Title: Segue
Summary: Who's really on your side?
Spoilers: BtVS: Checkpoint, BtVS Blood Ties
Part 7b, Enemy of My Enemy (continued)
"Xander."
The three were sitting in the apartment, Xander and Cordelia side by side on the sofa, facing the Council's delegate across the coffee table.
Philip was very uncomfortable from sparring with Buffy and did his best to hide it, but still winced every time he shifted in the hard kitchen chair provided him. He also didn't know Xander and Cordelia had re-arranged the furniture so light from the low sun was streaming in through the big windows behind them, making him squint every time he looked up from his notes.
Philip cocked his eyebrow, poised to write down all pertinent information. "Xander? That's your real name?"
"It's Alexander, but no one ever calls him that," said Cordelia.
Xander sighed. He then recited what he remembered of his Halloween alter ego's rank and service number. "Harris, Alexander L. Master Sergeant. Three Two Seven Three Eight Three Oh Six." The name wouldn't match if the watcher ever bothered to look it up, and of course he was far too young to have been a Master Sergeant. Not my problem, Xander figured.
Philip jotted down the information in precise blocky script. He had been instructed not to filter any information through his own opinions or judgments; just record all answers at face value. The full delegation would discuss and analyze the information later in context with data gathered from the others. He looked up and asked, "What is it, exactly, that you do?"
"Oh, we watch her back."
Cordelia elbowed Xander. "We watch her back. You watch her butt."
"Oh right," Xander agreed with a goofy smile. "I watch the back of her butt!" He frowned, puzzled. "Ahh, no, wait...that would be her crotch, wouldn't it?" Both Cordelia and Philip looked at him, Cordelia's blistering glare to Philip's confused gawk. Xander's face screwed up in feigned concentration, then cleared. "No, I don't do that!"
The heat in Cordelia's expression came down a few degrees to one merely able to melt icebergs.
"—anymore!" hastily added Xander in his final defense. After another moment Xander ducked his head. "OK, not as much as anymore."
"That's your tale and you're not budging, huh?" Cordelia asked skeptically.
"Ahh, yeah?"
Philip decided it was time to take back the initiative. He glanced down at his list of notes and questions and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a sound, Xander quickly jumped into the silence.
"Hey, was I right about those stats?" He lightly backhanded Philip on the knee.
"Stats? What? What stats?"
Xander looked disbelieving. "On Buffy! Biggest demons defeated? Most vampires dusted per year? Longest lived? Y'know, the slayer triple-crown: kill for power, kill for average. Most apocalypses averted? Well, huh!?"
"It's, it's—" Philip coughed into his hand and too casually tried to ignore the question. "That's not important. What is important is your coopera—"
"Hah! I knew it!" Xander crowed, falling back against the sofa. He held out his hand, palm up, in front of Cordelia. "Payday!"
Cordelia made grumbly noises but nevertheless reached for her wallet on the end table. "A paragon of graceless victory," she mumbled as she slapped a single into his hand.
Angry with himself he had yet to establish proper control over these children, Philip looked on impatiently at their interplay, then suddenly leaned away from Xander's out-held fist.
Xander's brow knitted in concern. He examined his fist, twisting it this way and that before looking at Philip. "Is it dirty? Hey, dude, just wanted to thank you," he explained, waving the bill with his other hand, "It's a knuckle tap."
"Knuckle tap?"
"Yeah. Hold out your hand like I'm doing. Right, just like that." Xander lightly tapped knuckles with Philip.
Perhaps it was the pain-killers he'd taken. Maybe it was jet-lag. But suddenly Philip felt overwhelmed; he was hot, very tired and just wanted this over with as quickly as possible. "Fine. Now, can we please get on with it?" he said in a resigned tone.
Xander airily motioned him to continue. "Please! We're burnin' daylight here."
Philip once again read the points to be addressed. "Have you mastered any fighting disciplines? Any special skills?"
"Killing vamps."
Philip made a quick note. "Anything else?"
Xander looked up and thought. "Well," he began slowly and dramatically, "I guess I've made a few special kills of demons. I call them S-kills. Does that count?"
Philip looked up. "Ess-kills?"
"Do you need me to spell that?" Xander sat up to look over the top of Philip's pad to see that he wrote down the answer correctly. "s-k-i-l—"
"Sorry, dear, but punning demons to death does not count."
"Rats!"
Cordelia patted Xander on the hand sympathetically. "That's OK, we'll keep working on it." She looked over at Philip to explain. "We've gone to all the doctors and tried the best therapies, but nothing seems to help." She shrugged with heartfelt but helpless concern.
By now Philip didn't care at all. Ask the questions, record the answers, and get the hell out.
"Any other knowledge or powers that you bring to the table? Either of you?"
Both squirmed a little, but not enough that Philip noticed or understood. "No, nothing."
Philip looked at Cordelia. "And you?"
"Cordelia Anne Chase. Do you want my rank?"
The watcher ignored Cordelia's sarcasm as he wrote. "Shakespeare?"
"Duh," Cordelia responded in a bored tone.
Philip shook his head. He would get nothing useful from these two. But Travers would insist the formalities be followed. Thankfully there were only a few more points to cover.
"You're recently returned to Sunnydale, correct?"
"Yes."
"In the prior year and a half you've been associating with the vampire, Angelus?"
"No."
He flipped through his notes, looking carefully. He arrived at the page he wanted, to which small photographs were clipped. He showed one to Cordelia.
"Oh, yes!" Cordelia answered brightly. "Angel Investigations."
"You prefer calling him 'Angel', then?"
"Yes. That's Angel." She pointed to the figure between her and Wesley.
"What's the difference?" Philip and Xander both asked, though not with the same inflection.
Cordelia glared at Xander. She could understand Xander's views regarding Angel...up to a point. But despite all his faults, and the trouble caused while Angelus was free, she firmly believed Angel and Angelus were two different though obviously inextricably linked entities. She wasn't exactly sure how to draw the line between them—largely due to their sharing the same physical body and memories—but she was certain there was a difference. Angel did things Angelus could never have. The line was there even if it was a bit blurry. Her answer was as much for Xander as it was for this watcher.
"Compare what the four of us did every day, out there on the streets where the evil you claim to be at war with, compare that to what you do! When was the last time you staked a vampire? When was the last time you actually helped someone?" She was rising off the sofa, face flushed.
"Whoa, Cordy!" Xander gently pulled her back down. He could see this was a hot-button issue for Cordelia, one they should circle back to together at a better time.
Philip sniffed and shrugged off her questions; he was just doing his job. And it was only five months since their annual training sessions when he staked a captured vampire. Surely this girl could do no better!
One final question.
"Do either of you know of the Key?" he asked casually.
"Yeah! I know them all."
Philip's head snapped up, suddenly more interested than he had been the entire interview. "Yes?"
Xander looked at Cordelia, who shrugged. This they were prepared for. "Yeah, you mean these keys, right?" He pulled out his large ring of keys and began describing each and every one. "This gold-ish one's for the apartment, this big silvery one is my car key, this weird-looking thing is for a padlock at the 1138 El Camino Real site, this one—"
"Never mind!" Philip slapped his notepad closed and rose to leave.
–––
"Mom?!" Buffy called out as she came through the front door.
