FIC: Segue 7a/?, Enemy of My Enemy (C/X)
Title: Segue
Summary: Who's really on your side?
Spoilers: BtVS: Checkpoint, BtVS Blood Ties
AN: Not dead, but mailed in this one.
Part 7a, Enemy of My Enemy
"Giles!"
After deboarding the puddle-jumper flight from LAX Giles was surprised to hear his name being called. It was Buffy, with Xander and Cordelia beside her, waiting inside the small Sunnydale Municipal Air Terminal. It was such an unexpected surprise he remained rooted as Buffy rushed forward to give him a big but gentle hug. As equally surprising to him he could not stop himself from hugging back, a small smile playing across his care-worn features.
"Welcome home, Ramblin' Man!" cheered Xander coming up behind Buffy, reaching around Buffy to shake Giles' hand.
"Hello, Giles," Cordelia said more formally, though in her own way she looked just as please to see him. "It's good to have you back."
Giles had an epiphany as he looked from face to face among these three brave people: this strange dangerous piece of California, with these young kids and their abuse of the English language, indeed felt more like 'home' than the England he was raised in and just returned from. Despite the burden of his news he felt much better being back on 'home turf'.
They peppered him with questions while collecting his luggage. Aside from answering light pleasantries he did his best to evade more serious business, which he wanted to save for later. He had spent the entire flight trying to determine how best to present the news and still had yet to formulate anything satisfactory.
Cordelia brought the matter to a head with a direct question. "Did you learn anything, Giles?"
That was the real question Buffy wanted answered, nodding emphatically and looking expectantly at Giles.
No more evasions, glumly thought Giles. "Err, yes, I did." But he could defer. "And I will explain. Fully. Later, when we're all together." They could see he was quite firm so they desisted.
Giles let himself be surrounded by the return of general babble, mostly from Xander, but Buffy and Cordelia as well. Grateful to drop plans to hail a taxi, Giles followed them out to Xander's waiting car. "Where's Willow and Tara?"
"Mid-terms," Buffy answered as they piled in.
"Dawn?"
"In school. And no, she still knows nothing."
Giles nodded, letting his head fall back on the seat as Xander maneuvered his way out of short-term parking. Now that others were taking care of his luggage and transportation for the final leg of this journey he was overcome by a leaden tiredness, wanting nothing more than a few hours sleep before delivering the news.
After dropping off Giles and then Buffy, Xander and Cordelia were quiet for several minutes as he drove back to their apartment.
"Whatcha think?" finally asked Xander, fingers tapping on the wheel, looking sideways at Cordelia while they waited at a red light.
She shook her head, taking long moments before answering. Xander waited patiently, entering the intersection when the light turned. "Hard to tell. I know it was a long trip, but if he had something good I'd think he would have said it." She turned to look at Xander's profile. "You?"
Xander nodded. "The same. Our inscrutable Mr. Giles is playing it close to the vest. Very, very close."
---
After Giles had managed a few hours of much needed sleep, he arrived at Buffy's house that evening and followed her into the living room. The evening was quite chilly and Buffy had the gas fireplace going, as much for psychological warmth and cheeriness as for real heating purposes.
The gang, arriving shortly before himself, were still arranging themselves on various chairs, the ottoman, sofa, or just splayed out on the rug. He frowned with worry and concern despite an effort to put on a calm and optimistic facade for them. He really wanted to have a stiff scotch first, but that wouldn't have conveyed the right outlook.
As people shuffled about, Buffy quickly tried to neaten a few more things. Willow impatiently grabbed her to make her stop. "Don't worry about it, Buffy. We're family too."
"Yeah," added Tara.
Buffy readily gave up and just stood, fidgeting.
"There's family," Cordelia said, squirming and reaching behind her to extricate the soft lump prodding into her back, finally holding out a large ugly sweatshirt, rather worse for wear, "and then there's 'family'. I don't want to know which one of you this belongs to or where it's been."
Buffy yanked it away. "It's Riley's," she mumbled as she stepped back, blinking rapidly while she wrangled it in her hands.
Giles sat down in the large stuffed leather chair kept open for him at the head of the group and crossed his legs, resting his elbows on the chair arms and steepling his fingers together. He pursed his lips in thought before speaking.
"It's Masterpiece Theatre time!" Xander did hand-trumpet noises in a vague rendition of the show's opening theme. "We welcome His Royal Tweed back to these far flung colonies to inform us ignorant yokels of the latest news of civil-eye-zation from ye' old country."
"Knock it off, Xander," snapped Buffy after she had tossed the sweatshirt into a corner. She stood with hands on hips facing Giles. Though behaving very belligerent, her slouched posture and expression, worry lines between her eyes and down-turned mouth, revealed her concern. Despite minor unrelated victories, they had made virtually zero progress against Glory. "You've got something on Glory? Please?"
Giles took a deep breath. "Uh, yes, I've got some rather, uh...well, I do have news. It's a bit of good-"
"Woo woo!!" Xander pumped his fist. Giles flashed a tight smile.
"-and a bit of bad."
"If Giles is learning good news-bad news jokes then that must be a sign of the Apocalypse." Xander's grin collapsed when all the girls turned as one to glare at him. "And I'll be learning to keep my trap shut."
"Twenty years! Twenty friggin' years! And now he gets it," said Cordelia, mouthing a silent 'thank you' to the heavens.
Buffy ignored them. "OK, first the good."
"The Council does indeed have information on Glory. It may even be helpful. Or so they claim."
Buffy straightened out of her slouch, the beginnings of a hopeful smile erasing the worry lines. "On Glory? What is it?"
Giles fidgeted uncomfortably in the chair, scratching the back of his ear. "That part would be the bad news. They wouldn't tell me. We'll find out when they," Giles suddenly looked pained, "get here."
Buffy was stricken. "What!? Here!? They? Who 'they'? Where here? Coming here here? Sunnydale?" She jabbed her finger, pointing down.
"A delegation of impartial members of The Council. Class-A review board, hand selected from the best and brightest of the Council ranks," Giles intoned in the same voice used on him by Quentin Travers.
"Now!? But w-why? Can't they just tell us from there?" Buffy heard only 'Council' ringing in her ears, missing everything else. She could not recall one good or helpful thing they had ever done.
