Elena, you're warped. But you write Andrew very well.

Coming of Age, section the third:

Amy and I were in my bedroom, eating Doritos and trying to float pencils, on the August afternoon when Giles called to tell me his replacement was in town.

"He's here?" I took the phone into the hall. "But, Giles, I thought he wasn't going to get here for another week." Amy looked at me quizzically. I shrugged and smiled, and she went back to the Cool Ranch.

"Well, yes. The Council had a Fyaarl demon to transport to their research facility in Mexico. Your new Watcher decided to ride along. He was doing some kind of research project, and he wanted to see if he could converse with the Fyaarl in its native language."

"How'd that go?"

Giles sighed. "Well enough at first … apparently the demon didn't take too well to young Wyndam-Pryce’s attempt to examine its claws, though. Nearly took a finger off."

"Oh no. Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine, though I fear I'll be your primary trainer a bit longer. But he should be in top shape by the time I leave for London."

"Okay then … when should I come over to meet him?"

"He'll be here tomorrow morning, for your sparring practice."

I promised him to get to the gym by ten; we said our goodbyes and I hung up.

“New guy?,” Amy asked. She was studying my fish a bit too intently.

“Kind of. New librarian.”

“Ooh, is he all British and tweedy like Mr. Giles? I know that turns you on.” I blushed. I’d told Amy about my crush on Giles sometime during the school year, when we were talking about stupid boy stuff (after the whole drama with her mother and the cheerleading squad, Amy was on a strict diet of conversational junk food for a few months). I’d told her my training sessions were helping him organize the library. She thought it was cool … or maybe she just figured it was another geeky Willow thing. Anyhow, she didn’t ask too many questions.

“He’s … from England, I guess. Younger than Giles, though.”

“Like how much younger?” Amy flopped on my bed on her stomach.

I thought about it. Watchers attended the Academy after University; if Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had been a child when Giles was there … “I haven’t met him yet, but I guess he’s in his late 20’s.”

Amy rolled over onto her back. “I betcha he’s cute,” she giggled.

I shrugged and turned the conversation back to what spell we should try to learn when Ms. Calendar got back into town.

The next morning, I spent a long time trying to decide what to wear – it had to be something I could work out in, but I didn’t want my new Watcher to think of me as some sloppy teenager. I settled on a pair of black yoga paints, a newish orange tank top with pink flowers across the chest, and a sky-blue fuzzy sweater. I pulled my hair back into a braid, then pinned the braid into a bun. Carrying a red San Francisco ballet tote that I’d packed with my weapons and training journal, I squared my shoulders and headed out the door.

I heard the new watcher before I saw him. Actually, I heard Giles first.

“Blast it, Wesley, I don’t think that’s an appropriate training regimen for this girl at all!”

“Well, yes, it is heavier on general physical conditioning and lower on weapons usage than was considered wise in your day. But the latest studies have shown that Slayers who get at least five hours of cardio training each week -- ”

He broke off as I peeked in through the school gym door. “Is this my Slayer?,” the younger man asked. He was taller than Giles, I noticed; despite the heat, he was wearing a gray suit with a red-and-blue striped tie.

“Let me introduce you,” Giles broke in. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, this is Willow Rosenberg. Willow, this is Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”

He shook my hand. “Please, you may call me Wesley, if you like. I feel it creates a more comfortable training environment for the Slayer and her Watcher to be on first-name terms.”

“Are there studies behind that, too?” Giles asked mildly.

“No, no, just my personal preferences.” Wesley turned, addressing me. “Now then, Willow. Let’s see your form so I can gauge where to start with you.”

“My … form?” I was bewildered. Giles started our training sessions with some stretches and talking; he asked a lot of me, but never seemed to demand.

“Yes.” When I didn’t move, he began to speak more rapidly. “Shoes off; go on the mats and pretend the tackling block hanging from that beam is a vampire. Your goal is to tag it on that masking-tape X on your first try.”

“That’s it?”

