Little Bitty Puzzle Pieces

By PJzallday

Retreat

Willow had convinced Buffy to accompany her back to England provided she didn't have to sit anywhere near Giles or any Slayers who might be returning with him. But Dawn didn't share Buffy's distain for the man nor did they feel the same way about Angel's death. In spite of the sympathy her sister had shown, Buffy was aware that the teen disliked Angel — she had long before Buffy and the vampire had re-established their relationship — and suspected Dawn was relieved that he was gone. Throughout the flight, the younger woman constantly moved back and forth between her sister and her mentor, aggravating the senior Summers and making it impossible for her to rest. By the time the plane touched down at Heathrow Airport, Buffy was exhausted.

"We'll catch the Express to Paddington Station," Willow said as they collected their bags. "Want me to get you a souvenir bear?" she asked, gleefully doing a little dance.

"Huh?"

"Never mind." The witch frowned. "It'll be a little over an hour after that on the train to Westbury. I'll call ahead when we're on board to have someone pick us up. OK?"

"Sure. Whatever," Buffy yawned. "Dawn, are you sure you'll be OK if I go with Willow?"

Her sister smiled compassionately. "Of course. Are you sure you don't mind me staying with- um… staying in the city?"

Buffy wasn't thrilled by her sister's desire to spend the bulk of her time in England with the man she saw as responsible for the death of her beloved Angel. She knew Dawn wanted to continue with her Watcher training and that the Council office was where Dawn yearned to be, so the fair-haired sister tried to put aside her own misgivings and mistrust of the organization. "You go ahead. Have a good time." She gave her sister a hug. "Merry Christmas."

Then the younger girl hurried off to join the rest of the group shuttling to the Council flats. Turning several dozen meters away, she gave a final wave then was lost in the crowd.

"Are you ready to go?" Willow asked.

***

John had arrived home from his Oregon trip tired, dejected and fully intent on doing as Alex Harris had advised: getting on with his life and forgetting about "Spike". It wasn't an easy task; he spent much of his day-light hours lying awake, not wanting to sleep lest he should dream. Nights were harder. Alone, in the shadows of the lot, his mind wandered. The attendant was now all too aware that demons roamed the Earth and likely his Santa Barbara streets were not without those dangers. Every time he approached someone on his rounds, he feared coming face-to-fang with a vampire. When the person turned out to be someone who'd worked late or was sneaking home in the wee hours from a date, or some poor home-less soul just looking for a safe place to sleep, he felt a great sense of relief and made a mental note to seriously consider finding a new job in the coming year.

John wondered how he'd managed to be so lucky as to never have confronted a genuine creature-of-the-night then it hit him: he almost had! That couple he'd caught snogging on the lot months earlier: the woman who mysteriously disappeared must have been a vampire! She hadn't been kissing the bloke's neck; she'd been feeding from him. Blood-loss would explain that guy's dizziness. The girl that rescued him must have been a Slayer.

Back at his booth, John grabbed his duffle, pulled out the notebook and jotted down his memories of that night. "So it wasn't the girl," he remarked of his recognition, "it was the situation." How many times had he found himself up against some young Slayer? How many had he killed? Harris said Spike had been a vampire for more than one hundred years. He must have killed a lot of people: killed to feed; killed to survive; killed for fun. The man swallowed hard as the sick sense of bile rose up in his throat.

But Harris said in the end, Spike wasn't an evil creature: he had helped to save the world; he had a soul. "Sod it!" Why hadn't John asked more about the soul? How does a vampire go about getting one? Why on earth would a vampire want a soul? Perhaps it hadn't been his choice. Had the soul, like the government computer chip, been forced upon him? "What kinda mug does 'e take me for? What a lot of codswallop! Me: a vampire with a soul saving the world." Exasperated, John stuffed the notebook back into his bag then stepped out to clear his head with some fresh air and a brisk patrol.

***

A fatigued and grumpy Giles stomped into the Council's main offices. The trip had been emotionally taxing on the man, who'd been driven even further from Buffy and from other potential allies in the relatively short time he'd been abroad. With over-extended funds and now likely more limited contacts on which he could depend, the new Watchers' Council Chief was quickly reaching the end of his tether.

As he turned down the hall to his office, Andrew appeared from the photocopy-room. "Welcome back, Mr. Giles," his assistant greeted politely as he stepped in front of a trolley full of copies, blocking them from the other man's view. "Did you have good trip?"

"It was fine. The Slayers were successful," he grumbled in reply, hardly acknowledging the young man who followed to his office. Dropping onto his desk chair, Giles stared at the stack of documents in his in-box. With a heavy exhale, he shook his head and removed his glasses.

"Oh, Mr. Giles, leave those," Andrew insisted as he rushed in and scooped up the stack. "I'll go through them again and sort them for you. You really should go home and get some rest. Take the rest of the week off. It's Christmas after all."

The Watcher sighed heavily and looked to his assistant. "Is there anything pressing?"

"Well, um…" Andrew was nervous; he knew the stack contained several reports from Slayer coordinators and reconnaissance teams around the world but there wasn't anything the older man would be able to do. "Nothing that can't wait until Monday."

