The trio of vampires watched from the alley they were lurking in as the small group approached. They could smell the alcohol from where they were and that, combined with the slight unsteadiness to the humans' walk, seemed to indicate that they were drunk. Almost as one, the vampires grimaced; the blood of drunk people tasted a little off but, then again, it still tasted better than the blood of drug-users.
For a species that tended to view its fellows as competition for the same source of prey, it was unusual to see vampires hunting in groups. But of late, the City of Angels had started becoming more dangerous for their kind. They were still unsure as to precisely *what* was happening... just that it wasn't good.
The group of humans - all young men who were apparently having a night on the town - were now approaching the entrance to the alley, and as they passed, three pairs of arms blurred out and grabbed them, each vampire grabbing two and hauling them into the alley.
The humans sobered up rapidly, but all three of the vampires had seen similar reactions from other intoxicated humans they'd taken before. One of the vampires, however, frowned as warning bells started going off in his mind. Sure, the humans' clothes smelled - positively *reeked* - of alcohol, but there wasn't the same amount on their breath. And one of them was wearing glasses, but there was something odd about them...
There wasn't time for the suspicions to fully form, however, as in that moment, the humans exploded into action, launching blows at the vampires that caught them completely off-guard and sent them reeling, dazed.
Taking advantage of the vampires' confusion, the humans then drew weapons - two sub-machine guns and four pistols - with a speed that practically screamed 'highly-trained soldiers', except that the vampires were in no real condition to notice.
<Well, now I know why LA has started becoming dangerous for us,> one of the vampires thought somewhat dazedly, a condition resulting from having his head bounced off a concrete wall.
Muzzle flashes lit up the alley.
Petty Officer Allan Deniston surveyed the scene with satisfaction. This had been the third group of vampires his SEAL patrol had encountered - and eliminated - that night, for a total of ten vampires. He frowned slightly - the information that they'd been given before their patrol started had indicated that vampires were solitary hunters, but in the week since their patrol cycle started, they'd mainly encountered pairs, trios, and the occasional group of four, with single vampires being in a decided minority.
He shrugged. Tonight was the last night of the patrol cycle, and it was something he could bring up during the debriefing. The ammunition they'd been issued seemed to work pretty well, he noted. Blessed tracer rounds, and subsonic, to boot. If the vampires didn't burn, then they'd be crippled by the blessings imparted on each round... particularly when they were shot in the kneecaps, making them easy prey for the more traditional vampire-hunting weapons such as wooden stakes.
The fact that the rounds were subsonic made the suppressors built into their pistols and sub-machine guns effective as well. <We don't want to disturb the upstanding citizens of LA,> he thought with a slightly twisted grin.
"Hey, Allan," Roy Webber, the patrol's second-in-command said, interrupting his thoughts.
"Yeah, Roy?"
"Wasn't there something in our patrol orders that said that vampires were to be taken prisoner, if possible?" Roy asked, his tone of voice indicating that he didn't particularly care one way or the other. "I think the word 'interrogation' was mentioned somewhere."
"I made a command judgement that it wasn't possible," Allan said with a grin.
"Fair enough."
"... the infra-red monocle built into a pair of glasses was effective, as was the ammunition," Allan said, wrapping up his debriefing to an audience which included the one-star who had operational command of Operation STOKER, the Lieutenant-Commander who was his immediate superior... and a group of civilians. *Teenage* civilians, actually.
Normally, Allan would be peeved by the fact that there were civilians sitting in on a debriefing, but he'd been thoroughly briefed when he'd volunteered for this op, and knew that they'd *earned* their position as experts the hardest way possible - with the blood of friends and family.
"Excellent, Petty Officer," the general said. "If you have no comments or questions, then this debriefing is over."
"Actually, sir, there *are* a couple of points I'd like to raise."
"Go on."
"Well, sir, the first point concerns the monocles. Although the R-and-D guys did a good job of disguising them, up close they look suspicious. Can I assume that that is being worked on?"
"You may, Petty Officer," the Lieutenant-Commander said. "The second point?"
"It involves the fact that, on our patrols, we were running into groups of vampires, rather than the loners we were briefed to expect. And, from what I've heard, it's something that has been happening across the city. No offence," he added to the civilians.
"None taken," the young man who his briefing had identified to Allan as Alexander Harris replied. "In fact, it's something that's come as a surprise to us, too."
"We think it might be an effect of the military patrols," the young redhead - Willow Rosenberg - added. "Reports from other cities are saying pretty much the same thing."
"After all, over the last couple of weeks, they *have* been vanishing in ever-increasing numbers," the blonde - Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer - pointed out. "Vampires may be stupid, but they *do* have a highly-developed self of paranoia. Maybe they've started to work out what's been happening to them."
"The implications of that, if true, are somewhat disturbing," the one-star said. "Not the least because that means the they might start organising themselves, which would make hunting them somewhat more problematic." A series of nods around the room indicated that everyone else present was also thinking along those lines.
What was carefully *not* being said, however, was the worst-case scenario resulting from taking that thought through to its logical conclusion. That there would be a group of vampires - possibly acting in concert with demons of one form or another - large enough to overwhelm the garrison of the Sunnydale Exclusion Zone, and hold the Hellmouth for long enough to conduct whatever ritual required to open it.
In fact, several plans for *just* that eventuality had been drawn up - which was a sign of how seriously the US government was taking this. After all, no-one wanted the Hellmouth to open. Bad things would happen then. Each contingency plan had increasing levels of response, with the top-level responses being extremely drastic, which came as no surprise to the handful of people who possessed the necessary security clearances to even *know* of their existence, let alone to actually read them; they were designed with extremely drastic situations in mind.
"If there is nothing else you'd like to add, Petty Officer..." the one-star prompted.
"No, sir," Allan replied.
"In that case, this debriefing is over and with it, so is your patrol cycle," the one-star said, and then added with a small smile. "I believe you and your men have earned the right to indulge in a few cold beers."
"Thank you, sir."
Office of the Special Advisor to the President (Supernatural Affairs) Old Executive Office Building, Washington D.C.
Rupert Giles pushed his glasses up on his forehead to allow him to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was at times like this that he missed the teenagers he'd left behind on the West Coast to take up his new position.
Granted, at times they could be most aggravating, but at least they tended to *get things done*, without much in the way of paperwork, which was mainly limited to the Watcher Journals that *he* was responsible for maintaining. As Buffy had once put it, "I kill the bad guys, and you write it down. *That's* what I call division of labour."
Now, he had to deal with reports from all directions - not to mention having to write reports of his own. At least, he had access to far more competent typists than himself for that particular task. And the services of a personal assistant to maintain his schedule - a fairly attractive young woman, and it was no effort *at all* to imagine Xander's likely reaction when he found out about *that*; strangely, it was a prospect which did not concern him unduly - and what he privately termed a 'batman' to help him with any military jargon he didn't understand... which was most of it, to be honest.
Currently, it appeared that translation services would be required, as he was perusing the various contingency plans for the opening of the Hellmouth, all lumped together under the arcane - to him, anyway - legend of 'TOP SECRET (CODE WORD ACCESS) - ARMAGEDDON', along with dire warnings for anyone who read it without the appropriate security clearance. The overall name seemed somewhat dramatic, but it was at least descriptive.
