Chapter 8: For Just So Long as I Can Dream (it's hard to slow this swinger down) -
Wednesday September 16, 1998; Sunnydale High School main hallways 2:35 P.M.
Faith having finally cut out to go grab some food and hit Willy for more info, Xander and Oz had reluctantly called quits to their part of research for the moment as well, both having classes they couldn't afford to skip. The rest of the afternoon had passed in a blur for Xander - he was far too concerned over his girlfriend and Willow to really concentrate on 6th period Lit. The end of day bell finally clanged, releasing him from Literature hell into the wider world of Sunnydale High.
Not much of an improvement. Xander Harris had managed to work himself up into a monumentally bad mood compounded by near panicked concern.
Pushing through the students milling around after last bell, Xander caught sight of Tamara near the doors leading to the lunchroom and Quad. Changing angle, he headed to where she stood talking with Larry and Blayne.
"Hey, Tam?" Xander came to a stop, nodding to Larry as he slipped in next to the Cordette. Greeting him with a dark look, she relaxed on noting Larry's puzzled expression at her reaction. At least she was still being publicly civil to him, Xander reflected. "Seen Cordy?"
"Hey, Xan," Tamara shook her head. "You missed her - her and Aura said they were heading home straight after last period."
"Huh." Frowning, Xander said, "Willow said something like that to Amy, too. They still seem 'off' to you?"
The black girl nodded, her expression serious. "Yeah. Did say they'd meet us guys up at the Bronze later tonight, though."
"Having woman troubles, Harris?" Blayne asked in a mock sympathetic tone. "Aww." Tamara frowned at him, rolling her eyes.
"Pay no mind to the currently girlfriend-less, Xan," Larry suggested. Putting a beefy hand on Xander's shoulder, he turned him slightly, giving him an intent look. "You're just the man I've been wanting to talk to, guy. Got something to ask you about -"
Something half glimpsed during the half turn registered on Xander's brain. He tuned Larry out, concentrating to drag whatever it'd been into focus in his mind's eye. Oh, that.
"Uh, hold that thought, Lar." Xander turned back, absently shaking Larry's hand off his shoulder. Yeah, that had looked like... there. Right. A mirthless half grin slid over his lips, and he cut his eyes to Tamara briefly. "Be right back. Need to have words with someone," he remarked, striding off down the side hall.
Yup. That's the ticket. Leather motorcycle jacket, greasy outdated duck tail, and raggedy jeans. And, based off of a fast glance around, uncharacteristically alone for once. This would do nicely, Xander thought.
Grabbing a solid handful of Dickie's jacket collar with one hand while gripping the back of his belt with the other, Xander threw a manic half grin to the female junior Dickie had been talking to. Kicking the back of Dickie's knee with a toe, Xander half turned him and ran him across the hallway into the lockers on the other side, forehead first. Stepping back with him when the slightly taller teen bounced off, he shifted his grip from belt to a flailing wrist. Twisting the arm up behind the junior thug's back, he ran him forward again, planting his left forearm across Dickie's neck this time and pressing his face into the locker.
"Hi there, Dickie," Xander said, grinning maniacally next to Dickie's ear. "I understand you and Jack and your other buddy had a little talk with Cordelia last week."
"Huh? Wha? Hey - let me go, Harris, I'm warning you," Dickie snarled, wrenching futilely against the grip on his wrist.
"Really?" Rising up on his toes, Xander torqued the captive arm higher, pushing Dickie's face deeper into the metal. "You know? I don't think I heard that right."
"You're gonna be in a world of hurt, Harris, once you let go," Dickie gasped out. "I mean it."
"Huh. You know something?" Xander shook his head. "I had me a whatchacallit, an apostrophe the other day. Now, Jack, Jack is kinda scary, what with that psycho thing going on and all," he remarked. Easing up a bit, he slammed Dickie forward again. "You, on the other hand - you? Not so much." Snickering, he added, "Compared to a lot of the things I've faced the past two years? You really don't rate, Dick."
"Man... I swear, Jack's gonna rearrange you so bad your kids'll come out scrambled, Harris," Dickie said, a slight note of panic creeping into his voice and making it come out a whine.