Giles had arrived discouraged and didn't require a great deal of coaxing to collect his bags and go home. "Right then. I'm off."

"Um… Mr. Giles?"

Stopping half way down the hall, the tall man huffed and turned. "What is it Andrew?"

"Would you like to come to my place for Christmas dinner?" he asked. "It won't be anything special, but…"

Giles smiled and nodded. "Thanks lad."

***

"It's only a small room," cautioned Beatrice, a member of the Coven who'd met the travelers at the gate. After opening the creaky wooden door and switching on the light, she stepped aside encouraging the visitor to enter.

"The guest rooms all are. Even the residents' quarters aren't much bigger," Willow explained.

"This is great," Buffy assured feebly. "It's got a bed and that's pretty much all I need except…"

"W.C. is on the right at the end of the hall," the greying witch noted, gesturing with one hand to indicate the direction as she strode into the room to set Buffy's carry-on bag atop the low chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. "And the shower room is on the left."

"W.C.?"

Willow grinned. "You'll figure it out."

"Is there anything else you need?" Bea inquired gently.

Buffy shook her head.

"If you think of anything, there are many people about to help."

"Oh yeah Buffy. Everyone here is terrific. So don't be shy," insisted Willow.

As the other two women left, Buffy closed the door. Leaning her back against it, she scanned her temporary quarters.

The room was, as the witches had noted, tiny: only about seven feet wide and ten feet deep. Against one wall at the far end of the room stood a narrow iron-framed bed dressed in a fluffy duvet. Beside it and below the room's small leaded glass window, was a fragile looking wooden table with a reading lamp and a single drawer. On the long wall opposite the bed was a sink above which hung a weathered mirror and a small shelf. Just inside the door was an old painted armoire which Buffy opened and found several metal hangers, a woolly blanket that looked to be the ichiest thing she'd ever seen, and a little bundle of towels.

Buffy pulled out the smaller towel and a facecloth then went to get her toiletry bag from her suitcase before going to the sink. Staring blindly into the scratched mirror, Buffy brushed her teeth, washed her face, and stroked her hair a few times with a brush. She stripped off her clothes and pulled on some warm pajamas and a sweatshirt. Casually, she flipped off the light then felt her way through the shadowy room to the bed into which she climbed. Snuggling down under the feather bedding, Buffy closed her eyes. Exhausted, she drifted off to sleep.

***

When the lot attendant returned to his little home, he found another basket of goodies on his doorstep along with a note inviting him to Christmas dinner: "We'll eat early. Mr. Clement can't have a heavy meal late."

John had meant to buy gifts for his landlords, he just hadn't yet had the motivation. After a nap, a quick shower and some sticky buns and tea, John set off to get the last minute gifts for the people in his life.

Though it was still early in the day, the mall was already crowded with cranky holiday shoppers. As people pushed and grabbed and grumbled their way through the shops, John wished he'd picked up some suitable souvenirs when he'd been in Oregon so he could have avoided the chaos. After a few stops, he relaxed a little, having found gifts for two of the three people on his list: a wooden box of special teas for his landlady and a golfing book for her husband. It wasn't much but he hoped they'd like the gifts. For Jude, he struggled more. She'd been so good to him and now he thought maybe… Maybe he was ready to see her as more than just a friend. Pondering an appropriate gift, he was drawn to the window of a women's clothing store in which stood a mannequin in a white turtle-necked sweater. "That's it," he decided before going inside the shop.

The sweater proved more expensive than he thought, but John figured he could forgo some beer and whatnot over in the coming weeks. It was for Jude; she deserved something extra special after all she'd done for him over the better part of the past year.

***

"Carrie, what the hell are you doing?" a blond teen growled as she grabbed the other girl's arm.

"Steph," the leather-jacketed brunette sneered, shaking off the blonde's hand. "What's it to you?"

"Bullying kids at school? Stealing? That's not what we're supposed to be doing," Stephanie insisted as the other younger girl rolled her eyes. Trying to keep her voice low even amongst the noise of the crowd, she stated, "You're a Slayer! You're supposed to be keeping a low profile and harassing demons, not senior citizens."

"Yeah, whatever." Carrie turned to walk away. "I do what I-" The sight of a familiar face standing at the gift wrapping counter stopped her dead in her tracks. "Shit!"

"What is it?" the blonde asked glancing around on alert. "Mall security?"

"That guy." The other girl nodded in the man's direction. "Pale guy with the cheekbones."

Stephanie followed the other Slayer's sight line. "Shit!"

"What?"

"We gotta get out of here," she urged as she nudged the other girl.

Carrie was confused. "Hey, I know I gotta get outta here. But why do you?"

***

They were staring at him. Two of them: the little thief that had run into him at the convenience store and the Slayer he'd met on the lot that one night. Staring! Inexplicably, John felt the urge to run. Pivoting on his heel, the man searched for the nearest exit.

"Sir? Sir!"

As a hand reached out to touch his arm, he jumped and spun back around with terror-filled wide eyes.

"Sorry. Um…" The wrapper half-smiled, holding up two brightly coloured cards. "Did you want a gift tag with that?"

With a nervous shake of his head, John snatched the package then made a quick escape.

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