Two Ladies of Quality
Author's Website: http://www.angelfire.com/rebellion/riani1/
Feedback: riani1@yahoo.com
It's been a quiet summer, since they defeated Glory. The quiet of waiting for the other shoe to drop. And some new shoes are heading for the floor.
Sister Agnes brought tea out to the grape arbor and sat across the table from Joyce.
Joyce accepted her cup. "So, what happened to all the Knights' horses?"
"Oh, the horses." Sister Agnes settled in comfortably. "We sent a message to the monastery of the Knights, and a few weeks later several novices came to collect the horses and to hear the tale."
"Were they angry?"
"Not in the least, thank God. They seemed far more relieved that Glory was defeated. They said a few prayers next to the graves and left." She smiled tightly. "Well, they left after I forbade them to salt the earth where Glory is buried and other similar things. She's not going anywhere, there's no reason not to leave her in peace."
"So it's been quiet otherwise?"
The nun nodded. "A typical summer. A few more visitors than normal, but no problems. We always get a few wanderers stop by who are exploring the roads and find their way here."
Joyce glanced at the chapel. "What do they make of Saint Eugene?"
"If they notice, they never say anything. Savlin and the others stay out of sight, and the visitors have a nice tour and leave. The rangers come through occasionally, but no one bothers us." She smiled and sipped her tea. "So, tell me how everyone is."
Joyce told her about the gallery, Buffy and Dawn in summer school, Tara getting back to perfect health, and Willow busily studying. The easy words slowed when she reached Xander and Anya. She told of how worried people were about Xander and how he pulled away when his friends tried to find out how he was.
"They're pushing him too hard," she said. "I told Buffy he needs room and time, but she's too worried about him to leave it be."
Sister Agnes nodded. "She sees a challenge and must defeat it. They want everything to go back to normal, but some things never can. Are he and Anya still . . ."
"I think so. I didn't ask. Too many people keep asking him things."
"Poor boy." Sister Agnes stared at her tea cup for several moments. "What of Mr. Giles?"
"Well . . . I think he's still around. Buffy hasn't said anything either way. I haven't seen him, and I don't know if any of the others have. I know Buffy misses him. She'll start to say his name, then change the subject." Joyce shook her head. "They all do."
They sat in silence, sipping their tea.
Xander retrieved his tools from the car and, followed by his faithful shadow, Baynar, went through the convent repairing and building. Sister Teresa's kitchen work table had its wobbly legs tightened; Sister Mary got some new shelves for her herbs. Sister Dymphna bashfully asked him to take a look at the mangers in the stable, and he found some scrap wood in a corner to incorporate into the renovations.
It was good, silent work. Baynar quickly learned the English for "nail" and "hammer" and "saw" and such, and the only thing heard for hours was the occasional request for a tool and sound of woodwork. When Xander paused for a drink of water, though, he heard whispers and quiet giggles just outside the stable. He peeked outside; three young women in nuns' habits squeaked guiltily.
"Uh, hi," he said.
The three looked at each other nervously, then the shorter one smiled. "Hello."
"Have we met?"
They all shook their heads. The taller one took a nervous breath. "We're novices. We've only been here a few weeks. I'm Sister Yvonne."
He couldn't help smiling. "I'm Xander."
The medium one was just gathering her courage to speak when a throat was cleared behind them. Sister Dymphna stood there, trying to look stern. "Sister Teresa is looking for help in the kitchen, sisters."
The three novices immediately tucked their hands into their sleeves, nodded demurely, and headed serenely back towards the gate. When they rounded the corner, though, there was the sound of more giggles.
Sister Dymphna sighed. "They're very young, and new to their vocation. But they're good girls. I remember being young." She glanced at Xander, then looked away, blushing just a little.
Xander looked at her curiously, then remembered that, in the heat of an August afternoon of hard work, he'd taken his shirt off hours ago. You weren't supposed to wander around nuns half- dressed. He scurried into the stable to find his shirt.
Sister Dymphna looked over her nearly-rebuilt stalls. "This looks lovely, Xander, thank you. But you don't have to do it all today. It's almost time for Vespers and supper." She looked pointedly at Baynar, who was burrowed into the straw. "And I know someone's mother expects him to be clean for supper." Baynar did his best innocent look.
"Come on, dude, there's no fighting it," Xander laughed. "They always make us clean up for supper." He put his tools into a neat pile for later, then held his hand out to Baynar. "Let's go in before your mom comes looking for us."
Baynar pouted, then leaped out to grab Xander's hand.