Wesley blinked and rocked back on his heels. “Oh, it should be challenging enough for now.”

Five attempts later, I had to agree with him; the block swayed as I approached it, and I lost sight of the X in my attempts not to get a bloody nose. Finally, I ran full-speed at the block, grabbed it with one arm, and used the other to punch at the X. I slid off the block, did an easy forward roll, and rose to my feet, panting.

Wesley was smiling. “Well done! Now, let’s try it with a blindfold.”

“A blindfold? I mean, I’ll try it, but I thought … Giles always has me spar with him, not with big rubber hanging thingies. I mean, not that I’m saying I don’t want to do this, just that it’s different.”

“Yes, I think you’ll find many things are different in working with me than with Mr. Giles. The latest research suggests that it’s important Slayers know how to deal with inanimate objects before they begin working with humans – especially their Watchers, who may be inclined to be a bit easier on them than a vampire would. I’m sure Mr. Giles would agree.”

“Hmm? I’m sure your experience is completely valid, Wesley. Excuse me -- I think I’ll go get some more tea,” Giles said. I could have sworn I heard him sigh as he left the gym.

“See you in a bit!” Wesley called after him. He held a black cloth out to me. “Here’s the blindfold, Willow.”

The Resurrection Gambit

Part Sixteen: Endgame

With Willow unconscious at his feet, Angelus turned toward the next strongest foe, and pounced without warning. Spike wasn’t prepared, and fell when Angelus tackled him. Angelus’ fists pounded repeatedly into Spike’s face before Spike was able to get his arms up into a block. Angelus didn’t bother trying to break Spike’s defenses, and instead flipped backward over Dawn, who had been approaching him from behind, stake in hand.

“Y’know the cliché?” said “Angelus, “About there being quiet and too quiet? Guess it’s true.”

Angelus threw a punch at Dawn, but didn’t connect. Angelus looked startled for a second, and then comprehension overtook him.

“Gypsy tricks. Right. Kid, I wrote the book on Gypsy tricks.”

Angelus punched again, this time nearly connecting as Dawn rolled backward.

“Love dancing with Summers women,” said Angelus. “Bet you’ve got a lot of big sister’s moves, if you know what I mean.”

Angelus spun on his heel, catching Xander’s arms as the stake nearly impaled him.

“Careful with that thing, you’ll put an eye out.”

Angelus tossed Xander into Wesley, knocking both over. Then, surveying the situation, he realized that—good start or no—the odds were against him. He dove over the side of the building, landing hard with a thud, and ran naked into the shadows.

“Owww,” said Willow, nursing her jaw. A blue glow lit from her hand as she massaged it, and it magically mended. “Everyone else OK?”

“What… where are…” said Darla, and all eyes turned toward the two vampires. Darla was regaining her senses quickly. Drusilla was curled up fetal, muttering incomprehensibly. Willow conjured some robes for them.

Darla and Spike locked eyes.

“William,” she said, her voice faltering. “I have… What did you do?”

“We figured it out, is what we did,” said Spike. His face was pounded and bloody. “In all history, there were only three vampires who’ve had a soul, even briefly. Angelus, me and you.” He then glanced at Drusilla. “It had to be a straight line between us.”

Something dangerous flickered across Darla’s face, but she remained impassive.

“The act of resurrection is like any other sort of creation,” said Wesley. “It releases energy. We knew that, with the Aurelius Gem, and the power generated by three resurrections, we’d have enough energy to…”

“To ensoul all of us,” said Darla, almost admiringly. “What, are we to suffer for our sins?”

“Yeah,” said Spike. “We are. A bit. And then, when we’re over that, we all get to decide what we want to do with our un-life.”

“So this is a favor?” said Darla, her voice laced with venom.

“No,” said Willow. “This is grace. The age of vampires and slayers is ending. But vampires have never been capable of making choices. Another thirty, forty years, they’d either have been hunted out of existence, or they’d overrun the Earth. Either upsets the balance. This way…” Willow hesitated a bit. “This way, they get to choose their own fate.”

