A vision strolled with nonchalant grace into the library, all pale hair and golden skin, her lush body draped in an absurdly-patterned lavender and blue dress. A tiny embroidered sweater covered her tanned shoulders and a matching purple coat was dangling from her arms. Perfectly-manicured fingers, their tips a deep shade of silver, were wrapped around the handles of an utterly impractical pocketbook. Every long finger had a ring on it, so her hands glittered to rich, metallic effect.

Mr. Giles glanced up from his book, his sullen expression fading as the young woman flashed him a warm smile. With an uncharacteristically affectionate smile, he straightened in his chair, self-consciously clearing his throat.

"Good morning, Buffy."

She replied in kind and then sent me a wary glance. I smiled with what I hoped was professional reassurance, but it disappeared when she fixed me with a chilled gaze. I couldn't suppress a shiver of foreboding.

Yes, she was formidable indeed, despite her tender years and extraordinary beauty. Travers had commented with off-handed indifference that the Slayer was a pretty girl. Pretty girl. There was nothing about her that claimed the insipid title of pretty. With the face of an angel and the body of, well, I shouldn't entertain those kind of thoughts, Buffy Summers was incomparably lovely.

Nor was she stupid. "New watcher?" she asked Mr. Giles, her startling green eyes never straying from my face.

I could see the back of the dismissed Watcher's head as he tilted it to one side, his voice softly answering in the affirmative. A stab of irritation hit me as I could only imagine the expression that must've passed between them. Devotion and sorrow warred for dominance on the young Slayer's face.

My job was not going to be easy, if first impressions were any indication.

I skirted the edge of the research table, holding my hand out to Buffy. I told her my name, Wesley Wyndam-Price, and waited for her to dredge up some manners.

She looked at my hand as if it were a writhing snake, then turned and slid up onto the table, pressing right up against Mr. Giles. I noticed peevishly that he made no effort to move away from her. She was practically sitting on his lap, her thigh all but draped over his, her shoulder tucked against his arm.

All very cozy indeed.

I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on the legs of my wool trousers, my irritation growing as she ignored me utterly. She leaned in closer, if that were humanly possible, to the ex-Watcher, her eyes searching out his gaze.

"Is he evil?"

I was affronted. "Evil?" Evil?!

She gave me a pitying look. "The last one was evil."

Ahh, the misguided Mrs. Post. I explained to the young woman that her former Watcher had very thoroughly checked into my background and found it satisfactory, much to what I assumed was his dismay. I was pleasantly surprised by her concern. With a smile that I could feel was exceedingly smug, I leaned towards her, saying, "A good Slayer is a cautious Slayer."

She appeared completely unimpressed with my wisdom. Without taking her eyes off of me, a bored expression glimmering deep within the mesmerizing green depths, she aimed her question towards Mr. Giles once more. "Is he evil?"

Mr. Giles sighed, giving the forward young woman a quelling stare. "Not in the strictest sense."

I stepped away, quite taken aback by her blatantly hostile tone. "Well, I'm glad that's cleared up."

As I walked back to where my boxes of books were sitting, I glanced back at the couple. It was impossible to miss the bond that flowed between them, even though I couldn't see their faces from my vantage point.

I was surprised by the swift hurt that Buffy's rejection caused in me. I had so hoped to be able to form a connection with my first Slayer, much as Rupert Giles has managed and continued to enjoy, to the alarm of the Council.

I must admit, my hurt took the form of anger, cloaked in condescension, my stock protection device. I fired questions at the young woman about her hunt last night. She had to be prodded by Mr. Giles to cooperate and finally she did, with a childish roll of the eyes. Her soft voice, strangely seductive for a girl of such inexperience, was petulant.

She described her battle with El Eliminati, and I, excited by the prospect of such a challenging villain, turned to my books. As I searched for the reference, I could hear them speaking in whispers, the words lost to me. I was growing ever more angered, more at Rupert Giles than at the Slayer.

"One long, one short?" I asked as I found the appropriate page in the text I was holding.

"Mmm, both pointy." She turned to Mr. Giles and leaned into his arm. "With, like, jewels and things."

The other Watcher nodded, his handsome face creased in thought. "Sounds familiar."

Eager for the opportunity to prove my superior knowledge in this matter, I brought the book to where they were sitting. As I explained the 15th century cult, thought to be exterminated, I noticed Miss Summers' eyes glazing over in boredom. Fury at her insolence bubbled in my throat and I couldn't prevent the arrogance that colored my voice.