Idly noting that this was the latest version of what had already been nicknamed the 'Doomsday Book' - not to be confused with the targeting sheets for the Strategic Integrated Operations Plan, the directions for fighting a thermonuclear conflict; nicknamed the 'Doomsday *Folder*' - he broke the seal and skipped past the table of contents, electing to jump straight into the heart of the matter.
And immediately found himself *way* out of his depth, which was hardly surprising when the subject matter involved content along the lines of...
'Case ARC LIGHT
'Upon receiving confirmation of a major supernatural event in the Sunnydale Exclusion Zone (SEZ), Strategic Command (STRATCOM) will activate the following assets... (a long list of what Giles presumed were bomber squadrons)... and commence operations under the direction of-'
'Case LAND HAMMER
'Upon receiving confirmation of a major supernatural event in the Sunnydale Exclusion Zone (SEZ), Strategic Command (STRATCOM), acting in concert with Air Combat Command (ACC) will activate the following assets... (an even longer list)... and commence operations under the direction of-'
Feeling the need for a short break from the deluge of acronyms and jargon, he made himself a cup of tea. Sipping on the brew, he flipped to the last scenario in the folder. In a case of unfortunate timing, he was in the middle of taking a sip as he skimmed the contents of 'Case PROMETHEUS'.
What he read made him spray his tea halfway across his office in a classic spit-take.
"What the hell? Missile squadrons... new target co-ordinates for Peacekeeper ICBM... W-85 MIRV, with a nominal yield of five hundred (500) kilotons... initial commitment of two missiles," he muttered, a suspicion forming. Surely, the government couldn't mean to...
Wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, he buzzed his PA and asked for Warrant Officer Kevin Wilkinson to be sent in.
"You called for me, Mister Giles?" WO Wilkinson asked as he stuck his head around the door a few seconds later.
"Indeed, Kevin," Giles responded. "I require your help in deciphering some documents - and I used to think that some of the languages I had to deal with as a Field Watcher were arcane. It amazes me as to some of the things that it is possible to do to a language."
Wilkinson smiled at that remark. It was rapidly becoming something of a running joke among those who had to deal with the Englishman. Give him a fragmentary document that was written in a dead language, they said, and he'd have it sorted out with a minimum of fuss, since that was what he was *used to*. Give him something written in US government language, however, and they'd start placing bets on how long it would take to ask someone for help.
"I think I may be able to help in that regard, Mister Giles."
Giles handed him the folder, and he took the seat on the other side of Giles' desk while he skim-read them. He made no remark as to the classification level of the documents, as he was fully cleared to view them. Frankly, it was necessary, given the way that Giles struggled with the average government report.
It didn't take too long to read the documents in question, and Wilkinson closed the folder and replaced it on Giles' desk, taking a moment to frame his reply. The contents of the last plan, in particular, had shaken him somewhat.
"The first two are fairly straightforward," he said. "If the Hellmouth opens, the Air Force will commence around-the-clock bombing operations in support of ground troops. Arc Light - which, incidentally, is the code for heavy bomber strikes - involves the use of B-52s, B-1s and B-2s.
"Land Hammer adds to that other varieties of ground-attack craft - in essence, anything with wings that can carry bombs.
"Prometheus, however, goes much further than that." Wilkinson paused and sent a level gaze Giles' way. "In short, nuclear weapons will be used on targets within the continental United States."
"That's what I was afraid it meant."
The man lay on the bed, considering his options. Ever since the tragedy of two months ago, he'd been a recluse, spending the time to ponder what he considered to be his personal failings, not the least of which was his cowardice.
While everyone else had stepped forward to face something from their nightmares, *he* had taken several backwards; in fact, he'd broken and run.
And like everyone else, he was paying for it, although in a different way.
Instead of having to mourn for friends and family, he was being plagued by his conscience. Right on cue, the nagging started again.
<You ran.>
<What else could I do? If I'd stayed, I probably would have died as well,> he protested silently.
<Don't try to rationalise your actions. You *ran*, like the coward that you really are.>
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce sighed and conceded the point. It was true, he decided. He *had* been a coward on that terrible day in Sunnydale, when as soon as the Ascension began, he'd jumped into his car and driven away as fast as it would carry him. He'd survived, but he hadn't counted on the price his actions would extract from him.
As it turned out, he'd been *right* to escape, but the fact that he hadn't made the slightest effort to stop the tragedy gnawed at him. A group of *children* had shown more courage than him, for God's sake! And although they had been justly rewarded for their courage, the price they had paid was infinitely steeper than the castigating his conscience had been subjecting him to ever since that day.
Although, he had to admit, he *had* been grossly unprepared for the situation when he'd first arrived in Sunnydale, and the circumstances of his arrival hadn't helped, either. Replacing a well-respected man - for doing something that he wouldn't have hesitated in doing himself - was never easy, and he hadn't helped matters by trying to assert his authority straight away. Then again, he *had* been 'so green he needed mowing' - to coin a phrase - and hadn't thought through the likely consequences of his actions.
His job had been made even more difficult when Rupert Giles had elected to remain in Sunnydale, although Wesley was certain that the ex-Watcher hadn't *meant* to cause difficulties. In fact, Giles had tried to help him by offering advice and suggestions on how to deal with the headstrong young Slayer in his care and the group of friends who'd elected to help her in her duties.
It was just that Buffy had been unable to avoid comparisons between the two of them and Wesley had been found wanting in many areas. If someone offered him the chance to re-live the last six months or so, knowing what he knew now, he'd leap at the chance.
Shaking his head at the futility of such thoughts, he turned his attention to his meagre belongings. At least he'd had the foresight to draw as much cash as possible from the credit card he'd been issued, as not long after the Graduation Massacre, the account had been frozen. In a fit of paranoia - and thinking the worst - he'd started to check in to a series of cheap motels, never staying at any one for more than a week or so. The motel he was currently staying at was merely the latest in a series, and he hadn't bothered to pay any attention to the name. Why should he? He'd probably be moving out before too long.
His gaze fell on the laptop computer he'd been issued to submit his reports and Journal entries on. The Council had accepted that technology *was* useful in some respects, and had gone to some pains to construct a system to allow for private, encrypted communications between themselves and their field agents.
It had gone unused these two months gone, but Wesley was tired of running. Tired of hiding. Plugging the computer into the data-jack in the wall - cheap the motel may be, but they saw the revenue potential of providing Internet connections to their customers - and connected to the Council's Virtual Private Network. After typing in the username and password he'd carefully memorised, he checked to see if there were any messages for him.
There was one, but it was to all Watchers, rather than for him specifically. Opening it, he read it...
...and sat bolt upright in shock. The Council of Watchers was no more, and had been for over a month, disassembled by the British government, acting in concert with the American government. His head spinning from the implications, he read the message again, more carefully.