Buffy arrived home late in the evening, still in a foul mood after the "demonstration" two days ago for Travers. That alone was reason enough for her mood. She hadn't yet talked to her friends about their interviews yesterday, and was still incensed the Council had dragged them into this. Or was she angry with herself for allowing them to be involved in slayer issues? She wasn't sure, and that was yet a third source of anger and frustration. Finally, this last patrol was a total bust. Not one measly vamp to take out her frustrations on. She shook her head as she hung up her coat. Now home, she was determined to put the slayer aside to be with family.
"Mom!" she yelled again. No answer. "Huh". She listened carefully and heard noises from the living room and headed there. When she rounded the corner she saw Glory. "Ack!" Buffy stopped short, her mouth hanging open.
"Long day, sweetie?" inquired Glory from by the fireplace, setting down an old picture of Joyce, Dawn, and Buffy, before turning around. She sauntered about the room, talking absently over her shoulder. "So. This dreary, moldy little cave is where the slayer eats, sleeps, and shits? Oh—" she stopped and picked up another photo, Dawn and Joyce, and made a tsk'ing sound. "So-o-o cute!" She put the picture back, continuing to gaze upon it. "Personally? I need more space, but if quaint slime-holes works for you, then—"
While Glory had circled the room, her back to Buffy, Buffy moved opposite, ending up by the fireplace where she had first seen Glory. She reached for the heavy wrought-iron poker. When she straightened up, before she could even blink, Glory was right behind her, shaking her head in disappointment.
"Now, now. slayer, if I wanted to fight," Glory said sadly, easily pulling the poker from Buffy's loose fingers, "we wouldn't be having this pleasant little chat. Didn't your mom teach you to play nice, little girl?"
Buffy blinked. She had rarely—if ever—felt this powerless. "What do you want?"
Cooperation! Glory beamed. "The Key! Why else do you think I'd come here? See, I know slayers always know things like that. That's a good thing for you."
"It is?" Buffy dubiously asked.
"Well, it's the only thing keeping you alive right now. You may be the Killer Queen bee to the toothy leaches in this pathetic corner of the continuum—"
At that moment, behind Glory, Dawn entered through the front door. It seemed, somehow, Glory didn't hear, apparently caught up in her own nattering. Buffy hoped Glory didn't notice her looking at Dawn.
"—but to me, you're just a bee. A buzzing little bug." Glory's tone shifted instantly from jovially friendly to angry and commanding. "You should be down on your knees worshiping me!"
Dawn saw Buffy was with some stranger and started to walk towards the living room. Buffy gave a tiny cut of her eyes, hoping Dawn would see and go away.
Glory's mercurial mood reverted to friendly as she rambled. "But oh, no, you still think it's neat having slayer strength. Stronger than humans? Big deal! My left nipple is stronger than an army of you monkey-men!"
After a moment's hesitation Dawn realized what Buffy had been trying to signal, though she didn't know why, and backed away.
"But I need the Key, see? I know it's around here, I can practically smell it on you!" Glory leaned forward a little, sniffing.
Dawn turned toward the stairs.
Without breaking her focus on Buffy, Glory snapped, "Hey, kid!"
Dawn froze.
"C'mere a sec."
"Leave her out of this! This is just between you and me."
"Yoo-hoo, not asking twice," Glory sung out, still fixated on Buffy.
Dawn slowly came back. She didn't have any idea who this stranger was, but if Buffy seemed freaked out then that was good enough reason for her to be also.
When Glory was satisfied Dawn had returned, she addressed Buffy again. "No. This is between me and my Key. You happen to be in the way. Temporarily."
Glory raised her hand over her head and snapped her fingers. Dawn walked all the way into the room to stand by Buffy and folded her arms sullenly. The entire time Glory watched her closely.
"What's yer name, honey-pie?"
"Uh, Dawn."
"Well listen, Uhdawn. Your sister took my Key—"
Buffy needed to keep the focus off her sister. "I didn't take anything! I never even met you until a few months ago. I don't know what your capital-K 'Key' is." She didn't think absolute strict honesty was necessary here and now.
Glory flipped her hair back. "Took. Keep. Know. Have. Nine-tenths. What's the difference? You've got it and I don't!" she snarled.
Facing Dawn again, like quicksilver her mood was cheerful and cajoling again. "But I bet you know where she put it, don't you, Uhdawn?"
"She doesn't know anything!" insisted Buffy, still playing the distraction gambit.
"I do too know stuff!" Dawn snapped. She really didn't understand what the crazy lady was going on about—some lost car keys or something—but she did know when Buffy was being a patronizing big-sister ass.
"I bet she takes little sister's stuff all the time without asking, doesn't she?" asked Glory sympathetically. Without breaking rhythm she asked, "Where's my Key, Uhdawn?"
"Upstairs, Dawn. Now!" commanded Buffy.
Dawn hated when Buffy got all commander-y with her. Her sister wasn't that much older, and most certainly not smarter. She was just stronger. "You're always talking about stuff I'm not supposed to hear. I'm gonna figure it out, you know." Dawn turned on her heel and ran up the stairs to her room, Glory letting her go.
"Ooh, I like her! She's sassy," crowed Glory. "I'll kill her. I'll kill everyone you know," she said evenly, light-heartedly, and all the scarier for it. Human life meant less than nothing to her. "I'll kill everyone you've ever heard about and some you haven't. And I'll do it slowly, right in front of you. Rip their limbs off, peel their skin back." Mercy was inconceivable. There was only one thing: power. With power you got anything else you wanted, when and how you wanted it. Like the Key.
Glory sighed. "Just give me the Key. You have it or know where to find it. Like they say, this is the deal of a lifetime! And unlike Morris, you only get one. Next time, something you love dies slow, bloody and painful. You know you can't stop me."
Glory dropped the poker she'd been absently holding the whole time. It clattered against the edge of the coffee table before falling with a soft plunk onto the carpet. She left without further ceremony.
Buffy stood rooted to the same spot for minutes—hours, it seemed—as scared as she had ever been, staring at the door through which Glory had just left. She could not remember being this numbingly frightened. It was awhile before she even realized how much she was shaking.
There had been times when she was plenty scared, prophecies of death or something equally dire, and an abstract fear of what could happen to humankind as a whole. But ultimately she had always "manned up", as Riley might have said, faced her fear and, with a bit of help, overcome it. No, Buffy didn't care about her own personal danger, she was quite used to that by now, letting it wash through her, past her, leaving her better able to handle the threat.
This was different, magnitudes worse. This time her blood family, the people closest to her, people not only part of her life but were her life, were directly threatened.
So Buffy shook, not knowing what to do. Her only thought was to grab her mom and sister and run as far and as fast as possible.
She also believed it wouldn't work. Glory would catch her easily.
In her quivering reverie, Buffy didn't hear her mom padding in from the den, wearing a rumpled terry-cloth robe, eyes blinking like she'd just woken up from a nap. "Buffy? Buffy, I thought I heard voices? Who was that?" Mrs. Summers peered about but didn't see anyone. Perhaps it was merely a dream.
What to do? Run? Stay? Roll over and pretend it was all a horrible nightmare?
"Buffy?"
Then Buffy realized something. She was still standing, Dawn and mom too, not a hair touched. If Glory could do exactly as threatened—and Buffy knew she could—then why didn't she? Why all the talk? She wasn't certain, but an inkling of an idea occurred to her. She grinned when answering.
"Jehovah's Witnesses."
–––
The door bounced when Glory threw it closed upon her return.