"Oh yeah, about Jack," Xander grinned. He pulled back again and slammed Dickie forward with a clang. Giving out with a laugh that had more cackle than humor in it, he leaned forward on his toes again until his lips were next to Dickie's ear. Absently, he noted a trickle of blood coming from the taller kid's nose. "I'm thinking that fair's fair, y'know?"
"W-whatta ya mean?"
"I mean, Jack hurts my friends, especially my girlfriend, and I'm just gonna have to remove his friends completely," Xander said, conversationally. "Walk up behind you and Parker when you're by yourself, cold cock you, and leave you tied up in the park at night with a 'free buffet' sign around your necks. Just like that." Twisting harder on the trapped arm, he raised Dickie up on his toes, adding, "Tell Jack that if he threatens Cordelia again, he's gonna suddenly have like zero friendage, starting with you. Gettit?"
Releasing Dickie's arm and collar, Xander stepped back. When Dickie came off the locker with the expected roundhouse swing, he brought his arm up and around in one of the moves that Faith had been drilling them on, blocking and trapping the punching arm and yanking forward. 'Son of a bitch, that works,' he thought as he snapped his head forward to crack his forehead into Dickie's in a solid head butt. Followed by, 'And owww - that doesn't look that painful on the WWF... ow!' Damn. That was gonna bruise.
Stepping back again, he released Dickie's arm to let the thug stumble back and slump against the lockers. The sound of applause startled him suddenly back to the world around him and looked around, blinking. Larry and Blayne were bringing their hands together clapping with wide grins on their faces, with a nearby Tor and Heidi joining in with ironic expressions. A number of other students had a wide gamut of expressions running from curiosity to approval. Not far away, Tamara looked at him with wide, shocked eyes.
"Harris! Both of you - freeze!"
Oh, crap. Wincing, Xander turned in the direction of the shout, the little alarms sounding 'Troll Alert! Dive! Dive!' in the back of his mind. Students parting before the diminutive principal like whales before a belligerent minnow confirmed the alarm as a beaming Snyder strolled majestically to a halt near him and Dickie.
"Oooh," Snyder said. "This is like a dream come true." Turning his broad grin on Dickie, he said, "You. Detention. Two weeks."
"Hey! I didn't do nuthin'! It was all him!" Dickie protested, straightening up off of the lockers.
"Silence!" Snyder snapped. "I want to savor this moment for the rush of pure, almost physical pleasure it brings." Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, he rose on the balls of his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. "Yes... I just love the smell of justifiable administrative action in the afternoon. It makes me all a quiver." Coming down off of his toes, he favored Xander with a look before turning back to Dickie. "Still here? You," he whipped a hand from behind his back, aiming a stubby forefinger at the school hood. "Detention. Now. Harris? My office."
"But!" Dickie drew himself up in outrage, wiping at the trickle of blood from under his nose, only to close his mouth with a sullen look when Snyder glared at him.
"Three weeks." Cocking his head, Snyder grinned like a shark. "Or would you like door number two - suspension?"
"Ahhhh." Shaking his head, Dickie slouched off in the general direction of the detention hall. Turning back after a few steps, he tossed over his shoulder, "I'm not forgetting this, Harris."
"Four weeks." Snyder snapped out. Fixing Xander with an almost paternal gaze, he said. "My office. Now."
With a sigh like a deflating tire, Xander shook his head. He threw Tamara a sour grin and an eye roll, turning to follow Snyder to the administrative offices. Ok, the day just got worse.
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Wednesday September 16, 1998; E. Chestnut St., Sunnydale, mid-afternoon.
Frowning in concentration, Xander lined up the stencil carefully before taping it into place to start the bottom row of letters. He had been planning to get a start on things immediately after school, but his little dance with Dickie and Snyder's interruption had put the skids to that idea. Wrapped up in his self appointed task, he didn't realize he was no longer alone until Faith's sultry voice spoke almost in his ear.
"Sunnydale Historical Martial Arts Reconstruction?" She asked. Xander turned his head to see her watching him with a slight frown of puzzlement.
