Willow Rosenberg and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Prophecy
“And then,” said Xander happily, “She gave me a Look. Not quite a 'Take me now, mighty stallion!' look, but definitely a 'Your future romantic prospects may no longer be confined exclusively to your tube of hand lotion' look.”
“I'm so happy for you, Xander,” said Willow sadly.
“So tomorrow, I'm going to ask her if she wants to - what's the matter?”
Buffy and Giles had looked up as they entered the library, and sorrow was written upon their faces.
“What's the matter?” repeated Xander.
Giles got up slowly, looking very old, and hugged Willow. Buffy followed suit, and, after a moment, so did Xander.
“This can't be good,” came Willow's slightly muffled voice. “Xander, did you know about this?”
“Nope. I just saw that hugging was going on and wanted in on it.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Giles disengaged himself from the dogpile and handed Willow a penciled sheet of paper covered with his spidery script. It read:
“On the second week before the reopening of the [xtyl - barn, shed, place of learning], the copper-haired friend of the Chosen One will be attacked, and, unless she have a boyfriend at this time, she will be killed. Killed ... to death.”
Xander raised his hand.
“I have a question,” he said. “Does it mean 'boyfriend', necessarily, or just 'boy who is a friend'?”
“I'm afraid there is no doubt as to the translation,” said Giles mournfully. “According to the most reputable source on this language, Let's have fun with Xtarnglic!, the word 'prelswey' translates as 'one who cannot find anything in the refrigerator without her assistance'.”
“Well, that settles it,” sniffled Willow. “I can't get a date to save my life. Literally.”
Xander put a comforting arm around his best friend.
“Don't worry, Will. We'll find you a boyfriend, even if I have to take somebody hostage at Buffy-point.”
“Perhaps that won't be necessary,” said Buffy. “Surely there's someone who cares enough for Willow to do what needs to be done? Somebody in this room, even?”
Xander shook his head.
“I don't see who could do it,” he said. “We're all either too old, or the wrong gender, or - oh. Oh.”
“Exactly,” said Buffy.
“I can't pretend that this isn't a shock,” said Xander. “But we all love you, Buffy, and the fact that you're gay will make absolutely no difference to -”
“I wasn't talking about myself.”
Xander's forehead wrinkled in bewilderment.
“Think about it,” urged Giles. “What are you, Xander?”
“The winner of the gold medal in the Stupid Olympics?”
“Stop quoting your parents, Xander. Also, I meant in terms of gender.”
“A boy?”
“Exactly. And Willow is...?”
You could almost hear the gears turning.
“A ... girl?”
“That's right, Xander. And what do girls do with boys?”
“Arrange for restraining orders?”
“Besides that, Xander.”
“...Oh.”
Giles drew Xander aside.
“You know that this is very important to Willow,” he said. “Don't bollocks it up.”
“I won't,” said Xander, offended. “I am Xander, Lord of Romance.”
“So you won't have any trouble finding her, ah, most sensitive area?”
“Her what?”
Fifteen minutes later, armed with a packet of condoms in his pocket and a diagram of the female reproductive system up his sleeve, Xander emerged from Giles' office. Willow turned to him, blushing, and opened and shut her mouth. Buffy winced. Somewhere, a dog barked.
“Come on,” said Xander briefly, seizing her by the arm, and they departed.
“Do you think they bought it?” asked Buffy, once they were out of earshot.
Giles leaned back in his chair with a quiet smile.
“I'm so happy for you, Xander,” said Willow sadly.
“So tomorrow, I'm going to ask her if she wants to - what's the matter?”
Buffy and Giles had looked up as they entered the library, and sorrow was written upon their faces.
“What's the matter?” repeated Xander.
Giles got up slowly, looking very old, and hugged Willow. Buffy followed suit, and, after a moment, so did Xander.
“This can't be good,” came Willow's slightly muffled voice. “Xander, did you know about this?”
“Nope. I just saw that hugging was going on and wanted in on it.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Giles disengaged himself from the dogpile and handed Willow a penciled sheet of paper covered with his spidery script. It read:
“On the second week before the reopening of the [xtyl - barn, shed, place of learning], the copper-haired friend of the Chosen One will be attacked, and, unless she have a boyfriend at this time, she will be killed. Killed ... to death.”
Xander raised his hand.
“I have a question,” he said. “Does it mean 'boyfriend', necessarily, or just 'boy who is a friend'?”
“I'm afraid there is no doubt as to the translation,” said Giles mournfully. “According to the most reputable source on this language, Let's have fun with Xtarnglic!, the word 'prelswey' translates as 'one who cannot find anything in the refrigerator without her assistance'.”
“Well, that settles it,” sniffled Willow. “I can't get a date to save my life. Literally.”
Xander put a comforting arm around his best friend.
“Don't worry, Will. We'll find you a boyfriend, even if I have to take somebody hostage at Buffy-point.”
“Perhaps that won't be necessary,” said Buffy. “Surely there's someone who cares enough for Willow to do what needs to be done? Somebody in this room, even?”
Xander shook his head.
“I don't see who could do it,” he said. “We're all either too old, or the wrong gender, or - oh. Oh.”
“Exactly,” said Buffy.
“I can't pretend that this isn't a shock,” said Xander. “But we all love you, Buffy, and the fact that you're gay will make absolutely no difference to -”
“I wasn't talking about myself.”
Xander's forehead wrinkled in bewilderment.
“Think about it,” urged Giles. “What are you, Xander?”
“The winner of the gold medal in the Stupid Olympics?”
“Stop quoting your parents, Xander. Also, I meant in terms of gender.”
“A boy?”
“Exactly. And Willow is...?”
You could almost hear the gears turning.
“A ... girl?”
“That's right, Xander. And what do girls do with boys?”
“Arrange for restraining orders?”
“Besides that, Xander.”
“...Oh.”
Giles drew Xander aside.
“You know that this is very important to Willow,” he said. “Don't bollocks it up.”
“I won't,” said Xander, offended. “I am Xander, Lord of Romance.”
“So you won't have any trouble finding her, ah, most sensitive area?”
“Her what?”
Fifteen minutes later, armed with a packet of condoms in his pocket and a diagram of the female reproductive system up his sleeve, Xander emerged from Giles' office. Willow turned to him, blushing, and opened and shut her mouth. Buffy winced. Somewhere, a dog barked.
“Come on,” said Xander briefly, seizing her by the arm, and they departed.
“Do you think they bought it?” asked Buffy, once they were out of earshot.
Giles leaned back in his chair with a quiet smile.