Used to this, her minions didn't react other than to bow low and greet her as she expected. "You've returned to us, Light of the Everlasting Greatness of All, uhh... Tidings of Greatness!" rattled off Jinx, scuttling into the foyer, bowing as Glory continued past. He hurried after her into the main living room.
"Did the tiny human female with yellow fur on top cooperate?" He immediately sensed Glory was in a cantankerous mood and regretted asking.
"No!" snarled Glory. Her power was so limited here, reduced to nothing but this soft, impervious human-shaped imprisonment (though also gorgeous, she admitted). Sharing it with something as annoying as Ben was also just so, so... annoying! Her cabal of conspirators, her hand-picked pantheon, how they had turned on her! She would punish those who had cast her out, to show them who was truly the most glorious, magnificent and powerful. Clever they were, but she would force her way back and make a feast of vengeance on them for her to sup upon!
Jinx shook his head mournfully. Despite Glory's meandering stories of wonder and rapture of The Origin, he knew it was not from the perspective of his kind's existence there. Dreg's near blasphemous comments kept invading his own thoughts. What would it be like without his Glorificus, he wondered? He shivered in fear and quickly tamped down that dangerous concept.
"If only Ben would see the wisdom of cooperation and how much better it would be for all of us. He must be insane." Jinx flinched as he uttered the last word. "Insane" was not a term to use near Glory, even when referring to someone else. He relaxed when she didn't react. In fact she seemed to become more thoughtful, scowl fading.
Glory snapped her fingers, her scowl transformed into a beatific, childishly gleeful grin. "That's it!" She snapped her fingers again. "That's it, exactly! Oh, sweet lumpy minion. You're the only one that understands—probably cause I haven't sucked your brain out yet." She turned. "I know exactly what to do with our little toothy pet!"
–––
Xander was surprised Cordelia was present when he returned to their apartment. Usually she was still at the shop or off doing something else about town when he got home from work. This time he heard her voice the moment he opened the door, hearing one half of a phone conversation with someone named 'Chris'.
He hung up his jacket and pulled off his work boots and entered the kitchen to dig up a snack. He gave her a quick smile and wave and silently mouthed "Hi" when she looked up. She waved back but didn't let her attention stray.
Xander found a piece of pizza sitting in the fridge. Perfect! He discarded the wrapping and silently munched on it as Cordelia finished her call, virtually floating on air.
"Who was that?"
Cordelia smiled impishly. "I'd rather not say."
Xander straightened. "But—"
She shook her head firmly, still smiling.
"Fine." Xander's sulk didn't bother Cordelia in the least. She hummed to herself as she went to the living room to catch up on the latest glossy magazine before they left for the shop that evening.
Xander muttered to himself as he picked cold sausage out of his teeth. Their friendship was now clearly and openly established, growing deeper every day. But he was still getting used to it and not yet confident enough to presume too much and therefore didn't pester her with questions.
But he dearly wanted to.
So fine, she had a little secret she wanted to keep. Big deal!
It really bugged him.
With a start, he realized he was jealous. He wanted to know who this Chris person was. Did she just meet him somewhere? Maybe a flirting customer and they hit it off while he paid for crystallized lizard bile? And Xander had just walked in on them arranging a date?
Damn it! He hated he was allowing her to make him feel this way.
–––
Except for Buffy herself, everyone was in the shop that evening at the appointed time of the final summary. Willow and Xander were on one side of the back reading table, Tara and Cordelia opposite them. One of the watchers hovered nearby, but not so obnoxiously that anyone bothered to comment.
Travers was at the main table, sipping from a cup of tea brought to him by one of his underlings. He seemed confident, comfortable, completely in control. He watched bemused as Giles paced back and forth in front of the cash register.
"How did yours go?" Xander whispered, leaning towards Willow on his right.
Willow looked unhappy as she shook her head and frowned. "I don't know. He got me all jumbled up. I'm not sure we helped out."
Tara agreed. "He asked about magic levels and stuff. We've never heard of such a thing, so we were kinda making up stuff." She also looked glum, bobbing her head in unneeded apology.
"Yeah. Tara's been at this her whole life. And Giles never mentioned anything," Willow pointed out. "Ms. Calendar's books or files didn't have any of that stuff. And none of the covens talk about it either!"
Xander sat back and laced his fingers behind his head. "Maybe it was a ploy?" He looked back and forth between Tara and Willow. "Y'know, to trip you guys up?"
Cordelia was keeping an eye on Travers and his Council members, but had also been listening to Willow, Tara, and Xander. She turned when she heard Xander's speculation. "I don't think it's going to matter with this bunch." She inclined her head towards Travers. "They're going to do whatever they want, whether or not they have an excuse."
–––
"Crap," muttered Buffy when she spotted two strangely dressed thugs blocking the alley, her usual short-cut to the Magic Box. She was on her way to have the final confrontation with the Council, take her lumps and get it over with. She did not need to deal with a copy-cat gang out of The Warriors.
"Is there any way we could not do this?" She snickered and pointed. "For one thing, you guys just look silly."
A moment after speaking she realized both of them—humans she knew with certainty—were as deadly serious as they were silly. She turned her head slightly at a scraping sound behind her, not needing to actually look when two others dressed in similar medieval garb appeared. "I guess we do do this," she murmured.
She would just demonstrate to them they had picked the wrong night to tangle with the wrong girl, and let them off with a minimum of bruises, mostly to their egos. Maybe they'd learn something. Thankfully, she thought, they hadn't run into Glory. She suspected they did not know their good fortune.
"First, let's introduce ourselves. I'm Buffy. You are meat. I don't need this and you're about to grab some pine," she said, borrowing baseball slang she'd heard Xander once use. She made a beckoning gesture with her hand. "OK boys, let's see whatcha got."
–––
Travers made a show of pulling out his pocket watch, popping the lid and gazing down his nose at it for many seconds, humming to himself. He pocketed it with equal flourish. "Well, Rupert, your slayer is twenty minutes late."
"Buffy will be here, I assure you," Giles asserted with more confidence than he felt. To hide his own nerves he walked over to the sideboard and poured himself coffee, added cream and sugar and slowly stirred.
"Of course, of course!" Travers chuckled. "But when?" He was immensely enjoying the driving of the final nails into a pre-ordained coffin of their inevitable conclusion.
In the meanwhile, to enliven things a bit if nothing more, he had one final loose end. "As long as we're waiting, there is one small matter we haven't been able to clear up. Perhaps you can help." He motioned Nigel over, who reached into an attache he was carrying, extracted a thick folder, and handed it to Travers.
Giles rolled his eyes. "What color hoop this time?"
Travers thumbed back and forth through the file. "The vampire 'William The Bloody'? aka—" Travers grimaced at the coarse name preferred by the vampire, "'Spike'. A small matter but we would like the record to be accurate as possible."
Taking a sip from his mug, Giles' eyes flicked toward the back where Buffy's friends were sitting, chatting quietly among themselves. "What about Spike?"
"Simply this: do you know his whereabouts? We know he and your tardy slayer have had quite a number of run-ins. Yet he seems to have survived them all."
"What are you implying?" asked Giles, standing straighter.
Travers waved him to calm down. "I'm implying nothing except we know he has survived, but not where he is." Travers turned at a loud snort from the back of the store. Three of the children Buffy associated with were carefully inspecting their nails or the ceiling. But the boy, Xander, he recalled, was not bothering to hide his smirk.
"Is this amusing to you, boy? A most dangerous master vampire is unaccounted for!"
