Ichnobate
Part FiveThe overhead lights thudded rhythmically on. Seeing a dark figure at the switch, Andrew screamed and turned to run. He plowed into the closed door, bounced back and started scrabbling at the handle. Forgetting, in his panic, that the door opened out, he yanked, pulled and hollered in his efforts to escape. Sure steps echoed across the wooden floor, growing louder and louder. Andrew shrank from the noise. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
"Don't kill me, don't,” Andrew squeaked. “I can be evil again."
"You Uber-WEASEL!" Dawn yelped, appalled by this show of spinelessness.
The boy had the decency to look shamefaced as he glanced at her.
To his surprise, Dawn was standing in the middle of the room, glaring at him. She wasn't restrained and didn't appear to be hurt. Squeezing his eye to slits, Andrew turned timidly toward the stiff-shirted figure, holding his arm. His gaze traveled up and up until he was staring into the man's dark-skinned face.
"Tempted as I am," Principal Wood said, with the tiniest trace of mischief in his eyes. "We don't generally execute vandals."
"Vandals?"
"But…w-we're not," Dawn protested. "We were just…"
"Breaking and entering?"
"NO!” Dawn denied, vehemently. Wood raised a skeptical brow and she rolled her eyes. “Well, okay…technically…yes…but…"
"But you are going to have to explain this to the police…and your parents."
"No police," Andrew cried. He squirmed and flinched under Wood's sharp-eyed stare before adding, plaintively. "We're just kids.”
"Funny," Wood growled. "I don't recognize you. Do you go to St. Marks?"
"Right," Dawn jumped on the idea. "Exactly! He's Catholic and also…his parents are really, REALLY strict. And anyway…this is my fault…I made him come with me….’cause of my," she laughed nervously. "Youthful exuberance? Couldn't you just call Buffy and let her punish us?"
Wood, still holding on to Andrew's elbow, considered her for a long minute.
"Alright," he drawled, at last. "On one condition. You tell me what you are really doing here at this hour."
Andrew and Dawn exchanged a layered glance.
"We were just…uhm…" Dawn began.
"Looking for a place to make out," Andrew finished with mousy bravado.
Dawn made a gagging noise.
Wood had some difficulty holding back a smile. "Try again," he ordered.
"Uhm…we're part of an international spy ring on her Majesty's secret…"
Dawn sighed. "We were looking for a gym bag."
"A gym bag?" Wood said, surprised. "At this hour? Why not wait until school tomorrow?"
"Because…we needed it tonight…it has something in it…"
"My medication," Andrew remarked, winning a bright-eyed look from the girl.
Dawn nodded her agreement. "RIGHT! Right, his pills…see…I took his bag."
"And she hid it."
"Only I didn't know his pills were in it and…now…he needs them."
"Please, don't tell my parents," Andrew whined.
"They're really mean to him."
"Are we talking about an abusive situation?" Wood’s tone threatened immediate court intervention.
"NO! No," Andrew denied, hastily. "They never hit me or threaten evisceration or tie me to chairs or anything." Eyes tearing up a bit, he mumbled. "I guess…they just don't…don't like me very much."
"And they won't like him losing his medicine, either," Dawn inserted. "He told me it cost a lot of money."
"They'll make me work it off,” Andrew informed, pressing for sympathy. “Doing chores like…wax the dog…clip the car…or…or…you know…shave my sister."
Both Wood and Dawn turned to gape at the boy. Behind the Principal’s back, the girl glared fiercely and mouthed a few insults. But as soon as the older man turned to face her, she schooled her features into a deeply sympathetic expression.
"And it would be all my fault,” she said, her voice dripping with honey-sweetness.
Wood looked from one miscreant to the other.
"Fine," he sighed, at last. "Let's go get this mystery bag." He released Andrew and herded him gently toward Dawn. The boy scuttled across the room to clutch at the girl’s arm. The pair stood staring in wide-eyed confusion. Wood waved them to proceed. "Go on! Where did you put it?"
"Underground," Andrew chirped. Then, in response to Wood's narrow-eyed glance, he pointed at Dawn and stuttered, "S-she t-to-told me, that, though…that’s how I know."