"Yeah, don't they have phones?" Xander mimed hand-cranking a phone, then held one fist by his ear, the other holding an imaginary microphone. "I say! Operator, operator!" he cracked in an awful British accent, "Calling the United States. A trunk call to Sunnydale-6 Five-thousand. We have information for the resident slayer. Thank you, ma'am. 'Allo, Buffy? 'Ere's some stuff we know about Glory. There's a good slayer and eliminate her, please. Off you go, very good! Oh yes, tea at four. Do be prompt this time."
Cordelia smacked her hand against her forehead and flopped back into the cushions. "Oh! Oh! I'm getting a vision. A most dreadful and horrible demon! It talks too much, it never shuts up, mouth big as a garage: a Yakkitty-yak Demon!" She peered sideways through slitted eyes. "Looks like Xander, sounds like Xander. Is Xander. Kill him now, Buffy!" She pointed at the Xander-shaped creature. "You won't regret it."
"Reception from The Powers must be on the fritz. Your rabbit-ears need adjusting." Xander reached over to tweak Cordelia's ears. She easily swatted his hands away.
Buffy ignored their antics. "But phones!" she amplified to Giles. "See, I could tolerate them on phones. Or they could just Pony Express whatever they've got."
Xander stopped trying to tickle Cordelia. "Buff, the horse would drown in the Pacif-"
"Atlantic," whispered Willow.
"-Atlantic Ocean," he corrected himself smoothly.
"Better yet," agreed Buffy. "No communication at all!"
Cordelia's head snapped around. "Hey, I LIKE horses!"
Tara was confused by the fuss over the mere mention of the 'Council'. "What's so bad about them? Aren't they the good guys? Watchers, right? Just like other, ah, Gileses? Just...umm...watching?"
Giles looked mildly offended. "I do quite a bit more than 'just watch'."
"You know what I mean."
"They're scary and horrible!" Buffy explained to Tara before returning her attention to Giles.
Although estranged from the Council, and in general disagreement with many of their recent policies and attitudes, Giles still had great respect for, and attachment to, the ideals he believed they once represented. He felt compelled to provide some minimal defense of their overall position. "Um, they... well, they can appear a bit...uh, hard-nosed, but, uh, essentially, their goal is the same as ours: they want to save the world, to contain and eliminate the spread of evil. Glory included."
"Slayers too," grumbled Cordelia. As much as she disliked Faith and thought Angel had let her off easy, she remembered Faith's checkered history viz-a-viz The Council. She remembered Buffy's 18th birthday and the 'trial' they put her through. She recalled the Council's treatment of Wes. Enemy of my enemy did not always equal friend.
"Giles, I don't trust them." Buffy spoke firmly. "I don't want them here. Make them not be here."
"I'm sorry Buffy, they're already on their way. Perhaps a day behind me. Quentin is heading the delegation."
Buffy collapsed onto the sofa next to Xander, throwing up her arms in defeat. "Mr. Sunshine himself."
"I will do my utmost to shield you." Giles offered what little he could. He looked at each of their faces in turn. "All of you."
"Are you sure they're English?" asked Tara. "I-I thought English people were, y'know, nice. Like Canadians, but with an accent."
"No! This bunch is vile, evil, beady-eyed, well dressed hell-spawn, evil awfulness." Buffy's feelings ran quite deep. "Did I mention 'evil'?"
"But how do you really feel about them, Buff?"
Buffy crossed her arms and glared at Xander, considering Cordelia's earlier suggestion, until he gulped and held up his hands in surrender.
"Maybe it won't be so bad this time," offered Willow, "maybe it'll be better?"
"It's not just what they made me do. They're going screw everything up. They can't find out about Dawn! Being here makes it easier they might. Whatever it is with her and Glory, they would take her away if they knew."
"They won't," asserted Xander in all seriousness, looking meaningfully around at everyone. "Right? As far as we know it's The Dawnster, just the very annoying, very ordinary kid sister."
They all nodded.
Xander looked thoughtfully at Cordelia, brow wrinkling in concern.
"What?" she demanded after a second or two, sitting up.
Perhaps his worry was prompted by her earlier teasing. Although looking at Cordelia, he pitched his voice to address everyone. "It's probably not a good idea if they know about Cordy's, ah, visions."
Cordelia settled back and nodded emphatically.
"What if she gets one while they're here?" asked Tara.
Willow raised her hand after several moments. "We could say it's epilepsy? Or something?" Cordelia slowly nodded her head as Willow expanded on her suggestion. "Except for the vision part-and telling us stuff-all the symptoms match pretty closely. They shouldn't have a reason to doubt a perfectly normal human explanation."
"I guess it could work," Cordelia agreed. She didn't much like it, but couldn't think of anything better. She sure hoped the Powers didn't have a strange sense of humor when timing the next vision. And damn-it, when was she going to get another one?! She was beginning to feel very useless.
"Right. Right," Buffy agreed, clapping her hands together, "That's good. But there's still Glory, a-and I don't need the Council looking over my shoulder when I don't even know what we're dealing with."
"Which is precisely why we need to talk to them," gently reminded Giles. "We're at a bit of a dead-end. There are a few more resources we can try, but I'm not sanguine about any of them. Right now, if the Council knows something about Glory, anything at all about her abilities-"
"Like kicking slayer-ass?" interrupted Buffy.
"-her goals or means, weaknesses..." Giles shrugged and sighed, the obvious conclusion hanging in the air. For better or worse, right now, they needed what the Council had.
Giles didn't want Quentin and his old-guard cronies here any more than Buffy. But he was still Buffy's watcher, and as such had a deeply felt responsibility to prepare her for all enemies, to perform his due diligence to the utmost. Also, though often rightly derided, he knew there indeed was a 'larger picture' which often had the annoying tendency to surprise you at the worst possible moment because you were too focused on the single problem right in front of you. He could not ignore valuable resources at his disposal merely because they were unpleasant to deal with, including Travers and his Council. Anything less would be a failure of his duty to Buffy.
"Maybe it will help us get a-a grip on what we're dealing with. Right now I think we're a bit lost." Dismayed, he grimaced again. Sometimes seeing the larger picture really sucked.