"And I guess that's why you're called 'watchers'," Willow said in a sing-song voice.
They all burst out laughing. Giles more subtly hid his grin behind his upraised mug, thankful he wasn't mid-sip. Hot coffee in the nose was not his favorite sensation.
"Stop this nonsense at once!" Travers commanded. "I want to know about William."
After several moments Xander was calm enough to answer. "That's the funny part."
"That you 'know everything'," added Willow, hiccuping between giggles.
"You want to know about Spike? We can tell you about Spike."
"Well?"
"He's been a master dust-bunny for, oh...", Xander glanced at his watch and then looked up as he attempted to do math in his head, "at least several weeks now."
"Dust-bunny?" Travers tried to decipher the idiom. "He's been staked?"
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," confirmed Willow.
Travers turned on Giles. "When did Buffy slay him? Why didn't you report to us? This is a gross dereliction of duty!"
"You recall I don't work for you any more, hmm? Besides, it wasn't Buffy."
Travers shook off his anger. "Who, then?"
"Her."
Travers turned to see Giles was pointing to his employee. Cordelia, he recalled.
"Her? How?"
"The usual suspects." Giles smiled. "Teamwork. Training. A bit of luck, I imagine?" he speculated, to which he got a smile and nod of agreement from Cordelia.
–––
Buffy's attackers withdrew their swords, holding them out expertly.
"You boys sure like your toys, don't you?"
The presumed leader replied. "We know who you are, slayer. You are just one. We are a vast army, and we will defeat you."
Buffy worked to not bust out laughing. These guys were total goofballs compared to Riley's army (and she hadn't thought overly much of them either). "Army? You're an army?! Of clowns?"
They dropped into cautious fighting stances, arms akimbo, slowly circling her as they closed in, sword tips tracing circles mere feet from her. "We are The Knights of Byzantium, a sacred ancient order," the leader said, righteous pride dripping from every syllable.
"Great!" She looked heavenward for relief from this kind of idiocy. "Always ancient, always with the sacred, always with the orders." She pointed at one of the swords, "and always, always, ALWAYS with the phallic! It's so predictable. You guys need a better shtick." She paused a beat but got no reaction. "Oh c'mon, Xander would have been proud of me!" pouted Buffy, lower lip pushed out. She heaved a big breath. "Can't we just be friends and call it a day?"
"We are your enemy!"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "And the worst sin of all? You're boring! C'mon, admit it, you're a gang of morons with nothing better to do after losing your cable subscriptions, right?" Time to bring this stupidity to a close, thought Buffy. She was angry and frustrated everyone and their uncle kept coming after her, and she cut loose with a little of her own Glory-tude. "Now listen to this. I'm the new order. The order of 'I don't give a shit what yours is, and if you get in my way I'll stomp on you'."
The leader looked confused and paused. "What? There's no such thing!"
"I just declared it," she declared.
"Ours is ancient and sacred," he protested.
"You said that already. Mine's got more words and has more fun."
She leaped sideways, completely surprising the knight to her left. In a blur lasting seconds, all but one were dis-armed and knocked silly. Armed with a staff taken from one of the fallen she faced the original spokesman, who still had his sword. He looked around at his compatriots laying about, mumbled something, crossed himself, and began his attack. Buffy twirled the staff and easily slapped the sword aside, clattering to the pavement. She drove the staff into his gut, stepped inside his reach and gave him an upper-cut that fully straightened him out. She brought the staff up under his chin and pressed him back against an alley wall before he could collapse to the ground.
"You work for Glory?" she asked him, barely breaking a sweat.
He spluttered indignantly. "Ally ourselves with The Beast? Us?! You must be mad!"
"Hmph. You tried killing me, you must be with her." The logic seemed clear enough.
"We were mistaken to bring so few. Next time it will be hundreds, thousands! We will not let you protect the Key for the Beast's use."
Stunned, Buffy fell back, loosening the pressure against him. "I'm not protecting anything for Glory," she stated the literal truth. There was no way she'd let these guys know about Dawn!
"You have the Key. You must. If you are not destroying it, then you are protecting it!" he said fervently, eyes gleaming with fire of the true believer. "Destroying it is the only way to rid humanity of The Beast. We will never stop until we do." He turned his head to expose more of his neck. "Be done with it. Kill me and legions will follow."
With his upbringing and indoctrination he could not conceive of anything other than a merciless death at the hands of The Beast's ally. He'd never met a slayer before nor could he understand that multiple sides existed in this fight. To him and his order there was only the enemy: Glory. If you weren't in lockstep with the order's goals and means then you could only be aligned with The Beast.
Still angry, Buffy momentarily pressed the staff harder against his throat, making him gurgle and thrash. They were foolish clowns, but they were human and Buffy couldn't kill him or the others. She dropped the staff.
The knight sagged back against the wall, rubbing his throat. He watched carefully when Buffy knelt down to pick up his sword. She flipped it in her hand, testing the heft and balance. She pointed it at him. "Go." She was so tired of all this. "Just...just go." She watched while he gathered his comrades, whispered to them quickly and they ran off.
She was tired of everyone wanting something from her, demanding something from her. And if they couldn't demand it, or were not even sure what they wanted, then they tried some other tactic.
After the knights disappeared, Buffy gazed down at the small pile of weapons left behind. She looked at the sword in her hand, so tiny to use against the likes of Glory. She thought it remarkable they, merely human, would be willing to stand against Glory when the slayer herself was so frightened. True, they had a 'Righteous Cause' and a surplus of loose screws. That couldn't account for all of it, not after century upon century of defeat. She wondered what kept them going.
She started to trudge in the direction of the shop where she knew Travers was waiting. But also where her mentor Giles was, where her friends were. As she walked, Buffy kept turning the sword in her hands, watching bright reflections race up and down its length as it caught the light of passing street lights and traffic signals. The effect was mesmerizing and she frowned in deep thought as some notions clicked into place.
The knight's comments had triggered a more direct and conscious awareness of the role her friends had played in her success all these years. Not only success over evil, but also success staying grounded, remaining human, remaining Buffy Summers despite temptation to become more (and less) than human.
Despite the slayer lore Giles would repeat till she could scream, she did not like nor want to stand alone against the darkness.
Although as slayer she bore the majority of responsibility, she realized that she could, in fact must, share the burden with her friends. Indeed, her friends wanted that. Even when terrified her friends knew they were supported by each other, counted on each other, the strengths of one complementing the lack in another and vice versa. Thus they overcame their terror together, thus they stood against the darkness, thus she could stand with them and not apart from them.
She recalled her last argument with Riley before he left. She still didn't agree with him entirely, but if he could have stayed stronger for a while longer then maybe, together, they could have reached this point without him leaving. However she did begin to understand where he was coming from and why he ultimately decided to leave.
As she neared the shop Buffy also thought about why everyone wanted something from her. Those crazy knights wanted what she had (but couldn't take from her). Glory wanted it (but seemed too stupid to figure out what it was she wanted). Why hadn't Glory just slapped her into next year? And this annoying Council delegation wanted something from her too. Why didn't they just take it?
She suddenly figured out the common factor and smiled. Her slumped posture became proudly upright and certain.
–––
Travers glanced once more at the clock and shook his head in dismay. It was not unexpected, but even to the end he had hoped for better. Now they must wrap up this little charade, return to Council chambers and finalize contingency plans to obtain a new, more docile, pliable slayer.