---
"Why didn't you tell us there was another Watcher in Sunnydale?"
"I couldn't risk compromising him."
They were only a mile or two from the Sunnydale city limits and the former demon had been worrying at the same question since they left the rendezvous point outside Los Angeles.
"But we've been scrambling for information," Anya pressed. "Information he might have. Running all over the world…talking to mystic oracles…risking life and limb and…"
"True," Giles agreed.
"So, why won't you tell me who it is?" Anya asked for the umpteenth time.
"Because…"
"Because why?" She interrupted. "Don't you trust me? You don't," she answered, not waiting for his response. Her voice rose sharply. "I can see it in your eyes. You think…'Anya's an ex-demon with bad hair' and you don't want to tell me something important like the name of your secret agent. It's because you think I'm evil, isn't it?"
"What?" Giles frowned. "Nonsense. I already told you I don't know his name."
"So you say?" Anya pouted. "But that is exactly what you would say…to an evil ex-demon you were sure was going to betray you."
Giles slowed the car and gradually eased off onto the gravel shoulder. He shifted into park before lowering his forehead to the steering wheel. "Anya," he groaned. "I am not keeping things from you. Honestly, I don't know anything else. Only what I've told you."
He lifted his head and slid around in the seat to face her. "I only learned of his existence when I broke into the Council Chambers to steal the files on the First. There were documents referencing him and his notations about Buffy. Her file continued beyond my final entry. But I didn't have time to investigate further. I needed information and I needed it quickly. If I had known…had any idea that the Council would be…destroyed…" He broke off, the concept too much for him. "I don't know anything more. Not a name, not contact number. Not even if this agent is still alive."
Anya relaxed and reached out to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry, Rupert. I just thought…"
She looked down at the seat between them, slightly flushed by embarrassment.
Giles tilted his head, smiling tenderly at her as he said. "Nobody thinks you're evil."
Anya shrugged, slightly, not quite believing him. She didn't look up. "I've killed people. Recently…"
"And you let them live again. You put things right. You were contrite."
"I wasn't punished. Hallie died…not me…it should have been me."
Her tears fell softly. After a moment, Giles lifted one hand to brush her hair back. "See? Not evil." Very gently, he chucked her chin up with two curved fingers. "And," he added, softly when she blinked at him. "You have lovely hair."
Anya’s eyes lit with a startling brightness. "Really?" she sniffed.
"Really," Giles assured, with a boyish grin. "The color is extraordinary. It suits you."
"It's 'Roman Sunrise'," she informed him, smiling coyly. "It's not as harsh as 'Titian Holiday.' A deeper chestnut brown with just a teasing hint of red-gold highlights."
---
As Buffy ate the last forkful of her potatoes, Spike turned his wine glass this way and that, absently admiring the refracting colors in the crystal. The last half hour had passed in silence. The intimacy that had drawn the two warriors together was drawing to a close. Polite conversation had run out.
They had discussed food, the new training facility and the latest chosen girl. They had talked over possible defenses, repairs for the Summers' home and sources of help against or information concerning the First. They had fallen silent. Both had several provocative and impolite things left to say…but neither of them wanted to break the fragile peace.
Spike stared into the inch deep whirlpool of wine in the cup of his stemware. He seemed to be reading a bleak future in the swirls of Chablis. He'd been mesmerized for almost ten minutes. Buffy had counted off the seconds, watching him surreptitiously as she ate.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked, at last.
It was a completely feminine question. It made Spike’s groin ache.
"You," he thought, knowing if he looked up she would see it in his eyes. "Only you. Nights full of you. The scent, the sound, the taste…the way you squirmed under me. How you would wrap your legs around my back and draw me so deep inside, God so deep…warm and wet and… the way you sigh into release as you come…that look in your eyes that made me feel…loved and…and real…and…"
"Nothing," he sighed, setting his glass aside.
He offered her a small reassuring smile. Buffy reached for his hand and he moved unobtrusively away, standing to carry his plate to the sink. A pang of regret lanced into the Slayer's heart. She tried to tell herself his avoidance was coincidental.