Both Joyce and Xander joined the community for Vespers. The sun wouldn't set for several hours yet, but the times of prayers had been standardized generations before to avoid bunching up all the observances at one end of the day or the other. Baynar tried to sneak away from his mother when he saw Xander in the chapel, but Savlin told him firmly to sit still. Xander gave him the best stern look he could manage without laughing until Baynar slouched in defeat and sat quietly.
Supper was a different matter, and Savlin let her son wiggle in next to his human friend to continue chattering in English/Minoto. Xander felt momentarily disoriented when he saw that Joyce's indulgent smile was nearly identical to Savlin's. The Mom thing transcended species, obviously. Fortunately he was distracted from contemplating his own parents by the arrival of a peach cobbler Sister Teresa had put together from the food gifts Joyce had brought.
The three novices sat at the end of the table nearest Sister Agnes. She kept a close but genial eye on them, giving them pointed looks whenever their whispering became a bit too intense. Sister Teresa made sure everyone had seconds, though Joyce tried to demur at more peach cobbler.
"You are too thin," Sister Teresa said firmly. "You've been ill, you need to feed yourself up so you can get well."
Xander failed to muffle his snicker, and Joyce turned to glare at him. She finally sighed, though not too hard. "All right, I'll have more of the cobbler."
"Good for you. And you'll sleep well in the guestroom tonight, and I'll give you a big breakfast tomorrow."
Sister Teresa bustled away, and Joyce sighed more sincerely. "I'm going to go home having gained five pounds." She glanced at Xander.
"I didn't say anything," he protested. "I know far, far better than to make any kind of comment in a conversation involving women and weight. Not me, no, sir."
After supper, Xander went back to the stable, followed by Baynar. They worked until Sister Dymphna brought the cows and the plowhorse in from the meadow.
"And that will be enough for tonight, gentlemen," she said firmly. "Zorrababel, Hepzibah and Mehitabel need their sleep."
Out of the corner of his eye, Xander saw Baynar yawning. "Looks like someone else does, too."
"And so do you," Sister Dymphna said. "You drove all that way and you've worked all afternoon. You must be ready to drop."
He shrugged. "If I work hard, then I sleep well. Otherwise I just toss and turn. I'll be fine. Do you need any help with the animals?"
"Not at all. This is my favorite time of the day, when I settle them for the night. You two go on to bed now."
Baynar tried to distract Xander with something interesting further down the road from the convent, but this time Xander was firm. The little demon made loud protests, which immediately stopped when they met Savlin coming out of the dormitory.
"Here he is," Xander said, "safe and sound and fighting tooth and nail against going to bed."
Savlin nodded. "It is the same every night. But he will cooperate soon enough."
Baynar's face screwed up as he fought another yawn, which escaped despite his best efforts. Savlin picked him up and cuddled him against her shoulder. "Say good-night to Xander, little one. You will see him in the morning." Baynar tried to protest, but yet another yawn interrupted him, and he rested his head tiredly on his mother's shoulder before he caught himself.
Xander grinned. "Good night, Baynar. See you in the morning."
Baynar said something sleepy. Savlin smiled. "Good night, Xander."
He watched the two of them go back into the dormitory. For the first time all day, there was silence around him. He almost started towards the dormitory in search of company, but unlike the silence of his apartment in Sunnydale, this silence held a subnote of peace, despite what had happened here just a few months ago.
He listened to the birds in the trees and the cicadas in the grass. The sun was warm on his head, and he could smell the dry dust--and the chickens. Finally he let his mind relax a little and tried not to flinch as the echos of screams and gunshots returned to the corners of the courtyard around him.
Now he was glad he'd come with Joyce. Tara spoke of the great wheel of life and death, light and dark. Now he had different memories he could lay over those of that dark, bloody night.
He started towards the dormitory to ask when a young man could get a thorough wash without running the risk of shocking anyone, but stopped after a couple of steps. No one was around, no one was watching him with caring, concerned eyes. No expectations or worries haunted him with accusations that he wasn't dealing with matters the way that he should. There was something he needed to do before he could honestly think he was on his way to settling things. Glancing around once more to make sure he was unobserved, he walked slowly out the front gates, around the walls, and up the slope to the olive grove and the memories sleeping there.
The birds paid him no mind as he walked up the hill. Some sort of snake twisted away into the taller grass; a rabbit leaped out of hiding and bounded into the rocks. Cicadas and other buzzing things made the day seem much noisier than a summer evening in town.
Both mass graves had grown over with grasses and weeds. Nature made no distinction between hellgod and holy warriors.
