. He's worried about all of you and afraid that something he might say will be used to hurt you or put you in danger."
"That sounds like Giles," Anya admitted with a weak little smile.
"Just about anything you can tell us about you and your friends will help," Sam encouraged her.
Anya sat staring at her hands thoughtfully for a few moments while Al and Sam crossed their fingers and held their breath. When she lifted her gaze again she seemed much more confident. "All right, I'll tell you what I know; but I'd better make some tea first. It's a pretty long story."
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Anya, who had been speaking rapidly and nearly without pause for an hour and a half, tilted her head and considered the slack-jawed expressions of the two men sitting across from her. "I think that's everything. Do you have any questions?" she inquired brightly.
Sam and Al turned slowly toward one another. After a moment, Sam lifted his teacup, drained it and then set it down. He crossed his arms on the table in front of him and put his head down.
"Good idea," Al decided, nodding. "Gushie," he said to the ceiling in a loud voice. "Have the corporal on duty run up to my quarters and fetch my bottle of bourbon and a glass." After a pause, he continued in a growl. "I know I'm on duty, but these qualify as extreme circumstances. Move it!"
Anya rose to greet and assist a customer, leaving Sam and Al to mentally review the engrossing and horrifying story she had told them. If Sam had lifted his head, he would have seen a glass and a liquor bottle appear in Al's hands. He heard the clink of the bottle neck against the rim of the glass and the gurgle of what he gauged to be one finger of liquid slosh into its new container. When he heard Al smack his lips and let out a sigh of gratification, Sam raised his head and opened his eyes.
"Nice nap?" Al asked him, rotating the heavy glass in his hand and watching the small amount of dark amber liquid swirl in the bottom.
Sam couldn't help it, he started to laugh; and once he started he couldn't seem to stop. When his soft chuckles segued into loud guffaws and gasps for air, Anya came over.
"Go into the back room before you endanger my livelihood," she insisted, pointing to the door to the training room.
Al, though he could not be heard by the customer and hadn't been banished, solemnly drained his glass, set it and the bottle on the floor and rose to follow Sam; the glass, bottle and chair disappearing from view as Al released each from his touch.
When the training room door closed behind them, Sam's hysterical fit eased off to intermittent giggles. "Watcher and Slayer, vampires, demons, apocalypses, witches, werewolves, a Hellmouth, rogue sorcerers, fairytale characters coming to life, a gigantic snake-mayor, a new and improved Frankenstein monster, a cabal of supercilious British gentlemen and ladies, a Hell-god and a brain-sucking snot monster from outer space," he listed off.
Al nodded. "Amongst a host of other life and sanity threatening hazards; but, to be fair, the werewolf was one of the good guys."
Sam dropped onto a stack of athletic mats and shook his head, sobering. "My God, Al; what can I possibly do to help them?"
"So, you're buying her story?" Al asked.
Sam stood, thrust his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and began to pace. "If she'd left out the part about the Initiative I might have doubted her, but she had no way of knowing we had already found out about that. And our information fits with hers."
"Except maybe for the emphasis on Xander's indispensability in that and every other campaign they've waged," Al pointed out.
"She's in love," Sam said, waving a hand dismissively. He rubbed his face with both hands and turned to his friend. "What should we do now?"
Anya opened the door and entered the room, shutting the door behind her. "Buffy's here," she told Sam. "She said she's ready to go to Giles' apartment and pick up whatever you need to be comfortable at her house. I told her you'd be out in a minute."
Sam nodded in acknowledgment.
"Are you going to talk to Giles now?" Anya asked Al.
Sam and Al traded shrugs.
"I'm willing to give it a shot, but I don't see why he'd trust me any more than he has up until now. In fact, he'll probably be even more suspicious if I tell him how much more we know," Al reasoned.
Anya thought for a moment. "Tell him... tell Giles I'm taking good care of the shop until he gets back and that I'm almost positive you two aren't bunnies," she advised him.
"Bunnies?" Al queried, incredulous.
Anya shivered. "Yes." She turned to Sam. "Listen carefully and I'll give you directions to Giles' apartment. You really shouldn't let Buffy drive Giles' car or ride in it while she does. It isn't safe."
As Al closed the Imaging Room door behind him he heard Sam begin to laugh again.
End Part 9