"I'll do the dishes," she volunteered, following him to the kitchen. "You cooked."
Ignoring her offer, Spike turned the taps on full and squirted detergent into the sink. "I don't mind," he shrugged.
"But I do. You've done enough."
She was at his side, standing close, crowding him, as she took the sponge from his hands. Her fingers slithered through soapy water to linger in his palm. Spike jumped and Buffy's pulse quickened. The contact was sensual, delightful. It made her long for more. She could easily summon a mental picture of his naked body slick with foam, a hot shower beating down, steam rising, nothing between her skin and his but warm froth.
"I need that so very much," she thought. She tried to reach him telepathically. "I need you, baby, with me, close…touching… inside. Now, more than ever."
She opened her mouth to confess and, again, Spike avoided her. After giving up the sponge, he splashed out of the sink and moved away. He walked to the far end of the room to dry his hands. Thrown off balance, Buffy felt a flush of shame burn down her body.
"He acts like…like he doesn’t want to be near me."
She shot him a shy, sidelong glance. He was looking down the hallway. In her mind Buffy could hear him speaking. "I've learned a new definition of pain and suffering since I fell in love with you."
She wondered if he would ever understand why she had pushed him away.
"I should check on our clothes," he muttered, still turned toward the hall. "The sooner we can get out of here the better. If you're sure you're okay?" He let the question hang, hoping she would draw him back to her side with some excuse.
"Sure, I'm sure," Buffy chirped, with forced cheer, despite the nasty twist of pain in her gut. "You've seen my house, right? A dozen teenage girls, Andrew, Willow, Xander, Giles and you. The bathrooms, the kitchen…the all night pizza parties?" She gestured at the sink. "Two pans, two plates and two glasses. This is like some kind of vacation paradise."
Spike wasn't listening. Before she was finished speaking, he grunted some half-hearted agreement and hurried out of the room. He left Buffy standing alone, arms submerged to the elbows in dishwater. She washed. She dried. She convinced herself not to cry.
When he reached the laundry room, Spike closed the door and leaned against it. He let his head fall into his open hands. All of the stiffness drained from his body. He took several deep breaths and wrestling with loneliness. The hole in his heart was almost more than he could stand. He gulped in air, struggling not to weep. It was frightening how easily he cried these days, how often he felt helpless in the face of his restored emotions. He had forgotten the nuances of unworthiness a soul could provide.
He knew Buffy needed him to be strong, unselfish and supportive. But his desire for her was a constant torment and his soul harried him with guilt and shame for his obvious depravity.
"You have to move past this," he reminded himself. "She doesn't love you. Never did. She's only being friendly…helping you adjust. She never cared, never wanted it…or you! Never wanted darkness or pain! You know now, she was confused but she never wanted…any of it. She needed to…to feel…to forget…and I didn't care…still don't care…and that's…wrong…bad!"
He tried to hold on to the penitent thoughts but his heart betrayed him. It conjured up a vision of Buffy writhing naked on the bed in Anya's room. "Would it be so bad? Just once more? He could go easy…make her happy…cajole, sooth, kiss…convince her to…"
His soul answered with the memory of the Slayer's tear-streaked face as she confronted his monster.
Her voice was a lash—: "I could NEVER love you."
Spike's legs gave way and he slid to the floor. He huddled, back pressing into the door. Rocking slightly, both arms hugging his knees, he stared into space.
---
A dimensional portal opened in mid-air in the middle of a stark desert landscape. With a roar of overworked gears, a battered green jeep exited the insubstantial doorway and careened down a steep sand dune. The vehicle nearly capsized but the driver, a dark haired woman in orange, wrestled it into a long sideways slide. Reaching the bottom of the dune, the jeep sprayed a rooster plume of sand up as it raced off in an easterly direction.
"We need to find some higher ground," Faith yelled over the engine noise and the rush of the wind. She was driving recklessly with her foot to the floorboard, ignoring the blood welling up from a jagged wound in her leg. The sound of baying in the distance told her she was barely ahead of the pursuer. She glanced back and saw a dark stain of movement in the bright sky. “Damn, it’s still on us!”