The door crashed open and Buffy strode through.
"You're late."
"Yes I am." She smiled as she descended the stairs. "Y'know how actually being the point of the sword," Buffy said, taking the sword off her shoulder and swinging it negligently at Travers, "tends to disrupt well-laid schedules?" She used the British pronunciation.
Travers huffed. "Fine. Let's begin, shall we? We'll skip the obvious deficiencies and move on—'
With a barely audible swoosh the sword's razor edge landed a hairsbreadth from Travers' fingertips, cutting deeply into the table's surface.
"No."
"I beg your pardon?" Travers drew himself up to his full imposing height over the much shorter slayer.
"There are no obvious deficiencies. There will be no moving on. There will only be listening, specifically you to me."
Nigel, on Travers' left, stepped forward. "See here—" He pulled up short and gulped as the sword flashed toward him, stopping just before pricking the skin of his neck. He hadn't even seen it move.
"No interruptions! Capiche, mes amigo?"
Nigel gulped again, shuddered, stepped back and did his best to control an urge to wet himself. Travers sat back down.
Buffy returned her full attention to Travers. "See, I've had a lot of people talking at me the last few days. Everyone telling me how unimportant I am, what I should or must do, or mostly what I shouldn't and can't do. Talk, talk, talk. All talk. Why all the talking, I'm wondering?"
Buffy looked around and relaxed seeing she had everyone's full attention. She laid the sword on the table, pointed at Travers. She removed her coat and took it to the rack by the door. "Let's start with earlier today. You see, Glory came to my home."
Alarmed, Giles gave a start. "Buffy, are you—?"
"It's OK, Giles." She hung up her coat and returned. "I'm a bug according to her. A flea. Glory could squash me in a second. She's right." Buffy paused, tilting her head. "Only she didn't. She came to my home, we talked." Buffy snorted. "Or mostly she told me all the things she would do to me and how I couldn't stop it. So I listened. But she didn't actually do anything." Buffy shrugged theatrically. "Interesting, huh?" She circled the table. "And I've just figured out why."
"Why?" asked Giles, genuinely curious.
"In a moment." She stopped circling. "On the way here for this little—well, let's be honest, shall we, Quentin?—this 'spanking' you intend to give me, I ran into some guys. The Knights of, umm, ah, Bygones? No..." Buffy looked up, trying to recall. "...the Knights of..." Buffy fumbled for the name, snapping her fingers to jog her memory.
"Byzantium?" tonelessly provided Travers.
She pointed at him. "Yes! Knights of Byzantium."
"Buffy!"
Again Buffy stopped Giles. "It's OK, Giles. It was a Faire fight, easily handled. We had a little heart-to-heart. More talking." Buffy ticked off points on her fingers. "They came after me because of something they think I have. Glory came after me, again because of something she thinks I have. The Council are here after me and, except for poor Philip there," she pointed to the bandaged watcher, "nothing but talking. It's a regular yak-fest."
Buffy leaned over to put her palms flat on the table, looking Travers in the eye. "So why the festival of yaks? Why all the talking? What is it I have, I'm wondering? And I've figured it out: Power. I have it. They don't."
She pointed at the impassive Travers. "I've got the power and you don't." Buffy then pointed to each of the Council members sitting or standing about the store, in turn. "You didn't come all this way to figure out if I—if we should be let back into the club." She held up her hand to prevent Travers from speaking. "Oh, I know what you thought. And I know what you decided before you even arrived. Now it's time to separate fantasy from fact: I've got the power, you don't. You're here to beg me to let you back in. To give a reason for your jobs, your lives—"
"This is beyond insolence!—"
Buffy snatched the sword from the table and threw it across the room in a single motion. It thunked point-first into the wall directly in front of Nigel's nose. He leaped back, shocked.
"You don't capiche so well, do you? One more interruption and it will be fortunate we're near the world's best plastic surgeons. You may need one to reassemble you if you don't shut up."
"So-o-o excellent!" crowed Xander, not quietly, pumping his fist. Willow and Tara grinned. Even Cordelia smirked. She wasn't Buffy's biggest fan but she absolutely despised these Council people.
"Let's test how well you're capiching, Quentin." Buffy turned back to face Travers. "Without a slayer, you 'watchers' are pretty much just watchin' Gilbert and Sullivan."
"And their investment accounts," commented Cordelia.
Buffy nodded agreement. "You can't stop Glory. No better than me, anyways. You can't do anything with the information you have except maybe publish it in the 'Oh look, We're Useless and Pompous' Evening Post.
Traver's mouth compressed into a hard white line.
"So here's how this works. You tell me everything you know. Now. Then you go home. You'll contact me if and when you have any further information about Glory. This shop remains open. Giles stays as my official watcher, reinstated at full salary—"
She grinned at a light cough behind her.
"—paid retroactively from the month he was fired," she continued. "I will continue to work with my friends—"
This time the lone female of Traver's group, Beatrix, spoke up. "I, uh, I...don't want a sword thrown at me, bu-but they're just children!"
"Children? How many vampires have you killed?"
Buffy had asked the question of Beatrix, but it was Nigel who proudly straightened his back and answered. "Three!"
Snickers were heard all around.
"These 'children' guarded the Hellmouth for an entire summer. Any guesses how many vampires and demons they dusted or killed? No? Well, you don't have enough fingers and toes among all of you to count that high." Buffy put out her hand palm down and waggled it. "Children? Maybe. But I'd put Xander and Cordelia up against any of you."
Travers scoffed. "Any human might get lucky in a fight. But what about the long term? What good can they do?"
Buffy pointed at Beatrix. "You! You wrote a thesis on Spike, right? You think you know a lot about demons and evil and stuff?"
Beatrix nodded uncertainly.
"Very good." Buffy sauntered over, stopping with fists planted on hips, and looked directly up at her. "What's the difference between a Sla'ganth and an al-mSlg!nth demon?"
The woman tried desperately to maintain eye contact with Buffy but couldn't. "Well...umm..." She brought up her elegant leather briefcase and began to open it.
"You're going to fight them with your backpack?" Buffy innocently asked.
Insulted, the woman sharply replied, "Of course not! But, ah, I need to consult my references—"
Buffy swung her left arm at the woman, fingers out like raven's claws, stopping just short of the startled woman's eyes. "The Sla'ganth is bored and has just ripped off your face!"
"B-b-but—"
Without breaking her pose or gaze at the woman, Buffy called over her shoulder, "Xander?"
"Sla'ganthes have razor-sharp claws and, obviously, like to go for your face. Or more accurately, the eyes. They're lightening quick at first but if you can dodge their first swing then they've pretty much run out of gas. Get behind them and they're easily confused when they lose sight of you."
"And?" prompted Buffy, now looking sideways at Travers.
"The al-mSlg!nth is relatively benign if you don't stare at its ears. They're touchy about that. Except the South American bunch. They're just plain touchy and will shred you for breathing the same air. But they have extremely sensitive hearing and screaming really loud will paralyze them temporarily."
Buffy turned from the woman to grin at Travers. "Home team 1, visitors 0." She looked around and spotted Philip. "Hmm." She marched up to him and craned her neck back to see he was a whole head taller than her. "You, tough guy, how do you kill a Zan-zan Beast?"
He stammered his answer. "W-Well, I think a, uh, knife with Celtic runes—"
"Cordy?"