It was an offer. Any Watcher who felt that they could not continue would be allowed to retire quietly and be given a generous pension. However, they were being encouraged to lend their assistance and expertise to the new government department that was being set up in order to co-ordinate the resources the American government, along with those of allied nations - the British and Australian governments were the only ones to sign up and commit assistance, Wesley noticed - had committed to the fight against the darkness.
He noted the fact that the message was written by Rupert Giles, and included methods for getting into contact to offer his services. In a flash of insight, he realised that this was a chance to redeem his failures on that terrible day. Picking up the motel phone, he dialled the number at the end of the message.
"Can I speak to Rupert Giles, please? My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce..."
The 'room' was infinite in size, which could probably be attributed to the fact that it didn't really exist in the set of dimensions that their inhabitants, in their ignorance, called 'the real world'. Currently, there were two figures present, wearing the forms of a male and a female.
These forms approached physical perfection, which was easy to understand, given that the beings could choose whatever form they desired, although physical bodies were not required.
"This turn of events is most unfortunate," the male was saying.
"Indeed," his 'sister' agreed. "Our plans are in disarray; the souled vampire is no more, his destiny unfulfilled. The one who would become his Seer has also perished before her time. We stand on the brink of disaster."
"Perhaps not," the male countered. "The humans have been forcibly introduced to aspects of their world that they have previously ignored, and are accepting responsibility for defending themselves from the darkness."
"It remains to be seen how effective the measures they are putting into place will be. After all, this situation is the direct result of one human's failings."
The male immediately understood what his 'sister' was referring to. Human free will had been something that had been both a blessing and a curse over the millennia, and the reason why this particular dimension and its derivatives required so much of their attention.
"What do you propose we do, then?"
"Nothing. Our hands are tied in this case; we can only offer guidance, not involve ourselves directly in events except under very specific circumstances - which have not eventuated."
"Understood."
Allen Francis Doyle stared moodily into his glass before tipping it to his mouth and taking a sip of the fine Irish whisky. His life had gotten steadily worse over the past couple of months... not that life for a half-Brachen who received visions - and the skull-splitting, brain-melting headaches that went with them - on a semi-regular basis from the Powers That Be was much fun to start with.
In fact, it had reached the point where not even the Jameson's was doing much to dull the pain. There were *so many* people in need, and he couldn't do a single thing to help them...
His musings were interrupted by the arrival of the owner of the bar, a green-skinned, sharp-dressing Anagogic demon who went by the name of Krevlorneswath, but preferred to be called Lorne. "Bad day, huh?"
Doyle nodded. "It's reached the point where the pain from the last vision's barely gone before the next one comes along," he admitted, finishing his drink.
Lorne grimaced in sympathy as he signalled for another drink. "Look on the bright side - it *will* get better, trust me."
That was something Doyle desperately wanted to believe, and it helped that Lorne had managed to convince him to try his hand at singing. The destiny that had been revealed by Doyle's attempt at karaoke was that he would, indeed, make a difference, with his visions proving crucial on more than one occasion. And that was all that Lorne would reveal.
"I suppose so," Doyle replied. "But waiting for things to get better becomes old after a while, y'know?"
Any further conversation was forestalled when the television above the bar cut from the sport broadcast to a news announcement.
"We interrupt regular programming to bring you a breaking news story." The picture changed to show a large building engulfed by flames, with fire-fighting appliances and men with hoses spraying water on the building in an attempt to control the blaze.
"Approximately fifteen minutes ago, a hotel in Chicago was fire-bombed. Eyewitness accounts state that a number of cars drove slowly past the hotel, and the passengers were seen throwing bottles out of the windows," the news anchor was saying. "Seconds later, smoke started billowing from the windows of the hotel, leading to the assumption that the bottles contained some sort of incendiary material. The hotel's sprinkler system proved to be inadequate to deal with the blaze, which rapidly took hold."
The anchor's expression became suitably grave. "To date, there have been *no* people rescued from the building, and Chicago Fire Department officials are not optimistic about the chances of survival for anybody trapped in the building.
"The Commissioner of the Chicago Police Department has issued a statement deploring the act, and vowing to devote his entire department's resources to bring to justice those responsible for, quote, 'this act of terrorism', unquote."
Whatever the anchor had been about to say next was interrupted by a piece of paper being slid onto the desk from off-screen. After taking a moment to scan the contents, he continued, "This just in; the extremist group, Defenders of Humanity, have claimed responsibility for this act, accusing the owners of the hotel of consorting with the demonic. Quoting from their statement, 'we must not allow sentiment to stand in the way of doing what must be done to defend ourselves from those that wish to exterminate our species. The law has proven itself to be inadequate for the task, forcing us to take that responsibility ourselves. There must be no consorting with the forces of evil, and no leniency for those that do. There is no middle ground - you are with us, or you are against us.'"
There was obviously another interruption, as the anchor pressed lightly on the small microphone in his ear. "I have just received word that the mayor of Chicago, along with the Commissioner of the Chicago Police Department, has just called a press conference in light of today's events."
The picture on the television changed again, to reveal a podium with a small forest of microphones, behind which was standing a man dressed in a fairly expensive suit - the mayor of Chicago.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Press," he said. "I wish the circumstances behind our being here today were better, but they are not.
"Half an hour ago, terrorists from the group 'Defenders of Humanity' attacked a hotel in our fair city." He paused while the assembled journalists murmured quietly, surprised by the strength of the language being used. "Yes, *terrorists*. I have spoken to the President, and he assures me that legislation on the subject will be introduced before Congress at the earliest possible moment.
"Returning to my original statement, however; it is too early to tell how many lives have been lost, but I am informed by the Chief of the Chicago Fire Department that the potential death toll could run into the dozens. I would also like to express my gratitude to the brave men and women of the Chicago Fire Department for their valiant and on-going efforts to rescue people from the scene of the disaster.
"To the so-called 'Defenders of Humanity', I say this: with these acts, you are proving yourselves to be just as evil as those you claim to fight. Our nation is a nation where the rule of law reigns supreme, not rough vigilante 'justice'. By taking the law - what you *see* as the law, rather - into your own hands, you have placed yourselves outside of its protection, and will suffer the full punishment that can be levied under its strictures."
The mayor clearly had more to say, but Lorne and Doyle - not to mention the other patrons of the club - had heard enough. Switching the television off, Lorne sighed and said, "Thank *you*, Richard Wilkins. It was bad enough before, but now?"
"Better make sure the SEP is working, then," Doyle commented.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" Lorne asked plaintively. "It's an *aversion spell*, not a 'Somebody Else's Problem' field. I should never have lent you those 'Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy' novels."
Doyle shrugged, and took a sip of his new drink. "Same thing, really. And I like the name better."
Lorne didn't respond to that; instead muttering something about 'small minds'.
Rupert Giles was also switching off the television in his office, feeling slightly nauseous. He'd thought witch-hunting - apart from the use of the phrase as an expression - had quietly faded away centuries ago. To find out that it hadn't been buried all that deeply, simply waiting for the right opportunity to emerge once more was... not exactly surprising, since he couldn't honestly say that he was all that surprised, but it was *certainly* disturbing, and showed quite clearly what people were willing to do to one another on the slightest pretext.
He was jolted from his gloomy thoughts when the phone on his desk rang. "Rupert Giles."