The fence of swords around the Knights' grave was undisturbed. Sister Mary had told Xander about the visit of the Knights earlier, and she'd said they'd debated another marker. In the end, they left it as it was. They had asked the sisters to thank whomever had set up the swords, calling it the most fitting memorial to those who had fallen in battle with their ages-old foe.
Xander settled down at the foot of the biggest olive tree and studied the graves. The nuns had shown no fear at having a hellgod buried in their graveyard. Apparently the dead didn't get up and stroll around so much in their world.
He wished he could stay here. Quiet, peaceful, and the work he did was appreciated. But there was that whole male thing and not fitting in too well in a convent. Maybe Sister Agnes knew of a nice monastery somewhere, hopefully one that didn't require a vow of silence. Someplace far in the country, where the dark things couldn't find you and lurk outside your window.
Most mornings he found at least one cigarette butt on his balcony. He tried to ignore it, tried not to pick them up in the mornings even though he hated trash on the floor, tried not to make a note in the evening that the balcony was still clean. Tried his very damnedest not to show he was awake when he smelled cigarette smoke in the middle of the night. The voice he sometimes heard, that whispered "Invite me in," existed only in nightmares.
Except if he pretended that voice was a dream, he was afraid that one night he was going to dream himself answering, "Come in."
And that way lay madness.
The man in the white hat did not stand shoulder to shoulder with the villain. There were sides, and he'd chosen his when the tiny blonde girl had turned over the rocks and showed the nasty things underneath. If he could face off against his oldest friend with every willingness to shove a stake in his heart, then he could surely keep his back turned to a joyful killer who had always shown such delight in causing him pain.
He'd never been tempted by Jesse's invitation to join the dark side, he'd never thought for even a moment that a life of evil at his best friend's side might not be all bad. He had not found one ounce of comfort in having Spike backing him up that long night, he had not been reassured that the two of them were functioning on the same wavelength of necessity and practicality.
He had not become much better at lying to himself.
Spike was stalking him. He knew that. What really worried him, though, was the number of times he felt like catching the vampire at it, just for a chance to talk to someone who understood what had happened that night, who wasn't trying to explain to him how he really felt about all of it, who wasn't trying to get him to fucking share. Whatever Spike was after, Xander was fairly sure it wasn't something Dr. Phil would be advocating on TV.
Why the hell was the vampire after him, anyway? Buffy was supposed to be Spike's obsession. If it was a matter of Spike finally following through on the "I live for the day I kill you" thing, Xander would have expected something a whole lot more straightforward than an Angelus-style stalk-and-scare.
Except there wasn't much scare involved, was there. Just Spike being there, nearby. Like he was waiting for something.
On the far side of the graveyard, a pair of deer picked their way down from the rocky slope, nibbling on bushes. Xander watched them, wondering how close they'd come to him if he sat perfectly still. But the wind shifted, and the animals' heads came up at the scent of human, then they bounced away at speed.
Sighing, Xander checked the position of the sun. Getting close to dark. He was starting to feel the effects of the drive and the long afternoon of work. He might just sleep without the dreams tonight. He'd been putting in as much overtime as he could at work, so he'd be exhausted enough for silent dreams. It even sometimes worked. He got to his feet and headed down to the convent, hoping they'd assigned him a room other than the one Anya had chosen before. Maybe he'd sleep better without waiting for the scent of cigarette smoke to come drifting in through his windows.
***
Buffy waited till she got a phone call from Dawn at Janice's house--and she listened to the background sounds to make sure of where Dawn was--then she grabbed a quick snack and headed out into the night. There had been no answer at Willow's room, so she hit the patrol alone.
A sweep of the college showed nothing nasty lurking in the usual places. Maybe the vampires were all waiting for classes to start too.
She remembered going over the class lists for the fall semester, trying to decide what to take--and whether trying to decide on a major was foolishness for a Slayer. Her mother had been a big help, encouraging her to think of the future. Buffy had stopped mentioning the realities of a Slayer's life, though, when she saw her mother's mouth tighten up in that painful way.
Weirdly enough, Dawn was the easiest one to talk to about fate and destiny and all that. She was still getting used to being barely a year old in real time while still packing a lifetime's worth of memories in her head. Every now and then Dawn would go up to people she was supposed to know, and she'd check to see what memories the monks' magic had given them. So far the magic was holding good. They'd made sure to get copies of all her school transcripts and medical records, just in case things started to fracture.