"The easiest way is with an ashwood staff into the upper ear-hole while in its nest during a rejuvenation cycle, beginning at dusk," Cordelia spoke up, making sure they could hear her at the front of the shop. "Eyuch!" she gasped, suddenly turning to the others in wide-eyed horror. "My life is so, so wrong I know stuff like that!"
Xander reached over and gently patted her hand. "True, true. But we love you anyway." Willow grinned affectionately while Tara nodded vigorous agreement. Cordelia settled back but didn't seem much mollified by the show of support.
Buffy spoke to Travers, holding up two fingers. "Two-oh, yes? And Willow and Tara? Two of the most powerful witches and Internet hackers. Three for the home team, Council zip." She arched her eyebrow. "Need I continue?"
Travers sighed, disappointed in his people (he would never admit he couldn't have done better). "You've made your point." It had been an uncomfortably educational evening.
Buffy knew she was one of the longest lived, most successful slayers ever. Not because she was stronger or faster or more skilled than any previous slayer. But because of this team she was a part of. She smiled at Giles and her friends. "Yeah, I'm thinking I'll keep my crew."
"Now," she addressed all the watchers, "you may be very good at your jobs. We'll find out if you work with us. You can take your time thinking about that. But I want an answer from Quentin now, 'cause I think he's capiching very well." She smirked. "Aren't you?"
Travers shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "I've been accused of many things," he looked back and forth between Buffy and Giles, "but deafness is not one of them. I'm listening."
Xander whooped and put his fist out between himself and the others. "On three, 'Team Slayer!'" He was joking, surprised when Tara put her hand over his, followed by Willow and finally Cordelia in turn. Even Giles quickly slid over to put his hand on top.
"One, two, three, Team Slayer!"
Giles grinned broadly, immediately trying to hide it and be the dignified watcher expected of him. 'Team Slayer' burst into cheers, but also quickly stopped, embarrassed. Buffy grinned and gave a quick thumbs-up sign. She didn't smile at Giles, instead giving him a confident nod before sitting down with Travers.
Xander said, "We could get us some shirts, with numbe—"
"While I re-anact Death of an Idiot: slow and painful."
"—but the plain-clothes look is very cool too," Xander finished, keeping a close eye on Cordelia.
At a look from Travers, Buffy shrugged. "A motley crew, but what's a poor slayer on the Hellmouth to do?" She smiled beatifically. "See? No biggie."
Travers coughed into his hand. "Yes, rather." He waved at Giles. "Giles?"
"Quentin?"
"When we inventoried your shop we noticed a bottle of very fine single-malt under the counter."
"Yes."
"I could use a glass. I think perhaps we could all use a—"
"Just a minute," Buffy interrupted. "Glory. I want to know. Now."
Travers looked non-plussed but complied. "Well, there's a bit to go through."
"What kind of demon am I fighting and how do I kill it?"
"Well that's the rub, isn't it? You see," Travers smiled grimly, "Glory isn't a demon."
Buffy was silent. "Not a demon? Then what is she?"
"She's a God."
Xander heard a pin drop somewhere on the other side of town.
"Oh."
She blinked and shook her head, as if to clear out cobwebs. "A God?"
Travers nodded.
"Umm, what exactly does that mean?"
Travers was speechless at first. It was so obvious! Then he thought about it and realized the astuteness of her question. What exactly is a "God", as compared to merely an incredibly powerful being? He took a moment to arrange his thoughts. "Well, for one thing, she can't be killed."
"Well, that sucks." floated over from the rear of the store.
Travers grunted agreement. "Let's have that drink, shall we? I think we're all going to need it." He circled his hand to include everyone.
Buffy nodded and Giles fetched the bottle and glasses, as Travers continued. "We have a few bits and pieces on her." He snapped his fingers for the attache Nigel was holding, and withdrew a folder. He extracted some sheets, spreading them on the table. "These are initial references to her—more properly 'it'—going back several thousands of years, when she suddenly appears on the scene after an enormous storm."
Travers looked up with a certain mischievous smile. "When I say 'enormous' I mean devastation on a planet-wide scale: 'And the skies opened and oceans poured forth, sweeping asunder all the land that could be stood upon'," he quoted. "Sound familiar?"
"Noah's flood?" asked Giles, chewing thoughtfully on the temple of his glasses.
"Possibly." Travers looked down. "Since then, and I'm sure you'll find this hard to believe, but more or less, despite her obvious malevolence, she has shown remarkable restraint in her destructive ways."
Willow grumbled loudly.
Travers glanced her way before returning attention to Buffy. "Yes, until recently. There seems to be a retinue of demons that surrounds her and does most of the actual work. She tends to be hands-off unless her strength is needed." He flipped through the notes. "There are, or were, two main groups opposing her, only one of which bears noting. There is The Brotherhood, which is the only name we have for them," he said, moving some sheets around.
Buffy quirked her head and Travers took that as a cue to continue. "We don't know why, and they have never attacked her directly, but she constantly sought them out, destroying them whenever she finds them. It seems she believes they have something she wants. Perhaps what she wants from you is the same?" Travers looked between Buffy and Giles expectantly.
Buffy shrugged.
"In any case, all references to this Brotherhood stop about 15 years ago. To the best of our knowledge," Travers fingered the papers, "they suddenly died out in Eastern Europe. Likely due to Glory."
"You said there were two."
"Yes-s-s. The second group is hardly worth mentioning, as you've already found out first-hand. The Knights of Byzantium. They originally opposed her on general principles of monotheism. To them, our God, our Holy Ghost, is the one and only. Anything else is blasphemy and therefore must be evil. It happens they're right with regard to Glory. However, they've become an anachronism, failing to understand the multiverse of dimensions, demon and human, and the significance of the complexities. More importantly their original tactics have been unsuccessful and they completely fail to adapt, unable to fight her with any effectiveness."
"An enemy of Glory is a friend of mine," Buffy said. But then squinted and scrunched her face. "As long as they stay out of my way," she corrected herself.
"Be careful what you wish for," Travers answered gravely. "They are zealots, almost by definition not intelligent or sufficiently capable. They are at best a very minor irritant to her, and too often a significant hindrance to us."
"Anything else?"
Given that Buffy seemed to be showing some real gumption in the face of this incredible news, Travers was encouraged. He flipped back and forth between his notes. "No. You may have all of this, of course. Now," he stood and beckoned the members of his delegation to him, "you have all we know at this time. You have delineated our respective roles. We shall take our leave and let you get on with your work." Without a backward glance they filed out.
–––
After the Council's bombshell the Scoobies tried to jump right into research mode and run down every new lead, with a focus on why Glory wanted the Key. Progress was made but the Council's information had virtually nothing on the Key itself.
What did become readily clear, confirming earlier estimations, was they could not defeat Glory head-on. She might be their biggest, toughest opponent ever. As that simple truth soaked in, their efforts soon flagged.
Seeing this, Giles wisely called a halt. Although danger loomed, it was still at some distance. They needed to decompress and relax before starting up again. Buffy also wanted time to tend to her mom. They decided to take a time-out and reconvene in a few days, fresh and ready to go.
That Saturday was a glorious California winter day, cobalt blue skies blindingly crisp, with bracing on-shore breezes. At breakfast Cordelia asked Xander if he would drive her an hour or so outside of town. He matched his internal map of California to the directions she outlined and realized it was deep in the Sierra Madre separating Sunnydale from the San Joaquin Valley.
"What's out there?"
Cordelia flashed an impish smile. "An old friend."