"Heya, Giles," the voice on the other end of the phone responded, and Giles smiled involuntarily despite the situation. "How's things?"
"Apart from the atrocity that is currently being reported, quite well, thank you, Xander," Giles replied.
"Yeah, that *is* sickening," Xander replied in a much more serious tone of voice. "You'd think that people would have more to worry about now."
"People will always find reasons to be extremely unpleasant to each other, I'm afraid. All that is required is an excuse, in most cases."
"That's more true than I want to think about at the moment," Xander admitted. "But enough of that. I called to see how you were, not to hear about nasty things happening. So, have you been given a big office near the White House with all the trimmings?"
"Well, the office *is* quite spacious," Giles replied. "And the view out of the window does feature the White House quite prominently, although I must admit some confusion; what do you mean when you say 'all the trimmings'?"
"You know, Giles - attractive secretary and all that."
"Now that you mention it, Xander, yes I *do* have a secretary - or 'personal assistant', as the current terminology seems to be," he said before pausing. "And, yes, she is an attractive young woman."
"Thought so," Xander said with a chuckle. "Don't go being a dirty old man... or if you must, don't get caught, okay?"
It was at that point that Giles' imagination shut down. "Thank you for reminding me of that, Xander," he said drily.
"You're welcome, Giles."
"And might I enquire as to how you are faring, Xander?"
"Great, Giles. We've been training with some of the Special Forces guys, including the Australian and English troops. I never knew that there were so many ways of fighting dirty, but then again, there's only one rule when fighting vampires - survive."
"That is quite true, Xander," Giles admitted. "Is the training progressing well?"
"So far, anyway. We start with the weapons training tomorrow, which should be really interesting." Giles had to repress a shudder at the thought of American teenagers with automatic weapons. "Oh, yeah. Speaking of soldier-type stuff, Soldier Boy seems to be making a comeback."
"What do you mean?" Giles asked, somewhat concerned.
"Nothing too drastic," Xander assured him. "During one of the unarmed-combat lessons yesterday, he started whispering suggestions to me. After a while, I started following them, and ended up winning the sparring match against the SAS guy that was instructing us. I'm not sure who was more surprised - him or me. After all, I'd just pulled off a few moves straight from the SAS Handbook... and which we hadn't been shown yet."
"That is most intriguing, Xander," Giles said. "And it would seem to lend credence to the theory that it was, indeed, a British soldier whose memories you received."
"It's not just the skills that are coming back, but some of the memories, as well. Apparently, this guy served in Vietnam, the Falklands and Northern Ireland... which is where he died," Xander finished sombrely. "There's a request being sent to - what was the name of the place again? Hereford? - for information. Maybe we can find out who he was."
"Yes, Hereford is where the British Special Air Service is headquartered," Giles replied. "Do you have any idea why the memories and skills should be returning?"
"Not really. But we've been looking into it, and the best explanation we could find was that we're spending a lot of time hanging around soldiers," Xander explained. "That might have something to do with it."
"That is a possibility," Giles admitted, feeling proud of the young man. He'd obviously chosen wisely when he'd decided to turn over the responsibility of being Watchers - he couldn't bring himself *not* to use the term - for both Buffy and Faith over to Willow, Oz and Xander. Their research skills were probably at least up to the standard required for the role - in fact, over the last couple of months prior to Graduation, he'd acted more to direct the direction of research into the latest threat to rear its head. And Xander had always been willing to help Buffy train, even though his own fighting skills had been below par.
That was what the Council of Watchers had recently considered to be the role of a Field Watcher. And when the emotional support that had been available for Buffy - even though they might not have always told Buffy what she wanted to hear, Xander in particular had always told her what she *needed* to hear.
And when the burgeoning relationship between Buffy and Xander was taken into account...
"You still there, Giles?"
Xander's voice snapped Giles from his thoughts. "Yes, Xander. Sorry about that; I was thinking about something."
"That's all right, Giles. You old guys tend to drift off without warning." Giles could easily imagine the grin that Xander was wearing as he said that. "Oh, by the way, we've heard some rumours about a place where non-violent demons are supposed to hang out in Los Angeles called 'Caritas'. Have you heard of the place?"
"I seem to recall hearing the name before," Giles replied. "If you'll wait a moment, I'll look it up." Wedging the phone handset between ear and shoulder, he laboriously typed the name into the computer on the desk in front of him.
Xander must have heard the clicking of the keys. "Giles! You're using a *computer*!" He let out a sniff that was as fake as a three-dollar bill. "Willow is going to be so *proud* when I tell her."
Giles ignored the comment as the information he requested was displayed on the screen. It didn't take long to read, as there wasn't a great deal of it. "From the limited information at my disposal, it would seem that Caritas is a neutral meeting ground, with violence being prohibited on the premises. In addition, according to the files the Council had, it would also seem that a large proportion of the patrons would, indeed, be of a pacifistic inclination."
"Thanks for the info, Giles. We're going to check the place out fairly soon, and I thought it would be a good idea to get as much info as possible before we waltz in through the doors. Not that that was the only reason I called, of course."
"Quite." Giles heard the shift in Xander's tone for his last sentence, which meant that the next subject that he would raise was going to be extremely serious. "Might I enquire, though, as to how Faith and Buffy are doing?"
"Faith's still a little nervous around us, which shouldn't really come as a surprise, but she seems to be settling down a little." There was a pause, after which Xander continued in a more sombre tone of voice. "Y'know, Giles, looking back, I'm really appalled by the way we treated Faith when she first arrived. I can't help but think that if we'd been a little nicer to her, she mightn't have gone over to the Dark Side. Buffy and Willow seem to think so as well, since they're making an effort to be friends with her."
"That is a conclusion that I have also come to," Giles agreed. "And I, too, am ashamed of my behaviour towards Faith in the early stages of her time in Sunnydale. But that is in the past now, and all we can do is hope to make up for it - which is something you and the others seem to have well in hand."
"So far, anyway. But I guess that's something we'll have to take one day at a time."
Giles waited for Xander to continue, but after a few moments passed and Xander didn't seem particularly inclined to do so, he prompted, "And how is Buffy doing?"
"She's doing fine, Giles. A little restless, due to not going out on patrols, but apart from that... erm..." Xander's voice trailed off, and Giles realised that he was about to broach the serious subject now.
"You're falling in love with her," Giles stated, deciding to show mercy on the young man.
"Not falling - fallen," Xander admitted. "But there's something that has to be dealt with first." He paused, and for some reason Giles had the feeling that he was steeling himself for something. "Last year, when Angelus was on the loose... when me and Buffy went up to the mansion - me to rescue you, Buffy to deal with Angelus." The word 'finally' was unspoken, but both men were thinking it. "Before we left, Willow told me to tell Buffy that she was going to try to cast the soul curse again."
Hearing that story dredged up memories that Giles had been trying to forget; of the torture that Angelus had inflicted on him in order to obtain the key to Acathla and end the world. "And?" he prompted when Xander didn't seem inclined to continue.