“It will…will not…st-stop,” her demon companion wheezed. “Ick…Ichno-baah-taaay…” He gasped out the word and slumped down in the seat.
“Hey,” Faith took her hand off the gearshift for a moment to reach over and squeeze his shoulder. “Stay with me, big fella! We’re going to make it. Five-by-five.”
Kevin shook his head. The movement seemed to strengthen him. "Ichnobate," he repeated. "Nothing will save us. We can only run. It will not stop. It is the Fierce Tracker…one of the Hounds of Actæon. It has our scent and where we go, it will follow.”
“Bad Mother of a Puppy,” Faith growled, in partial agreement. She pointed the nose of the jeep for the distant mountains and geared up into second. “How soon before you can Starburst again?"
"We are weakening.”
The Slayer shot another worried glance at the Elpdoxiun. His blue skin had a sickly grayish cast and his droopy tentacles looked more like fluke worms than anything phallic.
"Come on," she urged. "You can do this. Just one more push. Get me as close as you can to Angel."
"Yes," Kevin nodded, "We will, of course, tr…LOOK OUT!"
The demon's scream and his terror stricken face were the only warnings Faith had. She didn't bother following his gaze. She didn't need to. She acted on instinct, twisting the steering wheel hard to the left just as the Hound leaped into their path. The jeep fishtailed, spinning on its axis, and Ichnobate struck. Teeth, insubstantial and deadly, like jagged pieces of deep space, closed just behind the vehicle's roll bar. Steel and cold iron tore away as easily as wet paper. Metal twisted, folding in on itself.
The jeep bucked and tilted drunkenly, spilling the Slayer and her companion out onto the ground. Faith rolled with the fall and found her feet. She scrambled for stability in the shifting sand. As she stood, her eyes sought and located her companion. Kevin was sprawled face down and unmoving in the shadow of the misshapen jeep.
Cursing, Faith dashed back into the danger zone to tug, frantically, at the Elpdoxiun's arm, pulling him away from the wreckage. Attracted by her movement, Ichnobate dropped the remains of their vehicle and turned its considerable, if trans-corporeal, bulk to face the mortal duo. Bottomless sockets full of lightning bolts scanned the area, settling at last on the Slayer. Faith fought down her panic. With one eye on the indistinct being that had reduced their only hope of flight into transdimensional goo, she released her hold on her demon companion and edged toward higher ground.
The Elpdoxiun stirred, struggling to sit up.
“Don’t move,” Faith ordered, between gritted teeth. "It’s right behind you.”
Kevin froze. His pupil-free eyes locked on the Slayer’s face. An understanding passed between them. “You will only have a second or two,” he said, softly. “I have no further strength.”
“Where?” Faith asked, accepting his sacrifice.
“A few meters to your left.”
“Angel?”
“Too far.”
"Tell me how to kill it."
The air molecules grated in protest as a door opened in the firmament. Slayer and Hound sprang as one. Kevin's voice seemed to follow Faith into the void.
"Make…it…Rrrreaahhh…lllll!"
---
Amy collapsed. She lay trembling, afraid to look up.
"They've escaped again, haven't they?" the Faux-Eve drawled.
The witch didn't respond for a moment. Then, stillness spilled over her. She nodded and spoke in a strangely echoing voice. "The Slayer is gone. A window opened. The lesser demon helping her is no more. But he has redirected her energy. I will find her. But it will take time. It is harder to hunt in the currents of dimensional space."
The First morphed. "Chasing your own tail aren't you, Rat Girl?"
Amy raised her head. Her eyes, dark as midnight and filled with zigzag flashes of light, stared through the thing in the shape of her dead mother. Her face was impassive, fearless. "The Hounds of Actæon can not be turned," she intoned. "We will run the prey from its feet. We will bring the Slayer girl down."
"See that you do," the First snapped.
---
Holding up a bottle of pills, Principal Wood read off the name on the prescription. "Jonathan Levinson?"
"Yep, that's me," Andrew nodded. "Jonathan!"
Wood frowned at Dawn. "Didn't you call him Andrew downstairs?"
The girl shook her head in quick denial just as Andrew chirped, "It's a nickname."