Xander's hopeful expression fell. "Chris?"
"No hints."
This did not sound like the kind of three-way he usually fantasized about. "Look, I don't need the car today. Maybe it'd be better if you just take it." He noticed her expectant expression fall when he turned to fish the keys out of his jacket. She was actually pouting when he turned back to give them to her.
"Cordy?" he asked quizzically.
"I want you to drive," she said, chewing her bottom lip.
Xander pursed his lips. What was she up to? This was not like her. Not only her anxious attitude, but she was dressed as casually as he'd ever seen: regular jeans, lightweight hiking boots, even a plaid shirt and light vest over. Of course she had put it together so stylishly he hadn't realized at first how unusual her attire was.
"OK," he answered, "I'll bite." He was really curious what could make her so antsy.
As they climbed into the hills the roads got smaller and less paved with each mile. He could hardly believe Cordelia would ever be caught in such a rural out-of-the-way place, so inconvenient to any mall, but she was nearly bouncing when they turned onto a one-lane well-kept gravel track, skirting the side of a hill.
The steep, narrow gap between the hills on either side suddenly opened into a small, lush valley with a oak tree-lined creek on the far northern boundary. This side of the valley was almost entirely occupied by a small ranch. The main single-story rancher was nearest them, with a barn beyond. Left of the barn was a large open ring, to the right a smaller one under a roof with open sides. He noticed fence-like objects scattered about both rings, seemingly in random locations. Visible beyond those structure were paddocks containing at least a dozen horses of various types.
"Ah!" Xander smiled when they passed under the "Hunter Creek Stables" sign. Of course! He should have known.
Cordelia dropped all pretenses. "Keanu was sold when we lost everything." She frowned, but her smile returned as big as ever. "I started to call around to find out where he might be, and it turned out he's been here the whole time. When I called she said a lease might be available and I should come and check him out."
"Lease? You can rent a horse? Like renting a car?"
"Umm, sort of. I'd have to give up shopping for, well...probably till I die." That seemed to bother her less than he ever could have imagined. "But first I want to see if I've still got it." And, she didn't mention, if Keanu still remembered her. She didn't want to ride just any horse. It had to be her Keanu.
He circled the house and parked near the barn. Xander was fascinated by this change in Cordelia. Racing ahead of him, she was skipping along like a little girl, face plastered with huge grin. He followed more slowly, looking around at everything in this beautiful sun-filled valley, letting Cordelia have the moment to herself.
Way ahead he saw her pausing in front of each stall, reading off names. She suddenly stopped, looked in and slumped, obviously disappointed. Xander guessed that must be Keanu's, and he wasn't there.
They both looked up at a call from a handsome woman in her forties coming around the far end, leading a chestnut-colored horse, just over 16 hands. Cordelia squealed. Hearing and then seeing her, the horse likewise nickered and bobbed its head up and down. She ran up to Keanu and gave him a big hug around his neck. He ducked his head, playfully nipping at her hair.
Xander watched as she spoke with the woman for a little while and then she hugged the woman, who gave her the halter rope and pointed over to a rack of saddles. She smiled at one last comment from Cordelia, who gave Xander a last brilliant grin and wave, patted her on the back and Cordelia led Keanu off to the cross-ties.
Xander walked over. "Hi, I'm Christine," the woman introduced herself.
"O-o-oh! As in 'Chris'?"
"A-yup."
He held out his hand. "Xander." They shook hands, hers as rough as his own, perhaps more. "I'm Cordy's—"
"Boyfriend?" Christine eyed Xander critically.
Xander laughed nervously and shook his head. "That'd be a 'no'. We're just good friends. Today I'm also the chauffeur."
Christine squinted, looking doubtful. "Really?"
Xander was embarrassed at the intensity of Christine's interest in him, just as if she was Cordelia's real mother. "Just friends. Really."
"So says you, hey?"
He could swear there was a twinkle in her eye. His sensed the impending need for a diversion. "I can't tell you how excited she was this morning. I don't think I've ever seen her like this."
"She's very special to us." Christine looked back over her shoulder to where Cordelia was carefully picking Keanu's hooves. "And to him. It was a sad day when she left and he was sold. Getting her call made my day. Telling her Keanu was still here made my year." Christina laughed along with Xander.
"You own him now?"
"Oh no." Christine shook her head. "My husband and I own and run Hunter Creek." She swept her arm around to indicate the whole valley.
"Beautiful!" exclaimed Xander with heartfelt reverence as he looked around again.
"Thanks. No, another rider, Beth Sanders, has Keanu. But she and Bob—her husband—are off in Europe for six months. I'm sure they won't object to Cordelia giving him a bit of a workout. And they did say I should be on the look-out for a lessee."
They strolled over to the cross-tie where Cordelia was hefting a saddle onto Keanu, adjusting and positioning it, then cinching the girth. He could see, even as tall and strong as Cordelia was, it was taking quite a bit of effort and he quickened his step to help. He was stopped and turned by Christine's hand on his elbow. She gave a him friendly head-shake. "She needs to do this herself. Trust me."
Xander looked over his shoulder to see Cordelia had finished the cinching, and was now putting the bridle on. "Cordy mentioned that. The lease thing, I mean. It sounded like it was still pretty expensive." Xander shook his head sadly, wondering.
"It is. Keanu is a great horse and Beth wants a lot. But," Christine smiled slyly, "it won't cost anything for a 'tryout' or two. Or even, say," she waved her hand back and forth in a languid figure-8, and winked conspiratorially, "a dozen." She laughed again.
They followed at a distance as Cordelia led the horse towards an outside ring. Somewhere she had snagged a helmet and was putting it on one handed. "She doesn't have quite the right gear now," Christine explained, "and she hasn't ridden in awhile, so no jumping today. But cantering, trotting poles, easy stuff."
Up ahead, just before entering the ring, he saw Cordelia's foot slip a little in a small pile of dung. She easily recovered and continued as if nothing had happened. Xander's jaw flopped. "Ewww! Doesn't she know what she just stepped in?!"
Christine laughed in tolerant good nature. "Of course she does! Trust me, after all this time, for her, that's a tiptoe through the tulips." She understood there were two kinds of people in the world: those who loved horses, and the sad, sometimes amusing remainder—like this Xander fellow. Christine had learned tolerance and forgiveness of the latter, for they know not what they lack.
Though rarely seen, and only in private, but more often the longer they were together in high school, Cordelia revealed a truly bright and engaging persona, shockingly at odds with the public ice-queen bitch. Few sniping words, relaxed, less worried over appearances and position among peers, warm and empathic, able to open up and talk of worries and dreams with Xander. He had liked all aspects of her, even if the ever-present sharp sarcasm got a bit much at times. This place, these people, and Keanu, brought out that bright happy Cordy he'd seen so little of after their breakup.
He watched, smiling, as she easily mounted the horse and settled into the saddle. She took a few moments making final adjustments to the stirrups and then swung Keanu around into a slow easy walk around the perimeter.
They watched together for a few minutes before Christine turned to leave. She paused. "Can I get you something to drink? A lemonade? Or a beer?"
Xander shaded his eyes as he looked toward the sun. Although still early in the day it was much warmer here than near the coast. "Lemonade would be great, thanks."
"A pitcher of our icy best in a jiffy! Go grab a seat over there," Christine said, pointing to an open canopy shading some chairs, "and keep an eye on our Cordelia. See she doesn't get hurt." Xander absently nodded his head, causing Christine to laugh again as she walked back to the main house.