---
Jinx warily entered their suite's main living room, ready to flee at any sign of anger from his irascible, unpredictable mistress. Seeing Dreg was not obviously damaged or squished, he thought it safe to make his announcement based on their sightings and calculations.
Glory, hearing scuffling steps, looked up. "Ah, Jinx, what good news do you have for me?" Her inviting smile was thin and brittle.
Aware of what his brethren was about to say, Dreg shook his head to silence Jinx, but Jinx didn't see.
Jinx bowed deeply. "We have found the signs of the alignment are moving into place, hmmm... but rather faster than expected," he said quietly, not looking Glory directly in the eye.
"Meaning?" ominously growled Glory.
Still in his bow, Jinx shuffled back a step, keeping his eyes on the floor. "If you are to use the Key to return to The Origin, to restore all magnificence, honor and power, you must act quickly." He took another half-step back.
She accepted the news with some actual humor. "Fine!" Glory nodded in a self-satisfied manner. "I've been cooling my heels in this crap-hole long enough. Too many demons and not enough quality retail. And one too many tiresome, save-my-little-corner-of-craphole-from-destruction slayer. You'd think they could find something useful to do. Like help decorate this pip-squeak planet." She shook her head in wonder at the sheer uselessness of slayers.
Jinx, encouraged, looked up and dared to remind her of one detail. "All you need is the Key!"
Glory looked out the window, seeing the entire town spread out before her. "Yes, and I bet Miss Stuffy-the-Slayer can tell me. Hero types always know stuff."
"Yes, your most Intelligently Gracious Beauty," ironically intoned Jinx. He tried to push his luck a bit. "If I may, Your Eminence? We do not have much time."
Despite constant, never-ending evidence to the contrary, Glory scoffed at the absurdity of limits, physical or temporal, upon herself. Jinx could not fathom how his Glorificus could both brush off the slayer's abilities and then proclaim the need for her. How could such a supposedly wondrous being be so obtuse? Suddenly noticing Glory's contemplative gaze upon himself he shook off such thoughts and scurried out.
---
The Magic Box had been open for hours, hitting the peak of the day when customers arrived during their lunch breaks. Some came for kicks or curiosity, but most had real problems and this was were they hoped to find answers.
Xander was helping out during his own break, moving items from storage or anything else Cordelia told him to do. He looked at his watch; there were a few more minutes before he had to get back to the work-site.
As he was winding down his final task, Travers and his delegation filed through the front door. The largest, Philip, took up station by the door to block new customers from entering.
Giles was sitting and reading an ancient scroll at the main reading table most often used for research (because they could spread out their books and other paraphernalia) in the center of the sales floor. Hearing a commotion, he looked up and frowned at his visitors. He checked his watch and sighed. "Punctual as ever, Quentin."
Travers ignored Giles' sarcasm as he approached, the others in his wake. He stopped in front of Giles, sniffed and surveyed his surroundings while unbuttoning his overcoat before acknowledging his host. He was utterly calm and at ease, in total control of the situation.
Giles stared distastefully at former colleagues arrayed behind Travers. He didn't recognize any of them from his days at the Academy or the few times he had revisited. Not many years older than Buffy and her friends, they seemed so young and he felt old. "Would you care to introduce your most distinguished blue-ribbon committee of trained dogs? Or have you've trained them to answer to 'hey you'?"
"-with the stick up his ass," Cordelia added quietly from near the cash register. Xander, beside her, preparing to leave, elbowed her gently.
Travers blinked but otherwise ignored the rude, young American. "Good day, Giles." Without preamble or further introductions, Travers launched into the agenda. "First, we'll catch up. You will explain the current situation, up close and in more detail." He uncrossed his hands and waved to indicate the Magic Box as a whole. "Starting with this place of commerce." On signal the delegation members spread throughout the store.
Giles head swiveled as he tried to watch all of them at once to see where they went. He quickly gave up and glared balefully back at Travers. "Well, one must put bread on the table no matter what straits we are in, I'm sure you'll agree. Nor have I forgotten my duties and responsibilities to Buffy. This shop, an interesting foray into the world of commercial retail, has worked out rather well on both counts, for bread and for Buffy's advancement. I'll give you a tour if you like?"
"A tour? No. Perhaps you could quickly summarize?"
Giles thought a moment and then pointed toward the rear. "The back room is the training area, actually rather better than we had at the school." Giles was very proud of the work they had all done to arrange Buffy's facilities.
"So you're not using that space for the really dangerous items that should be kept out of the public's hands? Or maybe you don't worry about that?"
Giles straightened. "I'm very careful!" he curtly responded. He didn't feel any need to mention how Glory had waltzed in and blithely acquired material to raise up a nasty snake-thing.
Nigel, a supercilious watcher of Indian descent, was by some shelves, picking up items one by one and carefully inspecting them. "Most of this is perfectly harmless-"
"There, you see?" Giles smiled.
"-incense, tourist trinkets and junk-"
Giles' expression snapped from smile to aggravated scowl. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
Nigel ignored him. "But there are a few items..." he trailed off, shaking his head ruefully.
The delegation's lone female, Beatrix, a young woman dressed in a severely conservative, sharply creased gray suit, was across the shop examining another cabinet of items. "There are some very potent elements here: focusing crystals, runic artifacts, an amulet of Cauldis." She hefted an item to show it to Travers. "This statue. Its removal from Burma is a criminal offense. And when triggered has the power to melt human eyeballs." She pulled her eye-glasses down her nose and looked accusingly at Giles.
"In that case, I severely under-priced it," regretfully commented Giles.
Travers glanced at Giles then nodded to Nigel. Nigel replaced what he was holding and walked to the center of the floor. "Sorry Giles, but this is just for the duration. You'll understand the necessity."
"Necessity?" Giles twisted about. "Necessity for what? Wha-what is for the duration?!"
Nigel spoke loudly in a firm, commanding voice. "Magic Box shoppers! We are very sorry for the inconvenience. However, we must ask you to depart. The shop is closing now for inventory control and inspection."
Philip, the hulking watcher with close-cropped hair and a pug nose, held open the front door for the departing customers. He was as firm as he was polite, ensuring none attempted to return. "Terribly sorry for the inconvenience," he repeated over and over, each time with less and less sincerity.