Nothing moving in Restfield; a couple of slime trails that went nowhere in Peaceful Acres. Over in Southside Memorial Gardens, though, she got the feeling again of being watched. She concentrated for several seconds, but it wasn't a vampire, whatever was out there. So at least it wasn't Spike doing his bizarre love from afar routine. Or Giles keeping an eye on her again. A few weeks after getting back from the convent, Buffy had been following the trail of some migrating Red Hats. There'd been a couple of skirmishes, then one knock down dragout before they decided Sunnydale was no place to put down roots. More than once Buffy had seen a familiar figure in the shadows and bad guys with more damage than she remembered inflicting.
He'd said he still considered himself part of her clean-up crew. She knew she was supposed to be outraged and disgusted. And thinking about it made her head and stomach hurt.
She smelled blood from a nearby grove. When she got there, she found human blood on the ground, vampire dust in the grass, and a crossbow bolt hanging crookedly from a branch halfway up a tree. Dusted vamp, hurt human, no body lying around. Nobody she knew was doing freelance Slayer work. Either the hunter wasn't too badly hurt, or he'd been hauled off by the dusted vampire's friends. She listened again, but there was only the breeze in the leaves.
This was getting annoying. Time to get the inside information on any new players in town.
Willie handed Buffy a non-alcoholic, non-demonic strawberry daiquiri. He glanced nervously at the rest of the barroom, then went back to wiping glasses. "So, what are you looking for tonight, Slayer?"
"Hey, I could just be stopping by for a drink and a visit." She pouted at his disbelieving look. "It could happen!"
"Yeah, sure, kid." He looked at the crowd again. "At least none of the heavy hitters are in tonight. Nobody here wants to have any trouble with the Slayer."
Buffy checked the room in the mirror. Vampires wouldn't show up, of course, but she had those handy Slayer senses for them. All she saw were furtive, quiet demons, some of whom were giving her dirty looks, some of whom just looked scared.
"I'm not looking for trouble, honest. I'm just--" She slumped. "I'm the bogeyman. People find out who I am and they're afraid."
Willie pulled up a stool on the other side of the bar. "Well, you are the Slayer, kid. Not likely to be on the side of the demons."
"I'm the Vampire Slayer. Slayer of creatures who want to munch humans. That's a good thing, right?"
He nodded. "I'm for not getting munched."
"I met some Minoto demons a few months ago, they were nice. I know there are others like that. But I never get to meet the nice demons."
"This is the Hellmouth, kid. Definitely the bad side of demon town. In LA and such, now, you get the good places, nightclubs and such, where you don't have to worry about brawls."
She grinned at Willie's wistful look. "Oh, you'd miss it."
"Probably."
"But it does sound nice."
"They don't send Slayers to places like that, though," Willie went on. "You're the cops, and cops only go where there's trouble. But the thing with cops, they deal with troublemakers all the time, and pretty soon that's all they see, troublemakers. You see a demon, you expect him to be up to something, and sometimes he's just out for a latte."
Buffy blinked. "Demons like lattes?"
"Lattes?" said a new voice behind her. "Did you get the cappuccino machine fixed, Willie?"
"Sorry, Clem, still down," Willie said.
Buffy turned and stared at the grinning, floppy-eared, floppy-skinned, floppy--well, floppy person. He held out a hand, still grinning.
"Hi, I'm Clem."
She shook his hand carefully. "Hi. I'm Buffy."
Clem hopped onto a stool. "We don't get a lot of humans in here. I just wanted to come up and say Hi."
"How did you know I'm human?"
He nodded at the mirror. "Reflection, so you're not a vampire. Body temperature is human normal. But if you're not human, that's cool, too."
Willie put a glass of something in front of Clem. "Here ya go. When you expecting the guys in for the game?"
"They should start rolling in any time now."
Willie looked apologetically at Buffy. "Unless you do want some excitement, kid, you might want to be somewhere else when the poker players show up. None of 'em much like Slayers."
Buffy glared at the barkeep as Clem gasped. She'd kind of enjoyed her anonymity.
"You're the Slayer?" Clem whispered. "But you're tiny! The Slayer's this gigantic, super- powered, vamp slaying machine."
She shrugged uncomfortably. "Nope, sorry. It's me."
Clem grinned. "This is so neat! Me, chatting with the Slayer. The guys will plotz."
Buffy blinked. "You're not--scared?"
"Nah, you've got no reason to come after me, I'm not up to anything."
"Except you're a demon."
"So?" He lost some of his mellow look. "Or do the Slayers go after anything that's not human?"
She shrugged. "If they do, I wasn't told. I'm fine."
"Well, if you're fine, I'm fine." He leaned closer. "But Willie's right, some of the guys, not as civilized as some. They wouldn't understand."
"Gotcha. Willie, before I go, is there anybody in town doing the rogue demon hunter bit? Somebody's out there dusting vampires that isn't me."