"I lied to her," Xander said quietly. "Instead of telling her about the curse, I told her that Willow said to 'kick his ass'. And the rest, as they say, is history - the spell worked, Angel got his soul back... and got sent to Hell."
Giles was rendered speechless. This story revealed a side of Xander that he didn't think existed - the almost-ruthless streak, willing to do just about *anything* to protect his friends, no matter the cost. A moment's thought was sufficient for him to be fairly sure that he had worked out the reason for Xander's actions on that day, but...
"Why?" he asked neutrally.
"I'm not sure, Giles," Xander admitted. "Maybe there was a little bit of jealousy involved, maybe there was a desire for revenge... but I'm pretty certain the main reason was fear. After all, the lives of every person on the planet were at stake, and given the fact that Buffy had let Angelus get away every time they'd met, I couldn't be sure that she'd fight him properly if she thought there was a chance that she'd get Angel back."
"And what of Willow's efforts to restore his soul?" Giles asked. "Not that I doubt your integrity - I merely wish to understand the reasoning behind your actions."
"That's all right, Giles," Xander replied. "In fact, talking about my reasons like this is helping me to get it all sorted out myself. It wasn't that I didn't have faith in Willow's abilities; it was just that the soul curse was a fairly complicated spell, it was also the first spell that she'd cast, and to top it all off, she was in hospital with a fairly serious head injury."
"Ah, I see now the reasons behind your concerns." Giles paused to think a moment. "To be honest, Xander, I can understand that you did what you felt was necessary, but it's doubtful that Buffy and Willow will see things the same way. I assume, of course, that they do not know?"
Xander snorted half-heartedly. "That's a pretty safe assumption to make. After all, they're still talking to me."
"And you're worried that, if they find out, it will have a detrimental effect of your friendship with them?"
"No 'if' about it, Giles," Xander replied. "I *will* tell them. If I'm going to start dating Buffy, I won't have something like this hanging over our heads. And the effect that I'm worried that this little number will have on my friendship with them is to kick the hell out of it. Truth be told, I'm pretty amazed that Buffy didn't find out when she was a mind-reader a few months back."
"The Sword of Damocles," Giles muttered. "I can't help but respect the courage you're showing in bringing what can only be an extremely sensitive topic into the open like this," he continued in a more normal tone of voice.
"Courage, hell," Xander snorted. "If I'd had real courage, I'd have told them about this *much* sooner, but I kept on wussing out."
"Nevertheless, Xander," Giles said firmly. "The fact that you are willing to reveal this at all shows great personal courage and maturity on your part."
"Thanks, Giles. That means a lot to me."
Buffy, Willow and Xander were gathered in the lounge room in comfortable silence, with Buffy and Willow sharing the couch, and Xander perched in one of the armchairs. At that moment, Oz, Faith and Joyce were out of the house - Oz was taking a walk somewhere, Faith was having a talk with Father Jim as part of her counselling, and Joyce was doing some shopping - and both Buffy and Willow were wondering if Xander had arranged that somehow.
"All right, Xander," Willow said, breaking the silence, which had stretched just far enough to stop being comfortable. "I'm guessing that you've got something to say, and only to the two of us. So tell us, already."
"Okay, Will," Xander replied, and took a deep breath. Buffy noticed that his expression seemed to be both determined and worried at the same time, almost as if he was about to say something he *really* didn't want to, but was going to anyway. A sidelong glance at Willow revealed that she'd noticed the same thing...
"Cast your mind back to last year, when the Angelus crisis was drawing to a close," Xander started. "Particularly to the time when we went up to the mansion to rescue Giles and deal with Angelus. Before we left, Buffy, Willow said to tell you that she was going to try to do the soul curse again."
Buffy suddenly sat bolt upright. "But you said-" she stopped, unable to believe what her ears were reporting to her brain.
Xander nodded sadly. "That's right - I said that Willow said to 'kick his ass'."
Buffy's expression started to crumple. "Why, Xander? Were you *that* jealous of Angel that you'd..." Unable to finish the sentence, she rested her elbows on her knees and rested her head in her hands and started to sob. Willow drew Buffy into a supportive embrace and shot Xander a poisonous glare over Buffy's back.
"Jealousy wasn't the main reason - at least I don't *think* it was. I think it had more to do with the fact that there were six *billion* lives - those of every man, woman and child on the planet - in the balance that night, and that was something I did *not* want to take chances with."
Willow reluctantly nodded. She could understand that line of reasoning, but still...
And there was one more thing for her to take issue with. "Didn't you think that I'd be able to successfully cast the soul curse?"
As reluctantly as she'd nodded a few moments ago, Xander shook his head. "Not with enough confidence to let the outcome rely on it, Will." Seeing her face turn almost as red as her hair, Xander hastened to explain. "Think about it - it was a complicated spell, you hadn't worked any magic at *all* before that night, and you were in the hospital with a concussion. What would that do to your chances of pulling it off?"
Willow forced herself to think about it rationally. One of the few things that Jenny Calendar had managed to teach her about the use of magic before her death was that it was an extremely delicate process, requiring a great deal of concentration. Any major disruption to that concentration - such as a head injury, for instance - would have unpredictable effects on the success or failure of the spell being attempted. It might work as expected, it might be spectacularly successful... or it might be an equally spectacular failure. But-
"But it *worked*, Xander. I managed to restore Angel's soul," Willow countered with an icy calm that seemed to go right through anger and out the other side.
"I know," Xander said sadly. "But it was too late. Acathla had already started to open when Angel got his soul back." Unspoken was a question - what did she think that Buffy would have done if she'd known from the start that there was a chance that Angel would get his soul back?
Willow thought about it. She didn't like the answer she got, but she was honest enough with herself to admit it - if Buffy had been told about the attempt to restore Angel's soul, she probably wouldn't have gone all out in an attempt to draw the fight out long enough for Angel to return. But if Xander was telling the truth about Acathla starting to open-
<Xander's already admitted to lying about one thing that night,> Willow thought. <What's to say that he isn't lying about this as well?>
Any reply she might have given, however, was forestalled when Buffy stopped crying long enough to say, "Get out," in a flat tone of voice that sent a shiver down her spine - and it hadn't been aimed at her.
Xander nodded sadly, and got up to leave. Just after he opened the door, but before he left, he turned back towards Buffy. "Buffy?" he said softly. Buffy looked up from where she'd replaced her head in her hands to resume sobbing. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry."
Allan Deniston entered the bar, feeling each and every one of the bruises on his body. That was the *last* time he'd join the Aussies and Brits for a game of rugby - at least, not without a *lot* more padding to absorb the frighteningly brutal force of the tackles. He definitely needed a beer or two to numb the pain.
As he was making his way to the bar - near-deserted at this time of the day - he noticed Xander sitting by himself in one corner, staring moodily into a glass of beer. That was unusual for two reasons; the first that he was by himself, and the second was the expression of abject misery on his face. For some reason Allan suspected the two were closely linked.
Grabbing a glass from the bar, he wandered over to Xander's table. "Hey, Xander," he said, causing the young man to start slightly. "Mind if I join you?"
Startled, Xander looked for the source of the voice. "Sure, Allan. Go right ahead," he said, staring into the beer once more. He knew that he wasn't being the best of company right now, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to care too much.