"Maybe it's just me, but I don't think he's sorry at all," Cordelia grumbled to Giles.
She had spoken softly but Travers heard her nonetheless. There was something about her that tickled his memory and this time she had his full attention. "Miss, do we know you?" The Council's files were extensive, covering much more than just demons, vampires and related lore. "You look...familiar? Do you work here?" Where had he seen her picture?
"I'm the General Manager," she barked, giving herself an elevated position, certain Giles would back her if push came to shove.
"You don't have to talk to him, Cordelia."
"Oh, I know I don't. Just brushing up on my people skills." Cordelia smirked, then looked down her nose at Travers. "I suppose that works better if I were addressing actual people" She might have said more but Xander gave a slight head shake, then inclined his head at Travers, who was still inspecting her carefully. Normally that would not have stopped her from saying her piece, but she was aware of the situation's sensitivity and the need not to call attention to herself. She heeded his silent advice and sat back on a stool.
After a moment Travers gave up and shook off his suspicions. Later they could determine if she was worth more investigation.
Giles spoke up angrily, also distracting Travers. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? 'Inventory' has nothing to do with it!" He glared at Travers while the last straggling customers were escorted out, not even allowed to keep and pay for their selections.
"Merely for the duration of the examination, Giles."
"Examination? What!? You said 'review'! We acquaint you with all we know, you check things out 'on scene' you said, and then we share. No examination!"
"Review. Examination. Test. Checkup. Let's call it a small semantic mis-understanding, shall we?" Travers smugly asked rhetorically. "But there will be an examination. She passes or she fails."
Cordelia could see Giles was getting desperate and angry, losing control of a situation he never had any control of from the get-go, only realizing it now.
"N-now l-let's just stop a moment. Let's stop and talk about this."
"Giles. We have already discussed the necessary program at quite some length," patiently said Travers.
"It's an exhaustive inquisition into your procedures and abilities," Nigel began to explain, "We'll observe your training-"
"You will do no such thing!" was Giles final, weak salvo.
Travers spread his arms out. "Come now, Giles. You understand how this works. After all, you used to be one of us."
"Coy does not suit you well, Quentin. You're as aware of the history and issues as I. I was-am!-a watcher for my slayer. The slayer on the Hellmouth. More and more I'm not so certain I was ever 'one of you'."
Travers smiled genially. "No?"
Giles, resigned to the situation and having nothing left to lose, took off his glasses and smiled as he polished the left lens. "I believe the local idiom is: 'not by a country mile'"
"Interesting. But you were on the inside once. You know the resources we can command, the amount of information we've collected and archived." Travers paused to let that sink in. "And can provide, I might add, if circumstances warrant it."
Travers waited for Giles to respond.
"I sense your resistance, Giles, and I don't entirely blame you were I in your position. But, since perhaps you were never 'one of us', I think you need reminding of the goals and needs of the Council, and your relative position of influence. The Council fights evil. We have done so for thousands of years. A slayer, any slayer, even yours, is merely an instrument by which we fight. Our chosen 'weapon' so-to-speak. By the very nature of battle, I will unfortunately admit, weapons come and go. But," Travers sharply raised his hand to emphasize the point, "the Council remains!" He spoke the last sentence with evident great pride.
"You must practice that speech before a mirror every morning," Giles muttered. More loudly he said, "It's all a very comforting, bloodless way of looking at it, isn't it? I expect you sleep very well at night."
"You also used to respect us," Travers chided his ex-employee.
"An error of youth?"
Cordelia was getting angrier and angrier with each word Travers spoke. "The high and mighty Council? We're-glumph!"
Xander had gently clamped his hand over Cordelia's mouth. He knew Cordelia had been fuming silently, getting angrier along with Giles, and was about to explode. He too was finding it hard to contain himself. He felt bad for Giles and Buffy having to deal with these people, but if he didn't get himself and Cordelia out-now!-they were likely to make things worse.
"If the store is closed, Giles, you won't be needing Cordy, right? And we've got errands to run. Is that OK?" He wasn't really asking as he took a surprisingly unresisting Cordelia by the hand and led her from around the counter toward the door.
Sadly, especially where Xander is concerned, good intentions often lead to wrong places. Just as they were ascending the stairs he stopped and turned toward Travers. "The slayer is just a tool, right?"
"Of course." Travers answered without bothering to turn. "We are the constant. Ever present. Vigilant."
"It's a wonder you've lasted this long," Xander said scornfully to Traver's back. Now it was Cordelia's turn to pull on his arm and get them out before doing more damage.
"It's been this way from the beginning, boy," Travers continued to say over his shoulder.
Xander knew he should stop. Almost anything he said would make it harder on Buffy, harder to get the information they desperately needed. Cordelia continued to pull on him. But he couldn't let this go, their callous perspective toward his best friend.
"Yeah, I hear you. And you're still dumb-ass stupid." He angrily shook Cordelia off and stepped back down. "I'm just a simple nail pounder. I use tools every day. Even if you think of Buffy that way, one thing I do understand is: you take care of your tools. If you want to survive you need the best from your weapons and you treat them with care because they're what's keeping you alive. What I've seen, what I'm hearing now, you're going out of your way to be as careless as possible. Like you deliberately want to lose her."
This time Travers twisted around to address the boy. "Excuse me, young man, but we're talking about serious matters here, not about the latest hammers. You could not be expected to understand."
The issue the boy was raising was a sensitive one for Travers. The soft sentiments the child was referencing he'd heard before from the more modern Council members, those who cared for their slayers, those like Giles who thought slayers should be treated as more than mere weapons. Already begun, the purge of these radical Council elements would take awhile longer.
The enemy was implacable, relentless, merciless, no quarter given. The Council needed to be stronger yet to defeat them. Their weapons needed toughness, Travers believed, and only the toughest, strongest slayers would be of any use. "This is no ordinary war against ordinary enemies. We need the very best. Therefore we must test to destruction. There are losses along the way, but we're better for it." Iron must be struck against iron. If this Buffy was the iron they needed, well and good. If not, then best to find out now. Of this Travers was certain!
Both Giles and Cordelia could see that Xander was getting more furious with each word. Giles nodded sharply to Cordelia to re-double her efforts to pull him out.