Willie shrugged. "I ain't heard of nobody."
"Oh, I have!" Clem said. "There's a bunch of guys wandering around with crossbows and guns. They don't seem to like much of anybody." He shivered, which did amazing things to various bits of him. "Don't want to deal with a bunch like that again."
Buffy wanted to ask for more information, but Willie was starting to look truly nervous. For a moment she was tempted to see what these tough guy poker players were like, but she didn't want to get into a brawl just now.
She nodded reassuringly to Willie. "I'll be heading out then, see what's out there." She headed for the door.
Willie nodded. "See ya later, kid. Be careful!"
Clem waved. "Don't be a stranger!"
She waved back.
Demons as normal people. After meeting the Minoto at the convent, that shouldn't be such a surprise. Why hadn't she been told about the good demons? Was it some policy of the Council, that there weren't any good demons? Or had it been simply that there wasn't time, between atrocities being committed by the bad demons. And the bad humans. She didn't have time now to go through the books, learn for herself which ones were the ones to worry about and which ones were just floppy guys who liked lattes.
What did demons do for fun that didn't involve brawling and trying to bring about the end of the world? Poker, apparently. She tried to imagine a place like the Bronze, but with a demon clientele. Did they have bands? D.J.s? Did demons dance?
She had a sudden image of Clem on the dance floor and couldn't decide between laughter and horror.
Angel would know about the demonic social life of Los Angeles. Cordelia had mentioned a karaoke bar they all hung out in that was run by a demon who was a friend of theirs. The world was a lot more complicated than it used to be. The First Slayer, with her fire and bones, probably never had to deal with demons who ran nightclubs and liked lattes.
Buffy stopped walking. So why hadn't anyone told her how to deal with them? Was she the only one who had noticed?
The wind shifted, and she smelled human blood again. Footsteps, two, that were trying to be sneaky.
She was near some old buildings, not far from Spike's old factory. The footsteps were following her, so she led them towards the shadows. She Slayer-crept her way around a corner and into a convenient shadowy alcove. By the footsteps, it was four good-sized people, fairly spread out.
The first man came around the corner and paused when he realized his quarry was out of sight. He wasn't Initiative, unless the soldiers had traded in their camo for plain, heavy cloth pants and leather jackets. The crossbow he held was a sleek black metal and plastic number. So was the gun in the holster on his hip.
Two more men came into view, also with guns and crossbows, but not held ready to use. One of them had a bandaged arm with blood showing through. The other wore a headset, and he gestured to the first one to lower his crossbow. The first man looked around nervously but obeyed.
The man in the headset muttered something into the microphone that Buffy didn't quite here, but caught something that sounded like "Slayer". Eyes narrowed, she stepped out of hiding. They jumped when they realized she was behind them. The first one started to bring his crossbow up.
"Oh, don't you dare," she snapped. "Now, are you going to tell me who you are and what you're up to, or do I get to beat it out of you?"
"That won't be necessary, Miss Summers."
The fourth set of footsteps. Buffy whirled.
Quentin Travers of the Watchers Council leaned on a walking stick and regarded her with something approaching pleasure.
"What is the Council doing back in my town?" Buffy demanded. She looked over her shoulder at the three men with crossbows. "Is this another one of your commando squads? Like the one that tried to come after Faith?"
Travers sighed. "Yes, in a way, and no. We don't call them commandos, and these gentlemen are a bit more prudent than those with whom you had trouble in Los Angeles. You did get a formal apology for that, didn't you?"
She thought a moment. "Um . . . no. Mr. Travers, what are you doing here? Glory's settled, it's summertime, traditional quiet time in the realms of evil." She looked back again. "Why are you guys hunting vampires on your own? Is this another one of your stupid tests?"
"No, not in the least," Travers said quickly. "I do admit, we have been observing you, watching you in the field." He smiled again. "You are quite remarkable, Miss Summers. Oh, and profound congratulations on the Glory matter."
Buffy shrugged uncomfortably. "I had a lot of help."
"Yes, so I understand." Some of the pleasure faded out of Travers' voice. "We've heard various stories of the fight, terribly third and fourth hand. I'd be very grateful if we could hear it from you. And the others."
Buffy looked at the three armed men Travers had brought with him, wondering if there were any more Council goons wandering around, looking for things. Looking for stories. "Sure, the others. I don't know how much they'll want to talk about it, it was pretty hairy. But I can ask them."
"As I said, I'd be grateful." Travers stared at the ground, then visibly braced himself. "There is another major reason we're here. As I said, we've heard stories. Miss Summers, where is Rupert Giles?"