Allan sat down opposite him and poured himself a glass from the jug in the centre of the table before taking a long swallow. "That's better," he said with a contented sigh. "Hey, Xander, you know the beer tastes better if you actually *drink* it."
"Yeah, so I've heard," Xander replied absently, lifting the glass to take a small sip.
Allan moved his own beer off to one side slightly. Whatever was bugging Xander was *serious*. "What's on your mind?"
Without looking up, Xander said, "Picture this - you're deeply in love with someone, but that person has chosen somebody else, a person that you really, *really* don't like. Something goes wrong - and it's to do with that person. After a series of bad things happening, it's come to the point where action is finally being taken, mainly because every other alternative is worse. You find yourself being forced to lie to the person that you love in order to stop one of those worse alternatives from happening. It works, but the person you love is forced to do something that she *really* didn't want to do."
Xander took a deep breath and continued. "Later on, things are starting to look up for you. You're still in love with that person, and it's starting to look possible - just possible, mind you - that she's starting to show an interest in you as well. But the lie you've told is still between the two of you. What do you do? Do you stay quiet and hope that she doesn't find out? Or do you do the honest thing and tell her?"
Allan took a sip of his own beer while he sorted it out in his head. He was fairly certain that he understood what Xander was getting at; after all, despite many jokes and comments to the contrary - usually made by people who weren't SEALs, and to which SEALs showed no hesitation in responding in kind - SEALs are not stupid people. It was Allan's inner smart-arse that responded first, however.
"I'd go with option three - shoot myself for ever getting into that situation in the first place." When Xander glared at him, Allan help up his hands placatingly. "I know, that wasn't much help," he said with a small sigh. "Let me guess - you're talking about the Buffy/Angelus situation last year, right?"
Xander's glare shifted to a look of confusion.
"The pre-mission briefing we got *did* go into a fair amount of detail, you know." Allan thought about it some more, before continuing. "Shit, I don't know. I'd be more inclined to tell her, but that's just me." Something went *click* in Allan's mind at that moment. "And that was also what you did too, right?"
Xander nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Sometimes, honesty can be a real curse, y'know? But I suppose it's better than her finding out later. An angry Buffy is *not* something I want to see," he concluded with a shudder.
"That's true," Allan conceded, as his sometimes too-active imagination filled in the details, causing him to shudder as well. "But leaving romantic concerns aside for the moment, you're still going to have to work with her. Do you think you can do that, or are other arrangements going to have to be made?"
"Hopefully not," Xander replied. "But if it comes down to it, I suppose I can go to Washington to help Giles."
"That's a last resort," Allan pointed out. "There are other cities we're setting up operations in on the West Coast, such as San Francisco, San Diego and Seattle, to name a few. You could always be transferred to one of those cities."
"Yeah, but I'd feel like I was running away. Giles asked me to help Buffy here, and I'd prefer to do that if I can," Xander said. "Of course that depends on her ever wanting to talk to me again. God, I wish I knew how she felt right about now."
Allan was about to reply, when a hint of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Glancing over Xander's shoulder, he saw Buffy standing in the doorway. Indicating with a nod that he wanted Xander to look behind him, he said, "Well, it looks as if you'll get the chance to find out."
"What?"
After Xander had left, Willow continued to comfort a crying Buffy while thinking about what Xander had said. As much as she hated to admit it, she was starting to think that jealousy *hadn't* been the primary motivation for Xander lying about the soul curse. In fact, she recalled, the expression on his face when she'd told him about her second attempt to cast the soul curse hadn't been jealousy, it had been-
Her thoughts were interrupted when Buffy stopped crying long enough to wail brokenly, "Why, Willow, *WHY*? Was he that jealous of Angel?"
"No, I don't think so," Willow said slowly. When Buffy turned an incredulous look her way, she added, "I remember the expression on his face when I told him to tell you that I was trying the soul curse again. It wasn't jealousy - it was fear. He was scared, Buffy, scared that if he told you, you wouldn't give your all; scared that Angelus would kill you; scared that Angelus would open Acathla and suck the world into hell. *That* was what his expression was saying at the time."
"What about you, Willow? Aren't you upset that he didn't think you'd be able to successfully cast the spell?" Buffy asked, her crying having subsided to a few sniffles.
Willow nodded. "Sure, but what he said made sense. In fact, to be honest, I'm not sure why it worked in the first place - I certainly haven't been able to work anything like it since then."
Realisation began to dawn on Buffy's face. "You know what that means, Willow? It means that, once again, Xander was there for me. It might not have been something I *wanted* to do, but it was something I *needed* to do, and I was angry at him just now because I thought he'd manipulated me. And he had - he'd manipulated me into doing my job."
Willow nodded her agreement with what Buffy was saying. "And every time he said that Angelus should have been staked like any other vampire, he was probably the only one of us who was thinking clearly. He even stuck to his guns and didn't waver, not even when both of us were trying to get him to change his mind." Willow's expression became sombre. "In fact, I'd say we both owe him a big apology for what just happened."
Buffy nodded. "I know, Willow. But this is... something I need to do by myself, if it's all right with you."
Willow's expression became speculative. "Okay, Buffy. Just make sure you pass along my apology as well."
Buffy sprang to her feet and headed for the door. "I'll be sure to do that Willow. And thanks!" she added as she left. Unknown to her, Willow was smiling gently. She'd just figured out the reason for Buffy's shift in emotions, and if she was right... well, her two best friends deserved a little happiness after what had happened.
Buffy had been looking for Xander for a little over an hour, without much luck. Apart from the beach - always a favourite place to sit and think about things - there were a few other quiet places on the base for a contemplative moment. There weren't actually all *that* many; despite the size of the base, most of it was high-traffic, such as the flight line, armouries, aircraft parking and maintenance areas, and the new areas being set up for Operation Stoker which included a Kill House and Military Operations in Urban Terrain - MOUT for short - setup.
Despite that, Buffy checked the flight line and aircraft parking areas, anyway. Since their return from Australia, Xander had enjoyed watching the aircraft based at Miramar conduct take-offs and landings, as well as wandering through the aircraft lines, usually finding a pilot or two who was willing to talk, not to mention show off his shiny taxpayer-funded toy. He hadn't yet managed to convince any of them to take him up for a joyride, but he was also certain that that wasn't too far off in the future.
While carrying out her search, Buffy also had a lot of time to think, particularly about the way she had reacted to Xander's revelation, and why he had revealed it in the first place. <He *had* to know that I'd react the way I did - or something like it anyway. So why'd he surrender that secret?>
She wandered almost aimlessly for a couple of minutes while she turned that over in her mind. <Could it be that he was going to ask me out, and didn't want that hanging over our heads?> If so, it was a loud and clear statement about his personality. Sure, she was still peeved that he'd lied to her in the first place about it, but her new-found perspective on the subject allowed her to remain rational. <He did what he thought he had to do. In fact, he was probably willing to sacrifice his friendship with both me and Willow in order to make sure the world didn't end.>
She almost came to a halt as the implications of that thought began to sink in. <Is there any length that he wouldn't go to, up to and including giving up his own life, to protect those he calls his friends?> In fact, at Graduation, he had been ready and willing to do *exactly* that - except for Angel's intervention which, in turn, led to Angel's own sacrifice.