"His middle name," Dawn corrected herself before Andrew was finished speaking.
"It's my middle nickname," Andrew finished, decisively.
"I see," Wood nodded, looking from one overly innocent face to the other. He fished a bundle of keys out of his inner coat pocket and inserted one into his middle desk drawer. He turned the key, pulled open the drawer and rummaged with his free hand for a moment before excavating an address book. "So, you are Jonathan Andrew Levinson?" he inquired, rattling the pill bottle.
"Yeah?"
"And you're on antidepressants?"
"Uhm…yeah, well…see…I have…uhm…issues."
"He really does," Dawn managed, with complete sincerity.
Wood’s smile tightened. His sharp eyes considered both young people for a moment before he remarked, casually. "You realize this medication expired last month?"
"REALLY?" Andrew exclaimed. He edged forward, tilting his head to read the label. “Well…imagine? I’ll have to tell my…my doctor. It still seemed to work, though.”
As he spoke, Andrew’s gaze drifted down until he was staring into Wood’s open desk drawer. A naked, eight-inch long knife blade glittered on top of a file. The young man squeaked and took a long involuntary step backward. Wood followed the boy’s wide-eyed stare and, without making any comment, dropped a hand to slide the drawer gently closed.
“Are you going to call Buffy?” Andrew asked, suddenly. He wiggled his eyebrows at Dawn as he insisted. “I really think we should call Buffy, now.”
"There's no rush," the principal informed. He pulled the long wooden length of the Kortlec out of the bag. “And what is this?”
“It’s my…uhm…instrument.”
“He’s in Band," Dawn supplied, pantomiming her helplessness to the still wigging Andrew.
“Wind ensemble,” Andrew corrected, edging toward Dawn.
“St. Marks must be very progressive.”
Wood put the Kortlec to his mouth as if about to blow into it.
Andrew yelped. “NO!”
Wood lowered the instrument a fraction and frowned over it at the boy. “What's the matter?”
Andrew looked blank.
"Germs," Dawn supplied. "He has a phobia."
"Yeah, like Adrian Monk," Andrew nodded.
Wood considered the duo for a moment before coming to some inner decision. He put the Kortlec down and picked up the phone. He leafed through the address book for a moment and then read off a number, glancing across at Dawn for confirmation. "That's your home phone?"
"Yeah," Dawn nodded. She frowned, remembering nobody was home. "But you better call Buffy's cell."
---
"So, do you think Kennedy is okay?" Buffy asked, quickly, as Spike started to close the laundry room door in her face.
He had responded to her knock by handing her a stack of clean clothes through a sliver of space just wide enough for the pile. She hugged the bundled warmth to her chest and tried to draw him out of the room with her question.
"Her heartbeat was strong," he said, held by his lover's soulful expression. "She should be fine with a little rest."
"We should probably go," Buffy suggested, her eyes sliding toward the living room.
"Yeah," Spike agreed. "You get dressed. I'll be right there."
He clicked the door closed. Buffy started and then harrumphed. She whipped back around to glare at the inoffensive wooden portal, fighting down the urge to kick it in.
"What the hell is his problem?" she ranted, mentally. "I'm being as nice as I can…and he's just…so…ehhrrrrrgggh!"
Words failed her. She took a couple of deep breaths.
"He doesn't want you," she reminded. "He's got a soul now and he knows you used him and he thinks you want pain and…why is this even an issue? It's over…all over…I'm not in love with Spike…anymore…NO…I mean I never was…I'm not!"
Pride stinging, Buffy stalked to the living room. She dropped the stack of clothes, in an unceremonious heap in the center of the room. Ripping the fluffy dress over her head, she threw it to the floor. It fluttered insubstantially to rest, making no noise and offering little balm for her anger. She was leaning over to retrieve her underwear when Spike popped out of the hall. She blinked at his belt buckle.
"Gah," he said, backpedaling.
Still seething, the Slayer straightened, tossing her hair, provocatively. The vampire froze. He gulped but didn't look away. Instead, he stared, taking in the sleek expanse of Buffy nakedness, letting his gaze caress her. The tension bled out of his body and a small, knowing smile played over his lips.