Cordelia rode for about forty-five minutes, changing speeds and direction at random, repeating exercises he didn't understand. Tired, hot and sweaty, but grinning ear-to-ear, she led Keanu (also hot and sweaty) out of the ring and back to the barn. With hands that remembered, she quickly untacked him, picked his hooves again, and bathed him. After leading Keanu back to his stall she dug an apple out of her purse and gave it to him. He munched on it happily.
"I'd forgotten how good that is," contently sighed Cordelia as she sat in the chair next to Xander, across from Christine, flopping down with a woof. "I never thought I'd say this, but there are better things than shopping." She flicked her fingers toward the stalls and arena.
"Welcome back to civilization, girl!" cheered Christine. Xander listened as they chatted away about one equine topic or another. But eventually it was time to head back to Sunnydale.
Cordelia remained deeply quiet during the ride back. Xander could tell she was still thinking about Keanu. "Y'have a nice day?" he asked.
"The best!" she mumbled before squirming her shoulders and falling asleep.
–––
It was time to reset and go over everything they knew, from the top.
In the Summer's living room they were all nearly in the same arrangement as before, after Gile's return from England. Only a few days ago, it seemed like years. This time Giles was at the dining-room table, books, papers and notes spread all over. He was keeping only half an ear on what they were jabbering about.
Xander was shaking his head in awed wonder. "An actual mightier-than-thou, rain-of-frogs, big-'Guh' God. You even have to use words like 'thou' and 'mightier'!" It was sinking in all over again and it wasn't sounding any better the second time.
Willow tried to be optimistic. "Well, you know what they say, the bigger they are—"
"The harder they smite you," finished Cordelia. She ignored everyone's looks as she took another bite of her cheese and cracker.
"She's right. I've thrown everything I've got at her and it just bounces off."
"Then we find something heavier to throw?" asked Xander.
Buffy shifted. "I'm open to suggestions."
"Have you got any God-sized anvils out back? We could hoist it wa-a-a-ay up and then drop it on her, like what happens to that coyote." Tara seemed very enthusiastic about the idea.
"Tara, dear, you have to stop watching Road-Runner cartoons with Xander," complained Willow. "And it's not the Road-Runner's fault Wile E. Coyote can't figure out the stuff he gets from ACME. Besides, he always bounces back in the next show anyways."
Buffy shouted over her shoulder at Giles. "Giles! Deal with these kids, they're driving me crazy!"
Giles head snapped up from the passage he was translating. "What? Oh. What was that?"
Buffy frowned. "Glory. Little me. Something heavier to throw at than?"
"Ah, right, yes." Giles scribbled one more note. He dropped his pencil and sat back, raising steepled fingers against his chin while organizing his thoughts. "From the Council's information, Glory and three compatriots ruled one of the more, hmm, unpleasant demon dimensions. To maintain such status there, for any length of time must imply untold abilities—"
"More than one?" asked Tara.
"What?"
"More than one dimension? I mean, besides this?" she clarified, spreading her arms to include the world around them.
"Oh. Ah, yes." Giles frowned. "Perhaps 'dimension' is poor terminology. 'Universes' might be better. Or perhaps 'realities'. There is evidence thousands, perhaps millions, of universes exist other than our own. Many are well isolated from us, others impinge on the edges of ours. For reasons obvious and not so obvious the inhabitants of some try to force openings and cross over into another."
"Einstein-Rosen bridges?" asked Willow.
"Perhaps," agreed Giles, "or close enough at any rate."
"And Glory burrowed like a worm into our little rotten apple universe? Lucky us," sourly commented Buffy. "But why this apple? She obviously doesn't like it here, why couldn't she have found another?"
"As I said, the reasons are not always obvious. She may not have chosen this universe, but rather forced to be here. Perhaps a falling out among peers?" He turned and fingered through some papers on the table. "There's nothing to indicate here, but anything is possible."
Buffy got up and paced, chin in her hand, "Okay, so Glory's from an else. Maybe this else is a one where she's not a god?"
Giles nodded. "Possible."
"But here she's a God and can't be killed." Buffy looked up, "What about other Godly powers? Bolts of lightning, big hammers, hellfire, omniscience? Aside from being really, really strong, her main deal seems to be..." Buffy shrugged, "phenomenal stupidity?"
Giles poured tea for himself. "Godhood can mean many things, the only common threads being immortality and vast, but not necessarily unlimited, power. How that power is manifested or employed...?" Giles shrugged again. "Her true form likely isn't humanoid. Perhaps in human form, being in this universe, with different dimensions and fundamental physical constants, severely limits her.
"For lack of a better human concept—one likely not applicable to her—rationality is not her strong suit, not as we perceive it. By our standards she's insane." Giles looked less and less happy as he went on. "From what I've gathered so far, she's only able to keep her mind intact by, uh, extracting human energy from us. F-from our brains, more specifically."
"Sh-she's a brain-sucker?" Willow and Tara exchanged very worried looks.
Giles pulled a slender volume from the pile. He took a sip of tea to wet his throat. "Some of the leads Travers provided are better than others. Here is a general thesis on mental energy and how it literally holds the human personality together and powers our rational thinking." He opened to a marked page and read. "Some spirits are a 'sink' of this energy that binds a human mind into a cohesive whole. Unlike humans, they must absorb those energies from others. Once drained, all that's left of the source is—"
"Crazy people?"
"It would explain the noticeable increase in the ranks of the mentally unstable in Sunnydale: She's feeding."
The others looked ill.
"Let's get back on point." Buffy pounded her fist into her other hand. "How does that help us? If I can't defeat Glory head-on, if she can't be killed, then we'll need something indirect."
Giles nodded. "Agreed. We can't kill her, but perhaps we can deflect her, keep her from her goal, including preventing her from such feeding on human mental energy. That might lead to a sort of ultimate self-destruction. Or at least she may be forced into exposing a weakness or even leaving our, uh, little apple." Giles' smile was thin.
"Her big bugaboo seems to be the Key. Dawn. Maybe I should take her and just run?"
Giles shook his head. "No, absolutely not! For whatever reason, she doesn't know Dawn is the Key, but believes you do. They must be watching you. Running would be a sure sign. No, I feel the best thing is for all of us," he looked at each of them to drive the point home, "to continue behaving as we are, that there is absolutely nothing special about Dawn. Let's not give them any cause to suspect her. In the meanwhile we continue to deflect and divert."
"Eventually we're going to have to figure out this Key business," rumbled Xander. "Why does she want it? If she had it, what would she do to Dawn?"
Tara tapped her knee. "The name is suggestive. Keys unlock things, open things. A door? A way from one place to another? Could an Einstein, umm..."
"Rosen," supplied Willow.
"Yeah. Can an Einstein-Rosen bridge be something to unlock?"
"Or there's a door to get to the bridge?" speculated Cordelia.
"Perhaps," said Giles. "We use words like 'bridge', 'wormhole', 'door', 'lock' and 'key' because those metaphors are the easiest way to speak of concepts that are quite indescribable except in the most intricate and arcane ways. But they cannot be wholly accurate. We must be very careful not to take them too literally."
They continued discussing various topics and picked up the threads of their research, hoping to find anything that could help.
to be continued
AN: For those who spotted the M*A*S*H homage, you're either old as dirt, watch too much TV, or both. (I'm both)