"Buffy, you will go to the Gleaves family crypt tonight and fetch the amulet," I announced, slamming shut the book with an air of finality.

She looked at me, disbelief heavy in her jade-colored eyes. She glanced at Mr. Giles, who, wisely, was keeping his own council.

"I will?" she asked in a voice that seemed at once shocked and angered that I would dare be so bold as to give her instruction.

"Are you not used to being given orders?" I asked, staring down the girl with my haughtiest expression. She, of course, couldn't have cared less.

"Whenever Giles sends me on a mission, he always says 'please'. And, afterwards, I get a cookie," she said playfully, giving Mr. Giles a brilliant smile. He cast his eyes down and smiled in turn.

Somehow, I felt as if I was intruding on a private conversation and I wondered anew at the Council's assertion that Rupert Giles and Buffy Summers were more than Watcher and Slayer. Physically, they acted with less than perfect decorum, and the teasing words and intimate glances were making a case for the Council. If that organization's belief was true, well, I didn't want to think about the ramifications should the Council find out.

I hated this and I wanted to find a way to rectify the ever-widening breach between myself and the Slayer. I took a step forward, words of apology on my lips, but they died as the library doors opened and another young woman walked in. My eyes widened in surprise. Good Lord, were all Slayers so, well, tempting?

This one was just as the Council had described her, slender and muscled, with a tumble of sable-dark hair and plump, crimson lips. If Buffy were dressed with fashion in mind, this young woman looked little better than a streetwalker.

But, I was desperate for acceptance from at least one of the Slayers. I plastered a smile that I knew wasn't reaching my eyes and took a step forward. "Ah, this is perhaps Faith?"

The disdain in her big, dark eyes was soul-crushing. "New Watcher?" she asked of Mr. Giles and Buffy in a thick accent that I couldn't have begun to place.

They nodded in unison. "New Watcher," they answered together.

The other Slayer, Faith, snorted indelicately. "Screw that."

Without another word, she turned and strode out the way she had come.

Buffy affected a perfectly fetching, and perfectly infuriating, pout and turned to Mr. Giles while I stared at the swinging doors with something akin to amazement. "Now, why didn't I just say that?"

Giles nudged her out with a soft murmur and a look. Buffy groaned and slid off the table. Picking up her coat and purse, she walked towards the still-swaying doors. She smirked at me as she passed. "Don't say anything terribly interesting while I'm gone," she said in a voice that was confident that nothing of the sort would happen in her absence.

I took a deep breath as she left, my mind nearly overloaded with the events of the past few minutes. Fumbling in my pocket, I retrieved my handkerchief. Slipping my glasses off, I began to clean the spotless lenses with the cotton square, the activity calming my rapidly-beating heart.

"They'll get used to me," I said as much to myself as to the man sitting on the table behind me. I tried to believe it. I had to believe it. The fate of the world rested on my being able to achieve a mutually beneficial relationship with the Slayers.

Especially Buffy. Her reputation had preceded her and it was not good. It didn't take a genius to see that, of the two, she was the more powerful, the one most likely to win in battle. Her glamorous exterior and girlish beauty were merely a façade, a part of her "public" persona, masking an aura of danger that emanated from her like a ray of blinding light. Vampires must find her almost irresistible, drawn to that power like a moth to a flame.

At least one vampire had found her charms fatally attractive. The Council had been horrified to learn that the vampire Angel was back from his exile to Hell and once more in the Slayer's arms. A night in those arms, if that rumor was to be believed, had led to the release of Angelus, a demon with an unparalleled appetite for destruction. She had been nearly unable to defeat him, at the cost of countless lives. The Council found that lapse in her duty almost unforgivable. Travers had very nearly ordered her death after word of Angelus' return had reached him. As it was, her wretchedly botched Cruciamentum had almost taken care of the job for him. Buffy would need to be on her guard and ever-vigilant that she didn't stray from the path the council had set for her, for fear of life.

Hence, my posting as the new Watcher of Buffy Summers. She had strayed from the righteous path of the Chosen One and it was my duty to guide her back onto that path. And, I would complete my task, if it meant separating her forever from every person that distracted her from her true purpose.

As I returned to my books and Mr. Giles hid in his office, I wondered if perhaps the unruly Faith would be a better candidate for the Council's reeducation.

I had my work cut out for me.

 

The End

 

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