Again he shook her off, scowling at her. "No, Cordy, this needs saying!" He returned his attention to Travers. "Bullshit! I know you'll get a new slayer as soon as Buffy dies, but it's obvious an experienced slayer is a better slayer. Yet you're doing everything you can to have only inexperienced slayers.
"We do quite well, thank you."
"If by 'quite well' you mean never letting us know about Kendra, then Faith? Letting her live in a motel not fit for a roach? Providing an incompetent watcher? And when that didn't work out, sending your even more incompetent A-Team? Huzzah to you!"
"Hey!" protested Cordelia, "Wes is competent!" She felt the earnest need to defend her friend. "OK, maybe not 'bad-ass' but he's very good. Both at research and at fighting."
"And isn't it interesting how that happened after he got away from these guys?" Xander asked Cordelia. He turned back to Travers. "One simple question: who's the most effective slayer you've ever had?"
"Effective? Err.." Travers stumbled.
"Yeah. Pick a stat, any stat. Any way you want to figure it." Xander motioned with his hand. "Say, kills per month. Apocalypses stopped. You're all about the cold-blooded efficiency, right? Numbers don't lie. Who's the best?"
"Well-" Travers did indeed know the cold, hard facts.
"Buffy's right up there, huh? Top 10?"
"-"
"Top three?" Xander paused, lifting his eyebrow in curiosity. "Maybe, oh...the very tippy-with-a-cherry-on-top?"
Travers remained silent, mouth compressed in a firm line.
Disgusted, anger vented, Xander shook his head. "Yeah, about what I thought." He turned and left, leaving Cordelia to follow.
"Interesting," sniffed Travers. The ignorant young pup couldn't possibly know all the things he and his Council had to deal with. However, since this boy had taken it upon himself to comment on Council matters, he made a note to follow up on all of the slayer's known associates and gage their negative effect.
He took a refreshing breath and focused again on Giles. "Let's return to cases, shall we? We have information about this 'Glory'. Some of it may be vital. Most is extremely disturbing. It will not be handed over unless we are convinced you and Buffy are prepared for it. We must know that you'll use and protect it properly, that you won't make the situation worse. Thus the review," finished Travers, crossing his hands on his lap, smiling grimly.
"There will not be a test!" asserted Giles.
"Call it anything you like. But surely you admit your methods are rather, um, shall we say 'un-orthodox'?" Travers pointed at the door to indicate the recently departed couple. "You even include civilians at your highest level of planning. We're merely verifying the information we provide will be safe. I think a full review with Buffy is necessary, plus checks on her training regimen." He frowned, looked significantly once again at the door. "We'll also need to go more in-depth with all Buffy's associations."
"I personally vouch for the others," Giles said, affronted by Travers implication. "They are absolutely trust-worthy."
"Of course, of course! I'm sure you're quite correct. But we must be certain. This is information not to be trifled with."
---
Jinx limped into the ante-room of their suite, blood oozing from several facial wounds.
Dreg hurried over to help. "What happened, Jinx? You were only to deliver a message."
With Dreg's assistance, Jinx made it to a seat, grunting as he flopped back. "Our Ben-Glory," he breathed, "is being. Most stubborn. These days." Slowly his breathing settled down. "It seems the closer. We get to the day. The more difficult he becomes. When I told him Buffy was the slayer. He become most. Irate."
"You told him that?!" Dreg fell back on his heels, astonished, then went to get some bandages.
Jinx nodded. "Glory instructed me so. She believes the slayer knows something. We follow her enlightened command in all things."
"She is but ours to endure," lamented Dreg upon his return, ignoring the warning look from Jinx. He began to clean and patch Jinx. "I know, I know," he said placatingly.
Silent moments passed as he worked on Jinx's injuries.
"Endurance becomes more difficult with every passing moment, doesn't it?" he quietly asked as he applied the finishing touches. "There. You're as good as can be. Please be most careful when you deliver Glory's messages."
Jinx looked down at one of the bandages and nodded thoughtfully. Glorificus was his sole reason for existence, so he was told. And the direction of Dreg's comments were veering toward the blasphemous and heretical. Worse, he found himself not dis-agreeing.
Dreg stood to let Jinx rest. "Can I ask something of you, Jinx?"
"Of course." But the implication he might not answer was clear.
"What do you remember of The Origin. Of 'home'?"
"I-" Jinx stopped. He had no words.
Dreg's warty smile was sad. "Nor do I." He turned and patted Jinx on the shoulder. "Rest before you deliver Ben's answer to Glory."
---
"We've been developing a sort of, uh, a hybrid fighting style," Giles explained earnestly as they waited for Buffy. "Despite the lack of Council resources these last few years-" Giles saw no reaction from Travers and hurried on, "-in fact we've continued to work on several disciplines. Also histories, both vampire and other demons, prophecies, research skills. If I outline her progress for you I-I think you'll see this isn't really needed."
Buffy entered the store at that moment. She had only expected a couple of Council people, not this whole gaggle before her, surrounding Giles and scattered about the store. She started to reverse tracks, but the ringing bell had attracted everyones' eyes, most especially Travers. She realized she was trapped and wanted out. Now. "Bad day. Bad, baaad-" she muttered to herself.
"Ah, Miss Summers!" Travers jovially called, beckoning her in. "So good to see you again, it has been too long."
"Never long enough." Buffy's whispered under her breath. She stopped backing up (she hadn't even realized she was doing so) but also didn't approach closer. "Mr. Travers," she answered louder.
"We've been going over things with Giles. It is all quite interesting. And now that you're here we can go over everything with you."
"Everything? What are you talking about?" Finally Buffy marched into the shop, coming to stand besides Giles and crossed her arms. Giles looked down at her with what he hoped was a reassuring expression of confidence.
"We would like to lay out our project for you and Mr. Giles." Travers looked over at his colleague. "If you would, Nigel?"
"What? Project? Giles, what are they talking about? I thought we'd meet, have some tea and scones, talk about the weather, and then they give us the information. What's going on?"
Giles sighed. "It seems they are asking more from us and will be here a bit longer than anticipated."
Travers faced Buffy. "Glory is stronger than you. More powerful. Despite what you may think, we are truly fighting on the same side, and we have information that will help. But this information is confidential, dangerous in the wrong hands. Pass the review, demonstrate you are the right hands-"
"That's me, the Good Hands Slayer!"