"Yeah," quirking a half grin, Xander went back to painting in the stenciled lettering. "Giles' idea - it gives us something to point at if any of Sunnydale's lamest starts wondering why a bunch of teenagers are wandering in and out at all hours with swords and stuff."
"Makes sense," Faith said. "What's the next line gonna be?"
"'(ARMA)' with 'Association for Renaissance Martial Arts affiliated' underneath it," Xander told her, dipping his brush again. "According to the G, the Watcher's Council has some sort of thing with them for training facilities. So if anyone checks... "
"We're legit," Faith finished. She watched quietly until he finished painting in the letters and stripped the stencil away, stepping back to cock his head while giving the work a critical eye.
"Looking good, Xan," she allowed. "Cordy and the others inside?"
Making a face, Xander shook his head, crumpling the used stencil in his hand. "Just Oz a welding away at the cage. Cordy, Aura, and Will bugged home straight after school - supposed to meet us for Bronzing later."
"Ah." Faith nodded, biting her lower lip. Her eyes worried, she nodded. "Um, might not be the best time, but... " she trailed off as Xander gave her a curious look. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I'm kinda pissed at you."
"Huh?" Xander blinked, his face going blank while he tried frantically to recall what he might have done to make Faith mad at him.
"You know," Faith pushed her hair back from her face, then rested her forearms on her knees. "Kinda thought we were partners. And buds, guy."
"Uh, we are? I mean, we are."
"Right." She cocked her head, giving him an indecipherable look. "You kinda walked off on me and left me in the dark on all this stuff going on with Cordy and Red last night. Had to get tidbits from Oz and Tam." Pausing, she added, "Cordy and Will are my friends too."
Closing his eyes briefly, Xander resisted an urge to lean forward and thump his head against the freshly painted window. Too easy to forget that Faith wasn't as self-contained as she liked to put forward that she was. And too easy to go back to old habits now that the three of them weren't living in each others pockets quite as much any more. He opened his eyes and gave Faith a direct look, letting out a long breath.
"Had a long talk with Amy yesterday," he said in a contemplative tone. He met Faith's raised eyebrows with one of his own. "Apologized to her for being a dick last year with the love spell thing." Quirking a rueful half grin, he added, "I'm going to have to make a habit of that - being a dick seems to be my default Xander-mode these days."
Faith laughed, her eyes softening a bit. "Long as you're good at something, it's all that counts."
"Yeah, well," Xander shrugged. Glancing away, he said softly, "We were supposed to go out to Delgados last night, and then spend some time together." Looking back, he met Faith's eyes again. "With all that weird dumping on me, and some other stuff on top of that, I guess I wasn't really thinking much."
"Guess not," Faith said.
"Sorry. Next time I'll remember," he told her. "Figuring there'll be a next time, with this being the Hellmouth and all." Faith studied him carefully for a bit, then nodded abruptly, the corners of her lips curling up.
"Works," she said. Picking up the paper bag from next to where she squatted on her heels, she held it out, "Grabbed you some extra from the Chicken Shack. Thought you and Oz might wanna eat."
"Cool," Xander took the bag from her. "I am sorry, y'know?"
Faith nodded. "No big. Wanna go help Oz weld and sidewalk supervise, since it's just gonna be us three 'til patrol?" She reached a hand down to pull him up. Once on his feet, she reached up to trace the goose egg forming on top of the scrape the lone vamp had left the other night, her eyes dark and concerned. Fingernail on bruise: pain and a hideous pleasure all at once. He shuddered. She stepped back to turn to the Shop entrance.
"You were right," Xander remarked as he fell in next to her by the door. Faith glanced up at him, her eyebrows looking a question. "I am too much into that girl to see straight any more."
Laughing, Faith slipped and arm around his waist and gave him a quick squeeze followed by a punch in the arm as she let go to push the door open. It was a lot more comforting than she probably realized.
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Wednesday September 16, 1998; Los Angeles, late evening.
Buffy Summers was surprised to find herself whistling - off key, but cheerily - as she tossed her bundled up apron and name tag onto her sofa. Coupled with the lack of disturbing nightmares and Slayer dreams, getting bumped into by Pike and clearing away some of the bad air between them had evidently done wonders for her attitudes. She was actually starting to find herself enjoying LA again, even her crappy job at Helen's.