Buffy sensed a warm, wet rush between her legs. She shifted to ease the tightness in her groin, feeling desirable, irresistible…and completely at ease with the concept. Her mind prepared her for the rush of him. For a second or two they were back at the beginning of it all…walls cracking, floorboards giving way, flesh penetrating flesh. Raw need flooded Spike's face. He took a step forward, and then another. Buffy braced for the impact.
And then…her cell phone merrily chimed out the melody to "Radar Love."
Spike jerked his head around to glare at the obnoxious bleeping sound. He bristled with jealousy, a possessive growl rumbling in his throat. The predator blazed in his eyes for an instant but faded quickly away. Spike seemed to collect his wits. Without glancing at Buffy again, he stepped coolly past her to retrieve the cell phone from the kitchen counter.
---
The warehouse phone rang and Xander went to answer. Kennedy stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and stared, blankly, into the face bent over her. Slowly, comprehension dawned. She struggled to sit up but Willow's gentle hands urged her back down flat.
"Lie still for a minute, okay? You had a bad knock."
"Okay."
"How are you feeling?"
"Sore, sick, pissed," Kennedy grimaced. "Did someone shoot the driver of that truck?"
"I think Buffy got him," Willow said, pushing strands of dark hair out of the girl's eyes. "You gave us a scare."
"Not that easy to kill," Kennedy shrugged. The effort made her dizzy.
"Like Buffy," Amanda said, from the doorway.
"It's a Slayer thing," Willow acknowledged.
Kennedy frowned. She turned her head and surveyed the potentials. "What happened to Buffy?"
"She took a nasty hit of venom but Spike got her to an antidote."
"She's still alive?"
Willow nodded. "He said she was fine. Not easy to kill."
The witch cut her glance toward the far side of the room where Xander was talking into the phone.
"Okay, if you're sure you don't need us," Xander was saying. He listened for a moment more and then said his goodbyes and rang off. After hanging up the phone, he wandered back over to the gathering of women.
"Was that Buffy?" Willow asked. "She's okay?"
"Peachy, apparently," Xander nodded. "But Dawn and Jonathan are in big trouble. Principal Wood caught them breaking into the gymnasium."
"He caught Jonathan?"
"Rumors of his death may be grossly exaggerated."
"Or it's the First!"
Xander nodded. "Buffy thinks it's a trap but she can't get Dawn at the house. So she's going to the school. Do we want to go, too?"
Willow glanced at Kennedy. "I should stay here. We don't want to leave the girls unprotected. You could take Amanda or Cleo with you."
There was a crunch of gravel and a pair of headlight beams swept across the building. The group tensed for attack as the dark sedan coasted to a stop but relaxed again as it disgorged Giles and Anya.
"Giles? Ahn?" Xander grinned a welcome. He crossed the training area, craning his neck to see past the pair. "Do you bring dark-haired, fiery-eyed reinforcements?"
"No Faith," Anya grimaced. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"Where's Buffy?"
"Picking up Dawn from school or walking into a trap depending on your point of view."
"Xander please speak English."
"Sorry, it's been a fun evening," Xander shrugged. "Buffy just called to tell us she's on her way to the High School. Principal Wood caught Dawn breaking and entering. The interesting thing is he also caught Jonathan."
"What?" Giles frowned. "The dead Jonathan?"
"We're thinking the First," Willow supplied, coming up behind Xander. "But no idea why Dawn wouldn't out it to the Principal…"
"Unless she's not really there at all," Xander finished.
"Buffy may be walking into a trap?"
Giles exchanged a glance with Xander and Willow. "Right," he nodded. "I'll go to the school. Anya? Can you fill everyone in on the…"
The former demon placed a soft hand on Giles arm, causing him to break off and blink at her. She lowered her voice to an intimate whisper. "Rupert, it may not be wise to go after Buffy. We don't know what happened to Faith…that thing could be waiting, whatever it is…"
The watcher covered her small hand with his own. He looked into her eyes. "I know," he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "But I have to go. Whatever attacked Faith it isn't incorporeal. We have to warn Buffy about this new danger. You and Willow start the locator spell and find that Watcher. I'll be fine…even if it is a trap we are ready for it."