"-and we provide it without reservation. However, failing, either through incompetence or by resisting our recommendations..."
Giles kept flip-flopping between righteous anger at his former superior and a resigned desperation. This time anger came forth. "Resisting? You really mean we have to jump through every petty little hoop you demand. How much under your thumb do you think we are?"
"How much do you want our help?" Travers softly asked.
Instantly defeated again, Giles knew, better than Buffy, how badly they needed the information. Travers' calm soft tone underscored their desperation and his own lack of response was all the answer Travers needed.
"Giles has been telling us of your training, that you've developed a 'hybrid'-is it?" Travers glanced at Giles who gave a short nod to Buffy, "-fighting style. Perhaps we can learn something to add to our own training regimen." His insincerity was as clear as a vamp's fangs are sharp.
Buffy glared back at the smug Travers.
"Please, can you describe it for us? What exactly is it a hybrid of? What styles did you blend together, for instance? What elements did you take from each?"
"Buffy, They're puppeteers and they want a puppet whose strings they can pull. You don't have to submit to this. We can deal with Glory on our own, we'll figure out a way."
"Really?" asked Travers.
Buffy wanted so much to believe Giles. Everything within her, every experience she had, told her not to cooperate with Travers. But Dawn's life was at stake, not to mention the evil of Glory herself. More perceptive than perhaps Giles gave her credit for, Buffy knew she needed every edge she could get against Glory. Her hesitation to agree with Giles allowed Travers to make his next threat.
"You think this is unfair? It is. And there are other factors which should motivate you to cooperate." Travers looked down and traced patterns on the table with his right forefinger. The softness of his voice belied the absolute steely confidence with which he spoke. "Now, I would prefer not to go this route, but if you force us, we'll have Mr. Giles deported within the day. He'll never set foot in Sunnydale again." He looked up at Buffy, expression hard and stern. "This is no idle threat, Miss Summers. You're dealing with grownups now. Am I making myself clear?
"Crystal," bit out Buffy.
"Excellent!" Travers mood brightened immediately with Giles and Buffy's virtual surrender. "Perhaps a demonstration would be in order?" He looked down at his watch to emphasize the shortness of time.
"Now?!" Buffy gaped.
Travers somehow managed to look even more disappointed with Buffy than he already was. "Surely you don't believe demons and vampires fight only when it's convenient? You must be ready at any time, prepared at all times. Such as now." He glanced significantly at Giles and made a move toward closing up his briefcase. "But if you and Giles are not-?"
"Let's go!" Buffy stomped off toward the back room. Giles hurried to catch up. Travers smiled and signaled to Philip. They followed at a much more leisurely, confident pace.
---
"Agility, clarity, stamina and strength. These are the qualities the slayer must possess to do her job."
"Clarity?" Buffy asked, baffled at how pompous these people made even the simplest things. "Does kill-a-demon-ability come in there anywhere? Or does that fall after do-whatever-the-Council-wants-ability?" She wondered how they would describe the qualities needed to take a dump.
Giles grinned at her ironically, remembering he too was once nearly as bad as this, not so very long ago.
"Very droll," Travers replied, "Can we get on to the demonstration?"
Buffy, in plain gray sweats, 'Army' written across the chest (a gift from Riley's Initiative team from when they got along better) nodded as she stretched.
"Philip," Travers indicated the man to his left, "will attack the dummy. You will protect it. Understood?" Philip had changed from his formal street clothing into a gi, which looked to Buffy like overly loose, neatly pressed white pajamas, a black belt cinching the waist.
"Hi." Buffy smiled and waved to her opponent, but Philip's lack of expression didn't change one bit. Buffy nodded again at Travers. "Right. Protect the dummy."
"As if it were precious! Now, getting the best of Philip will require agility. Listening to my instructions at the same time will demonstrate clarity. And stamina and strength will win the long fight. Good luck."
"Instructions?" Buffy looked at Giles, confused. Giles shook his head. This was not something he'd ever seen before. Some silly new thing Travers must have dreamed up on the flight over. She looked back at Travers.
"I'll be telling you what to do," he explained-unnecessarily, he thought-"how to counter Philip's attack. You are familiar with Japanese terminology of the martial arts, yes?"
Buffy's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Ahh...no? This is the United States. The demons here don't speak Japanese, they speak United States'ese. Or mostly they just grunt or growl. Some howl, but tha-"
Travers rolled his eyes. "Well, do the best you can." She was living down to expectations admirably.
Buffy loosened up some more then walked in tight circles around the practice dummy-the one she usually hit rather than prevented from being hit-psyching herself up, mumbling. "Protect the dummy. See the dummy. Protect the dummy. SEE the dummy. BE the dum-" She angrily shook herself. "No, scratch that! See, protect, see, protect."
Buffy circled again, mumbling, when she saw Philip already in a fighting stance. She got into a stance herself, for some reason feeling she had to mimic her opponent.
Philip suddenly bowed formally, briefly placing a fist into the palm of his other hand in front of him.
"Uh?" Buffy looked toward Giles, who nodded. She attempted her best imitation of Philip's bow and returned to her stance.
"Oh, I almost forgot. Of course you can best our Philip. You are the slayer after all." Travers chuckled lightly. "We will create a more level playing field." He bent down and withdrew a large bandanna from Philip's equipment bag. As he approached Buffy he began to lift it in front of her eyes.
"Whoa, back off there a minute!" Buffy stepped away, warding off Travers 'gift'.
Travers stopped, looked at Giles and waited calmly.
"Buffy, please. Put the blindfold on."
"I will do it." She grudgingly took the blindfold from Travers and stared at it balefully.
"Over the eyes, please."
Buffy grumbled but did as asked.
Travers returned to stand beside Giles.
"Begin!" And Travers shouted some incomprehensible Japanese.
Philip circled around Buffy. Head cocked oddly, Buffy tried to follow his movements by the sound of his footfalls on the mat. He suddenly lunged toward the dummy.
Again Travers shouted out.
"Huh? What the heck is that?!"