<Xander and Angel. Angel and Xander.> Both men were very important to her, even when they hadn't exactly gotten along all that well. That thought prompted Buffy to make sure that she wasn't simply transferring her feelings for Angel to Xander.
As best she could tell, that wasn't the case. Xander had simply worked his way into her heart, especially over the last two months or so. He'd always been willing to offer her support, along with a joke or two when things weren't going all that well, be it Hellmouth-related or more personal. He was also unafraid to speak his mind, regardless of the consequences - lying to her about the curse was the sole exception to that, although it seemed that he'd had his reasons. In short, he'd been a rock for her, and even when she'd been with Angel, she'd somewhat unconsciously made use of that support. Plus, there was one more thing she wanted to ask him about.
At that moment, she realised that she was passing one of the sergeant's messes. Realising that she could do with a drink and a short rest before continuing her search, she decided to stop in here.
Fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony, for as soon as she stepped through the door, she spotted Xander, along with one of the SEAL team leaders, sharing a jug of beer and involved in a relatively low-voiced conversation. Her first reaction was worry - <Ohmigod! Did I hurt him *that* badly that he decided to drown his sorrows?> - before she noticed that the glasses in front of the two men were more than half-full and that the amount missing from the jug was enough to fill two glasses.
As she pondered the situation, the SEAL looked up - allowing her to recognise him as Allan Deniston - and nodded in her direction. He obviously said something to Xander, as he started slightly and spun around to face her. "Hi, Buffy," Xander said in a slightly dejected tone of voice.
"Hi, Xander. Allan," Buffy replied, trying to be more cheerful.
"Hi, Buffy," Allan said, just as cheerfully as Buffy, although she noticed that he was in some pain.
"What happened to you?"
"I got talked into joining the Aussies and Brits for a game of rugby," Allan replied with a slight wince. "I won't be doing that again in a hurry, that's for sure."
Buffy winced sympathetically. She'd watched them play, and marvelled that half of the players hadn't been hospitalised. "Erm, Allan, there's something I want to talk to Xander about, so..."
Allan took the hint straight away. Draining his beer, he stood up and said, "Well, since the beer didn't do a lot to numb the pain, maybe a nice hot shower will. See you later."
Once he'd left, Buffy turned to Xander. "Mind if I take a seat?" she asked, deciding to start off with something simple.
"Sure," Xander replied, obviously wondering what was going to happen next.
Buffy didn't keep him in suspense for too long. "Xander," she started once she'd sat down next to him, "after you left, I talked to Willow, and we both want to apologise for the way we reacted."
Xander stared incredulously at her. "No, Buffy, I should be the one apologising, after all-"
Buffy gently laid a finger across his lips, interrupting him. She couldn't help but notice the way his lips twitched. "No, Xander - you did the right thing when you lied to me. If you'd told me the truth, I probably would have held back in the hopes that Willow would have managed to successfully cast the soul curse. And we both know that, by the time Angel's soul was restored, Acathla was opening, so it probably would have been too late. As much as I might wish otherwise, as events turned out, I probably would have had to send Angel to hell, anyway," Buffy concluded, a tear trickling down her cheek despite her best efforts at self-control.
Xander wrapped his arms around her in a supporting hug. "I'm sorry that things turned out the way they did, Buffy, but I honestly can't say I'd do anything different if I had to do it all over again."
Buffy nodded sadly. "I know that, Xander - it's part of who you are, and I wouldn't want you to change that for anything. In fact, it'd probably be me who would have to do things differently if I got a second chance."
Xander wasn't going to let her denigrate herself like that, however. "To be fair to you, though, you had no way of knowing what would happen. We didn't find out about the escape clause in Angel's curse until it was too late, remember?"
"I know," Buffy admitted. "But I still should have had more self-control."
"Enough of that, Buffy," Xander said firmly. "There's not much point in hashing over the past - all you'll get is a stress ulcer." Buffy giggled for a moment, and then sent him a level look. "All right... sometimes it *is* important to talk about past events, but not in this case, all right?"
That was the opening that Buffy had been waiting for. "Speaking of, Xander," she started. "When I was in the hospital with the flu that time, some time during the night, I could have *sworn* I heard voices; yours and Angel... us' to be precise. But I figured it was some sort of hallucination. Was it?"
Xander looked somewhat uncomfortable, but he decided to tell the truth. <I've already lied to her about something big once - that's enough.> Apart from that, Buffy was turning a wide-eyed, imploring gaze at him, probably with malice aforethought. <Even if I'd *wanted* to lie, there's no way I'd be able to.>
Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Xander said, "Well, Angelus paid a visit to the hospital, and I kinda... got him to leave." He didn't add anything else, obviously hoping that would satisfy Buffy's curiosity.
If he was hoping that, he was just as obviously deluding himself. "*What*?" Buffy near-shouted. "What were you thinking?"
"Mainly, hoping that he wouldn't kill, or worse, turn you," Xander admitted.
"Weren't you scared?"
"Terrified, actually."
"So, why'd you do it?"
"He was going to either turn you or kill you, Buffy," Xander said. "There was no way I was going to stand aside and let him without doing *something*."
"But you could have been killed! Did you at least have a stake or a cross on you at the time?"
Xander shrugged uncomfortably. "No."
"And Angelus just left?" Buffy asked incredulously.
"Pretty much."
"Why?"
"I have no idea. In fact, I was pretty amazed myself when he just turned around and left. Of course, I was feeling pretty shaky afterwards."
"No wonder." Buffy was staring at him in amazement. He'd laid his life on the line for her - again - without a second thought. <And you were trying to keep him out of the Slayage for fear of him getting hurt?> a small voice in the back of her mind asked. <Is it any surprise that he kept on ignoring you?>
<No,> Buffy admitted silently. <He can be pretty damned stubborn when he wants to be.>
<Not to mention pretty much completely devoted to you,> the voice added dryly.
<Yeah.>
"Erm... Buffy?"
It was then that Buffy realised that she'd been staring at Xander for slightly longer than would normally be considered polite. "Just thinking," she replied.
"What about?"
"This." Deciding to seize the moment, she leaned forward and kissed him. Her eyes were closed, so she didn't see the way his eyes opened wide with astonishment, but she *did* notice it when, a couple of seconds later, Xander's body, obviously deciding that his brain was elsewhere, wrapped his arms around her and leaned into the kiss.
When they broke the kiss, a while later, they sat back slightly and just looked into each others' eyes. "Wow," they breathed, pretty much simultaneously.
Xander was the first to recover his composure. "When?" he asked - obviously, he hadn't recovered all *that* much of his composure.
Buffy understood what he'd meant, though. "A while now, but mostly during the last week of our holiday in Australia," she confessed. "You?"
"Pretty much since the first day you arrived in Sunnydale," Xander confessed in turn. "But the holiday was also pretty much the deciding point."
Buffy chuckled softly. "So, you could say that the holiday was good for us in more ways than one."