Anya nodded her understanding and let go of the man's arm. Giles headed for his car. Xander glared in impotent fury as his ex-fiancée stared dreamily after the departing man. Before the former Watcher's car had pulled out of the parking lot, Xander was striding purposefully toward Anya.
Without slacking his pace, the dark-haired man, took her by the elbow and hustled her into a small side room. Anya protested loudly. She squirmed and squeaked and pummeled her captor with her free hand. Xander took no notice of her efforts. Slamming the door closed behind them, he whipped his ex around to face his accusing stare.
"Did you sleep with him?"
"What? Ow! Let go!"
Anya struggled to be free, twisting in his grasp.
Xander increased the pressure on her arm, yanking her into his body and shaking her slightly. "Tell me the truth, Anya. Did you have sex with Giles?"
"That's none of your business, Harris," she hissed.
"Oh, it is so much my business," Xander corrected, letting her go with a small shove. "This isn't some kind of game. Giles is my friend."
"And what are you saying?" Anya flared, stepping toward him in unbridled fury. "That I'm not good enough to sleep with your friends?"
"I'm saying—You want to date other people, fine," Xander snapped. "But," he cautioned, admonishing her with a finger and then drawing a large circle with his hand. "Make it OTHER people."
He ticked off names with his fingers. "Not Giles, not Andrew, not Spike. Just like for me it's not Willow, not Buffy and not Dawn. We keep this outside the family." He stabbed her with a look. "Do you understand?"
"Like you wouldn't date Buffy," Anya huffed. "If she'd give you the time of day."
"Buffy is my friend," Xander said, evenly. "Just like Willow…I would NEVER compromise that. It would be wrong."
Anya looked into his frank and unflinching gaze. She didn't want to believe him. But he seemed sincere. After a moment, she looked at the floor and muttered. "We didn't have sex, okay?"
"You didn't?"
"No," she huffed, glaring up at him, again. "Not that it's any of your concern. You don't want me and I can sleep with whomever I please."
"But you didn't sleep with Giles?" Xander pressed.
She shrugged one shoulder and looked into the middle distance. "No," she conceded. "Giles was…he was just…nice to me. Sweet and understanding. Like a friend."
Xander felt the hand crushing his heart loosen a fraction. "Oh," he breathed. His hostile stance shifted to one of embarrassment.
"But he IS cute," Anya remarked, as if seriously considering the notion now that someone had brought it up. "And sexy." She was thrilled to see the jealous spark return immediately to Xander's eyes. "In a repressed British sort of way."
"Buffy is cute, too," Xander reminded. "But that doesn't lessen the ick factor. Some things are just wrong."
A bout of self-pity stole the ex-demon's playful mood away.
"Anyway," she sighed. "You don't have to worry about me having sex with Rupert. Or anyone else as it turns out."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means nobody is interested in fat, homely, ex-demons…even if they do have stunningly attractive hair."
"Fat?"
"Huge, gargantuan, grotesque," Anya sulked.
"Well, she sounds pretty bad but what does she have to do with you? Is this one of those old world, 'Whoops you have to marry my ugly sister first' arrangements? Because if it is…I think you might have mentioned it before our original engagement."
"You don't need to pretend anymore, Harris," Anya pouted. "I know why you broke up with me. I'm not a cute demon girl. I'm a has-been. Washed up and fading fast. Once I became human time started taking its toll. It was all downhill."
"Yeah, you're really slipping," Xander humored, a perplexed look on his face.
"I don't blame you for leaving me at the altar," Anya said. Then she immediately reconsidered. "Well, no, that's not true. I do still blame you. But I understand why you did it."
"Because I'm a coward and a fool?"
"No, It's the same reason nobody will have sex with me. I'm a pariah. Completely unappealing…"
"What? No, you're beautiful."
"…I am disgusting to look at and utterly disagreeable besides and…what?"