Despite Travers distraction, at the last moment she managed to awkwardly jump in Philip's way. His feint turned into a kick and she took the full force on her side. Although Philip didn't have slayer or vampire strength, he was nevertheless strong and well trained, delivering a solid blow to her ribs. She gasped and doubled-up, momentarily bracing herself with her hand on the floor, holding herself across the ribs with the other.
Philip backed away as she unleashed a wild roundhouse kick, foot swooshing through thin air. He attacked again from a different angle as she regained her balance. This time she nearly blocked his punch with her forearm, deflecting most of the blow.
One more time Travers called out a command, which distracted her enough that Philip was able to land a punch flush on her cheek.
Belatedly, Giles called out to punch back. At least it was in English.
"Thanks, Giles. Tell me something I don't know!" She rubbed her sore cheek.
"Sorry. I'll try to do better," a chagrined Giles apologized
Travers kept calling out nonsense, Giles kept trying to translate, Philip feinting and attacking. This went on for some minutes with Buffy usually barely managing to absorb or deflect the attacks.
"Uh...back kick, left elbow-"
Buffy back-kicked at a noise behind her and Philip easily pirouetted out of the way. She swung with her left elbow and again he avoided the strike.
"-ah, strike?"
Travers looked annoyed and signaled Philip to back off. "This is your 'hybrid' technique, Giles? You combined the agility of a cow with the awareness of a sloth? Just how have you been training her?"
Giles responded hotly. "I've trained her to win! I think that's the general idea, is it not?"
At a signal from Travers, Philip started again, sidling over towards the weapons rack.
Maybe because Travers had pushed his buttons so, or that he was at a loss for a better idea, Giles gave in to an awful temptation. It was perhaps unfortunate one of the evenings he had joined his young charges in a movie marathon at Cordelia and Xander's they had played the Star Wars trilogy. It was an interesting experience for him. He was surprised to note the cast included several excellent British actors, including Alec Guinness. He tried to educate the young crowd on the history and quality of the cast, but they were more interested in seeing evil-Empire ass being kicked. When he tried to elucidate the parallels between their own battle against evil and the on-screen drama he endured good-natured ribbing as their 'Obi-Wan'.
The result today was...
"The Force! Use The Force, Lu-err-Buffy."
If nothing else, the expression on Travers face was worth it, Giles thought, no matter today's outcome. Buffy's reaction was priceless too. She was astonished, completely dropping her guard.
"Wha-a-at?!?"
Once committed to the insanity he felt he should play it to the fullest. "You heard me!" stolidly commanded Giles. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Buffy threw up her hands. "Whatever." It was sheerest silliness, but after a moment she actually seemed to calm down as she settled into a ready pose. Buffy let every muscle relax, flexing her neck left then right. Slowly exhaling, she let her thoughts drift as they wanted. She imagined being on a beach with her friends, late afternoon sun warming her skin. As she did so her mind became two, different aspects of herself separating themselves from the amalgam of Slayer, nee Buffy Summers.
Buffy the young woman stayed on the beach. The other, Slayer past and present, became aware of every minutia within the room. The Slayer shifted her balance slightly over the balls of her feet and, despite the outward look of relaxation, her muscles were tightening, coiling up energy, ready to flow or explode as needed.
Through her toes, the Slayer sensed the way the floorboards, even through the matting, flexed as Philip moved about. She heard the slightest change of echos off the walls and the way his movements and posture affected them. She sensed differences in the movement of air upon her cheeks. Though the blindfold was opaque it allowed light and dark to show through and she was able to integrate even that minimal feedback into the overall picture forming in her mind.
Yet at the same time she was just, all and everything, Buffy Summers. She did not allow herself to think of attacks or strikes or blocks, only of warm sun caressing bare skin. Of joyful times spent with family and friends.
With sudden crystalline clarity she "saw" exactly where Philip was in precise relationship to herself, and exactly what he was about to do. She moved in smooth efficient response.
Philip swung his heavy club. She ducked under and turned. Though surprised how Buffy avoided his swing, Philip twirled swiftly to follow through and bring it around for an overhead blow. Just as quickly Buffy reached up and caught the shaft, completely stopping the momentum. With both holding the club, in quick succession Buffy kicked him in the stomach, twice to the ribs, then planted both feet and shoved. Despite his much greater weight he couldn't stop her from forcing him back against the training horse to then be caught by an elbow to the face. The combined hits had sufficiently weakened him that the weapon was easily plucked from his hands and flung backwards over her shoulder. With nothing to hold him up anymore Philip slumped forwards onto the floor, thankful the fight was over.
Travers managed to dodge out of the club's path by gracelessly falling into Giles, who caught him before he hit the floor.
Buffy, not even breathing hard, peeked from under the blindfold and winced. "Uh-oh."
Giles grinned at Buffy then smirked at Travers. "It appears the dummy is still quite safe, wouldn't you agree, Quentin?"
"I think she broke my ribs," groaned Philip. He allowed Buffy to gently help him back to his feet and guide him, tottering to a bench, taking shallow breaths to minimize the pain from his ribs.
"Yes, well...." Travers coughed into his hand.
Buffy came over. "I didn't mean to. Um, you know. I, I can do better. I think I might be getting this, And, and... we know where the hospital is, we could help him g-"
Travers shook his head. "No, that's all right, we'll take care of him. I don't think we need any more physical tests. We can move on to the real review: your research techniques, how you stratagize, tactics and planning...figure out what goes on up here." He tapped her head.
Buffy huffed. "Great. Head stuff." She returned Giles smile and went to clean up and prepare for the rest of the day.
That reminded Travers of something he still needed checked. He signaled Nigel to join him and he whispered to have him get the names and addresses of Buffy's friends. Interviews with all would be necessary.
He forgot how good slayer hearing can be. Buffy stopped in her tracks and spun about. "Talk to my friends?!"
Though irritated at his forgetfulness of slayer abilities, Travers knew she would have found out soon enough in any case. "Yes, we understand you're still taking civilians on patrols. If they're 'part of the team' then they too are part of the review."
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!" She stomped off.
---
"Hey Jinx! You've got scabs on top of your scabs!"
Jinx raised his head from his obsequious bow to reveal his bandaged but still bruised face, healing scabs still showing. "Your Most Benevolently Concerned, it is part of Ben's reply: He won't help." Jinx indicated the new bruises and ducked again. "He wanted us to know he meant it."