Xander grinned. "Yeah, you could say that."
When they returned to the house - hand-in-hand, of course - Willow was talking to Joyce, and Oz was sitting beside her, making the occasional comment, but mainly just sitting and observing, as was his habit.
The three of them turned when they heard the door opening, and their gazes fell, as if drawn by a mysterious force, to Buffy and Xander's intertwined hands. Their reactions were varied, but pretty much in character.
Oz merely lifted an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
Joyce's smile was more obvious, as was her approval and happiness for the two of them.
Willow squealed happily and leapt to her feet and raced forward to envelop both Buffy and Xander in joyous hugs. "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" she babbled. "This is *great*! Wait until I tell Faith-" She broke off as she noticed that Buffy and Xander were valiantly trying to hold back laughter, an effort that failed as first Xander, and then Buffy started chuckling, which quickly became fully-fledged laughter. "Whaa-at?"
"We're not laughing *at* you, Will," Xander managed to say. "Well, not much, anyway." Bringing his laughter under control, he returned the hug. "Don't you ever change, okay?"
"What he said," Buffy said as she also hugged Willow.
"This is a happy little scene," Joyce commented with a smile.
"Er, Mom..." Buffy started to say.
"Don't worry," Joyce interrupted. "You're eighteen now, and I trust you to make your own decisions. Although, for what it's worth, you have my approval, blessing and support. Just be careful, all right?" she added in a tone of voice that indicated perfectly what she wanted them to be careful *about*.
"Mom!" Buffy squeaked, her face turning a bright red. When both Joyce and Oz chuckled, her face went from bright red to practically incandescent. Valiantly attempting to rally herself, Buffy said, "Just like that? No inspection?"
"I don't think there's an real need for one - after all, over the last couple of years, I think I've gotten to know Xander pretty well, don't you agree?"
Buffy had to agree with that statement. After all the times that Xander and Willow had visited during her time in Sunnydale, usually bringing videos and junk food, her mother *had* gotten to know both Willow and Xander pretty well. Actually, the lack of a 'boyfriend inspection' came as something of a relief, even though she was confident that Xander would pass any such test with flying colours.
Releasing Xander's hand and taking a couple of steps forward, she hugged her mother. "Thanks, Mom," she whispered.
"You're welcome, dear."
It had become a habit they'd fallen in to ever since their return from Australia. At least as often as they would go to The Bronze back in Sunnydale, the teenagers visited the various messes on the base, a different one each night. Tonight's mess was one of the sergeant's messes.
As they approached the building, Faith asked, "Do you think the Aussies will be there tonight?"
Walking next to her, with his arm around Buffy's shoulders, and her arm around his waist, Xander replied with a chuckle, "Well, the bar's open-"
"And it's a day ending with a 'y'," Buffy concluded, also chuckling. "So, I think the chances would be good."
Faith didn't take offence - instead she chuckled along with them. "Why do you want to know, Faith?" Willow asked from Faith's other side, where she was walking hand-in-hand with Oz. "Got your eye on one of them, have you?"
"No," Faith protested weakly, not convincing anyone. She was spared further embarrassment, though, when from the mess, they heard-
"'Beer! Beer! Beer!' said the privates - merry old souls are we! "There's none so fine in the firing line "Like the Royal Oz Infantry!"
"And that answers *that* question," Xander said dryly, as the next verse of the 'song' began, at top volume and without anything resembling a tune, or singing talent, for that matter.
"Old King Cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he!
"He called for his pipes in the middle of the night
"And he called for his corporals three!
"'Left-right-left-right-left!' said the corporals
"'Beer! Beer! Beer!' said the privates - merry old souls are we!
"There's none so fine in the firing line
"Like the Royal Oz Infantry!"
"After you," Xander said, graciously allowing Faith to enter first.
"Why, thank you, kind sir," Faith replied, with only a hint of sarcasm.
Buffy and Xander were the next to enter, and both 'song' and conversation stopped dead as the soldiers present noticed their arms around each other. The silence changed briefly to a more speculative silence, and then...
"PAY ME, SUCKERS!"
That triumphant shout was quickly followed by a chorus of groans. "What was that about?" Buffy asked, slightly confused.
"If I had to guess, I'd say 'betting pool'," Xander replied.
"Betting pool? As in, people *betting* on whether we'd get together or not?"
"Yep, and judging by the way the barman's lunging for the phone... dialling rapidly... and now, talking excitedly, I'd say that there were quite a few people involved."
"You're getting pretty observant, Xander," Buffy said with a smile.
"If I'm going to be your Watcher, young lady," Xander replied in his best imitation of an English accent - which wasn't all *that* good, truth be told - "then I'm going to have to be quite observant, aren't I?" Buffy giggled and snuggled a little closer to Xander.
As they made their way through the fairly crowded room with Willow and Oz close behind them, they returned greetings and grinned at plaintive comments along the lines of, "Couldn't you two have gotten together yesterdaytomorrowx days ago/x days from now?"
Before too long, they'd reached their regular table, and found seats as Oz peeled off to get drinks. "Why am I not surprised to find you involved, Tom?" Xander said to one of the soldiers already at the table.
Tom Alderson, a corporal in the Australian Special Air Service Regiment, grinned at them as yet another person deposited a note on the already fairly-substantial pile in front of them. "You should know by now that we'll bet on just about *anything*, Xander," he said.
"True," Xander admitted, pulling out a chair for Buffy - who rolled her eyes and smiled at his antics - and taking a seat for himself. "In fact, I can't help but wonder if this was your idea in the first place."
Tom grinned again, but shook his head. "As much as I'd like to claim credit for the idea," he replied, "it wasn't mine."
"Then who's was it?" Buffy asked.
Instead of replying, Tom glanced to the left. Both Buffy and Xander turned their gazes that way, to see...
Willow, who was smiling unrepentantly at them. "Willow?" Buffy asked amazed.
"It wasn't just me," Willow replied.
"Who else-" Buffy stopped short as Oz returned with drinks. "You too, Oz?"
"Busted, huh?" Oz remarked as he sat down next to Willow.
"Turned in, more like," she replied.
"Figures."
"Were we the *last* people to figure it out?" Buffy asked Xander plaintively.
"Looks like it," Xander agreed, which cause the other people at the table to burst into laughter.
It was fast approaching one in the morning by the time they returned home, having enjoyed themselves immensely. There had been a slight surprise when they'd wondered where Faith had gotten to, and looked around for her, only to see her in close conversation with a young soldier. That little nugget of information had been filed away for future reference.
Oz and Willow made their goodnights and headed to their room. Buffy and Xander paused at Buffy's door to indulge in a long, slow kiss. Once the kiss was over, Xander made as if to go to his own room - which was next door - but Buffy tightened her grip on him. "Stay," she said softly. "Please?" she added when he looked dubious.
"Isn't it a bit soon to...?" Xander trailed off, unsure as to how to continue.
"Not that, Xander," Buffy said. "I just want you to... hold me. Please?" she asked again.
"How can I refuse?" he said, causing Buffy to smile lovingly at him as she opened the door to her room and led him inside.