"You heard me," Xander insisted. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're beautiful and sexy and you light up every miserable corner of my dreary little life. I left you because…I was scared. Okay? I admit it. I thought I would ruin you, make you sad and bitter and we would end up like my parents. And I ran away and then I didn't know how to tell you…"
"Are you saying you would have sex with me?" Anya interrupted. "I mean…if I didn't still hate you?"
"In a second. In a heartbeat," Xander assured. "I never should have let you go. I was a jerk, a bonehead…a complete macaroon. I am crazy about you. I mean, I know you want to move on but I…I…gahurrrphhmmmmm…"
He surrendered to Anya's wild embrace. Tilting his head to deepen the kiss, Xander folded the woman he loved in his arms and vowed silently to marry her before Giles and the rest of Sunnydale's male population figured out what they were missing.
---
"Ah, Miss Summers!" Stepping out from behind his desk, Wood greeted the Slayer. "And?"
"Spike!" Andrew yelped, surging forward his eyes full of hero worship.
"Spike?"
"William, actually," Spike said, extending a hand to the Principal.
"Another nickname?" Wood muttered. "No one is who they seem to be tonight. And what is your interest in this…Mr.?"
"Levinson," Dawn chirped. "Mr. William Levinson."
"He's my," Andrew began and paused, considering and discarding fictional relationships…father…uncle…lover. His eyes filmed over dreamily and Dawn cleared her throat, bringing him back to earth with a thud. "…Brother." He finished, with a wistful sigh.
"Yeah, tha's right," Spike agreed, giving Andrew an ill-tempered look. "I'm his brother. I come to give the little Blighter what-for, see? Sneaking out of the house, worrying us half to death…"
"But…you're English?"
"They're a very dysfunctional family," Buffy inserted, brushing aside the question of Spike's accent. She stepped between the vampire and Wood to address her sister. "Now, somebody tell me what's going on?"
"Jonathan," Dawn stressed the name as she nodded at Andrew, "and I were just trying to get his gym bag back and we kind of got caught breaking into the school."
"Didn't check for an alarm like I taught…" Spike began and then coughed, shifting slightly, and glared at the girl. "I mean…you set off an alarm I suppose and…"
"Actually, they didn't," Wood said. He turned glittering, amused eyes on the Slayer. "I happened to be there myself…waiting. It was a coincidence, really. I was expecting someone else when your sister arrived. But now that we are all here, there's something I need to show you. Something that will explain a few things."
As he spoke, the principal walked behind his desk again and surreptitiously dropped one hand out of view. He eased the middle drawer open, his eyes never leaving Buffy's face.
Andrew caught the movement and shouted a warning.
"HE'S GOT A KNIFE!"
Buffy and Spike moved in seamless unison to take the man down. The vampire vaulted the desk and the Slayer circled it. They pounced on their prey from both sides. Spike slammed into the man's left shoulder and Buffy twisted the principal's right arm behind his back. As Wood staggered backward, his desk drawer pulled free, spilling its contents out on the floor. Wood dropped the handle when Spike grabbed for his arm. The two males wrestled for a minute before Buffy threw her slight weight against the principal's shoulder and used her supernatural strength to shove him face first into his desk blotter. He struggled for a second or two more. The Slayer yanked his arm up until he yelped and stopped fighting.
"Buffy?" Spike spoke softly. Inclining his chin, he drew her attention to the scattered paraphernalia from the drawer.
The knife blade glittered among pens, pencils and papers. But what had arrested the vampire's attention was a file folder. The bright yellow cover had popped open to reveal photos of the Slayer, Willow and Dawn. They were candid shots taken with a telephoto lens. Without breaking his hold on Wood, Spike used the toe of his boot to shuffle the photos, exposing more pictures of Buffy and her crew.
"You've been spying on me," Buffy growled, leaning into the man's arm until his shoulder cracked. "Who are you?"
"Robin Wood."
"Do you work for the First?"
"No," Wood replied, his voice somewhat muffled by his position. "I work for you."
Buffy eased back giving the man a little room to breath. She frowned at this unexpected ploy, exchanging a puzzled glance with Spike.
"What do you mean, you work for me?"
Ignoring the pain, Wood, gingerly turned his head to look at up at the young woman threatening to dislocate his shoulder. "I'm your Watcher," he said.