Glory was confused. How could Ben do anything but help!? "He isn't? Isn't g-going to help?" Surely she heard wrong!
The psychometric-plasmic quantum metamorphosis forced upon her in this banishment, creating not only this female-shaped human container, but also a probabilistic phased entanglement with a separate and true human male counterpart, got more aggravating by the century. Why couldn't Ben, her entangled partner, see the glory she was and do all she bade?
"No." Jinx knew he must stay firm. One of the few things he could appreciate about His Glorificus was her intolerance of unpleasant surprises. Better to take punishment for bad news now than a certain painful demise as the messenger of utter failure later. He continued to observe carefully as she mused to herself, in case he needed to make hasty exit.
"All he has to do is turn over that squirming slayer! I have business with her. I know she knows how to find my Key... argh!" She grabbed her head in frustration, pulling her hair. "He could go to her. He could seduce her, bang her." With each word Glory got herself more and more irritated. "Slayers always know things they shouldn't!"
Jinx watched curiously, wondering which would happen first. Would her hair slice through her fingers? Or would her scalp tear off? To his mild disappointment neither happened as Glory calmed down. "Yes, you are quite right."
"Well, if Ben won't, then I'll talk to her myself."
---
"Who's making dinner?" Cordelia called from the sofa as Xander entered their apartment.
Xander hung up his coat before answering. "Throw for it?"
Cordelia thought for a moment too long, allowing time for Xander's infectious smile to work. She nodded, got up and grimly set herself across the counter from him, their usual battleground for this duel.
As Xander prepared himself he could literally hear Ennio Morricone's haunting score playing in his mind, drowning out all other sound. They eyed each other carefully, squinting, looking for any sign or tell that would give an advantage in the upcoming battle-royale.
Cordelia tried a feint with a raised eyebrow.
Xander countered with placid puppy eyes, looking up from under his brows.
She switched to an ominous death-glare, toe tapping on the hardwood floor.
He shifted strategies, taking deep even breaths to calm himself, and squinted his own glare, eyes like ice.
Cordelia executed her most certain tactic: crossing her legs, rolling her shoulders forward and leaning towards him, displaying much cleavage, and slowly running her tongue over glossed lips.
His line of sight dropped momentarily, but he had been expecting this and quickly locked eyes with her again.
They were both too hardened and experienced to fall for any such trickery and soon raised their right fists together.
"On three?"
She nodded curtly.
"One," Cordelia said, as they pumped their fists down and back, each maintaining eye-contact, neither blinking.
"Two," answered Xander. Again they threw their fists. Again their eyes were riveted on the other's.
"Three!" they announced in unison. This time their hands were fully out-thrust. For an endless time they continued their fruitless attempts to stare down the other, neither willing to glance at the outcome, instead daring the other to give in.
Finally an imperceptible silent signal was exchanged and they looked down together.
"Rock smashes scissors!"
"Damn!" There was a short dejected pause, quickly passed over. "OK, what do you want, dear?"
Cordelia clapped her hand over her heart. "Oh my! An almost not sarcastic 'dear'. I swoon from the fervor of your enthusiasm. And whoever said you couldn't sweep a girl off her feet, posh!" she mocked.
Xander grumbled, "But it's got to be something with stuff we have."
"Hmmm..." Cordelia tapped her chin with the perfectly polished nail of her finger, attracting Xander's attention. She gazed at the ceiling in thought, considering possibilities. "Stir-fry. Braised tofu in sesame-seed oil, red bell pepper, baby corn, water chestnuts, mushrooms, a dash of white pepper, a sprinkling of fennel. Brown rice on the side. Coffee, decaf."
Although he loved and preferred his meat and potatoes (with a Twinkie chaser), he in fact would ingest just about anything. He started getting out the ingredients she had suggested, knives and a cutting board as she looked on.
The phone rang near the end of their meal. Xander went to answer. "Hey Giles! What's up?" He pointed with excitement at the phone. "It's Giles!"
"Really?"
"Yes, really! Now hush so I can hear what he's saying."
Cordelia heaved an exasperated breath, but listened quietly to Xander's side of the conversation while she cleared the table, leaving the coffee.
"Yeah?" Xander frowned. "They do? Why?" His frown deepened into a scowl. "Crap. OK, when? Uh huh. OK, thanks. See you later."
A very unhappy Xander returned to the table and sat, grabbed his mug but didn't pick it up, just rolling it from one hand to the other.
"Well?" Cordelia demanded when he didn't speak.
He took a gulp before answering. "They want to talk to us. Everyone, in fact. We're up to bat tomorrow morning."
"They? The stuffed-shirts?" she guessed.
Xander nodded.
"About what? Buffy?"
Xander shrugged.
"OK, Oz imitation down pat. Be Xander for me and use words?"
Xander relayed the 'heads-up' information Giles had given him, that tomorrow they should expect someone from the Council. Unfortunately he was short on the details of what might be asked. But, Giles warned, whatever they did, do not hurt their chances for getting the information. After his recitation, Xander was long in the face.
Cordelia, however, looked thoughtful, nodding to herself. "OK, no problem."
"No problem?!" exclaimed Xander. "Did we see the same people march into your store? Do you remember the Cruciamentum? And Wesley?" He put his hand up to stop her protest. "Sorry. But no, this is not 'no problem'. Problem, comma, this is."
Cordelia shook her head, disagreeing. "We've just got to be prepared. It's like preparing for a role," she explained. "We need to be something we're not. Or rather you do, and I need to give my best-supporting actress performance to help you out." She tugged him over to the living room where they could sit and talk it over.
"We could do good-cop/bad-cop," she mused.
"We're the interogat-EES, not the interogat-ORS." But Cordelia's thoughts got his own into gear. "How about 'Dumb & Dumber'?"
Cordelia pursed her lips and sat back, thinking. "So that leaves me with 'Smart', huh?" She nodded her head decisively, ignoring Xander scowl. "Yeah, I like that, it has real possibilities."
"Sure, whatever you say Max."
"Good. OK, so how about this-" Cordelia described several various scenarios they might have to deal with and how they should respond to each. They continued hashing out ideas late into the night. By the time they parted ways for their own rooms Xander felt about as ready as he was ever going to be for the next morning's interview.
tbc