'Oh well. Crappy or no, it covers the rent payage,' Buffy thought, 'Even if it's not ohmygods thirty-something-an-hour! oil mechanicking. Yeesh - slacker Pike makes real money. Whoda thunk it?' Bufy looked down at her hands and manicure, wondering if it might not just be worth it to look into possibilities of taking apart diesel engines for a living... 'Naw. But maybe. Ninties Buffy-the-Mechaniky meets Rosie-the-Rivetey has got to beat out serving grabby dock worker customers for tippage.'
A pounding at her apartment door broke off her train of thought before she worked up to the homesickness inducing part of wondering what her mom would think about having Blue-collar Buffy in the family. Frowning, she re-buttoned her blouse and headed to the front, curious and wondering if it was the apartment's Super bugging her again. It couldn't be Pike - he would be working late tonight before going to pick up his little girl, he'd said.
Stubble, a race track tout sports coat, and a pair of agonizingly blue eyes disabused her of that idea as soon as she yanked the door open, ready to give whoever it was a piece of her mind.
"Doyle," Buffy's voice was devoid of welcoming notes or happy-to-see-you-isms. He winced, turning haunted looking eyes on her as she frowned, "I told you that nex- "
"Wait! Wait!" Doyle threw his hands up as he cut across her, before suddenly bringing one hand the rest of the way up and grabbing his temple as he doubled over, his eyes screwed tightly shut. "Let m- auuurrgghh!!!"
"Oh, jeez," Buffy's eyes rolled slightly and she bit at her lower lip, shifting her weight from one foot to the other indecisively. "Don't you dare die on my doorstep, idiot." Coming to a decision, she grabbed him by the belt and lapel and threw him over her shoulder, hauling him inside and dumping him unceremoniously on the couch with a thud.
"Oh, for the bleeding love of Moike," Doyle gasped out, screwing the heels of his hands against his tightly closed eyes.
"Visiony thingy?" Buffy knelt down by the arm of the sofa, studying him with a worried expression. "Can I get you anything?"
"Vision. Aspirin?" He ground out, eyes still closed as he doubled over, "A-an-and pad and paper. Pen."
Nodding, Buffy stood and trotted into the kitchen for the water and some Anacin, then over to yank her note pad and a pen from her waitress apron. She poured several of the painkillers into Doyle's outstretched hand and handed him the water to gulp them down with before extending the pad and pen to him.
"Quick, write this down," Doyle blurted, his eyes opening to slits.
"What, I'm a secretary now? Sheesh," Buffy shook her head, angrily. "Tell your 'Powers' to spring for a Girl Friday for you." Nonetheless, she jabbed the pen into the pad, scrawling down a quick description and notes as he gasped them out.
"Ah. Jay-sus buggering Christ, that hurts," Doyle remarked. "Sorry, Lord."
"A religious demon. Whoda thunkit," Buffy said, smirking.
"Hey! ow. I was raised a perfectly foine Catholic lad, I'll be having you know," Doyle said, still wincing. "No need to be being blasphemous."
"Gee. Sorry. I'm just not used to praying demons," Buffy shook her head, unable to keep a small grin off of hr lips despite her irritation. "Is that it?" She waved the pad.
"Half demon," Doyle corrected. "And yeah - bunch o' kids, vampires, old building, some blocks from here. Better hurry: you don't have a long time before it happens."
Sigh. Buffy shook her head angrily again, glaring at him. Thinking rapidly, she reluctantly came to a decision. "Ok. I'll get my coat and some extra stakes. You get ready to lead me there." Standing, she glared down at him as he looked upwards, startled, "You do know how to use a stake, right?"
"Hu-wha? I told you I'm no a fighter, now... " Doyle cut off as Buffy's glare intensified.
"Oh no you don't - if you're going to drag me into this, you are going to take me there and use a stake right alongside me, demon-boy," Buffy said, stalking over to her closet for Mr. Pointy and a jacket.
"Oh for the love of... I don't suppose you have any whiskey, then?" Doyle shrank back wide-eyed into the couch at Buffy's look. "I'm taking it that that's being a 'no', then?"
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