“So why didn’t it work for Angel? Why is he…?”

“Because the Juris didn’t just steal his soul,” said Willow. “It destroyed it. Tore it into ribbons.”

There was a stunned silence.

“Shouldn’t we…” said Dawn, stuttering a bit. “Shouldn’t we be getting after him? I mean, one bad-ass, soulless vampire can undo a lot of what we’ve done here.”

“Angelus?” asked Willow. “Oh, yeah. A few years of him, we’d be back to square one.”

And then Willow smiled.

“Don’t worry,” she said “It’s covered.”

Once he was sure he wasn’t being followed, Angelus took a short cut through the backdoor of a clothing store, one with lots of leather in the window.

Fully clothed, he ducked down the alleyways, looking to find someplace to hole up until the next night. Maybe he’d make his way to Japan, he thought. Maybe back to Europe. Then, he stopped in his tracks, and smiled.

“Connor.”

“Hi, dad,” said Connor, standing at the far end of the alley. “Long time, no see.”

Connor had traded in the monk’s robes for loose jeans and a T-Shirt. His head was shaved, and his arms dangled calmly by his side. There was a stillness about him that even Angelus could sense.

“So, come to take a crack at your old man?”

“No,” said Connor. “I’ve come to save him.”

Angelus lurched at his son, ready to tear his head off. With one fluid movement, Connor caught the vampire’s arm, and redirected his flight into the side of the building.

“I won’t fight you, dad. I don’t do that anymore. But I will defend myself.”

Angel rose, and began to pace around his son. Connor turned also, keeping his eyes locked on the vampire’s.

“Looks like you're unique again,” said Connor. “The only vampire in the world without a soul.”

“Yeah, the irony is overwhelming. Whattaya gonna do about it? Mine was destroyed. It’s gone. Even the White Witch up there can’t shove it back in.”

Connor smiled at that, and with a burst of speed, Connor lurched forward, knocking Angelus to the ground and pinning his arms.

“Spike figured this would happen,” said Connor, as Angelus struggled. “He remembered Willow’s warning. So he, Willow and I worked out a little contingency plan.”

There was a crackle of electricity around him, and Angelus realized now that there were runes carved into Connor’s skin.

“The soul is more than something you stuff inside a body, dad. The soul’s not even in the body. The body’s in the soul. It’s bigger than we are.”

The electricity now was surging and alternating between the two of them, locked in a circuit. Angel screamed in defiance, and as he did, tears streamed down his cheeks.”

“And my soul?” said Connor, “My soul’s big enough for the both of us.”

OK. I lied. This is the end, but it needs an epilogue.

Ah, well, how can I follow up that stuff? Good as always, guys.

This is for my Faithfication thingie, Faith/Wes, ten years down the line, Watcher/Slayer. I'm semi-satisfied with it, though I think the Wesley characterization is shite, but it's done. These won't be posted until the 23rd. Ten years after Chosen. Untitled as of yet.

---

She was sitting so still, he didn't notice her when he first came in.

After he'd grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge he turned back and almost jumped at the sight of her dark eyes staring back at him. He berated himself for being caught off guard--he thought he'd have grown out of it by now.

"This doesn't feel right, Wes," Faith said, folding her hands over her knees. "I can't figure out what exactly's up here, but I'm jittery, man. Like something's around the corner, you know? I just. Don't like this."

He moved to stand next to her. He waited a moment before speaking, trying to figure out what to say that would reassure her. "I think," he said carefully, "we are about as prepared as we could be. You've gone over the reports dozens of times, Willow and Dawn have both confirmed it through their various channels, and we've got a bag full of weapons in the back closet."

"Yeah, but that doesn't change how, like, wrong this all feels." She sighed and stood up, shoving her hands in her pockets. "I know B's got it covered on the home front, and Angel's got Vi in LA protecting his back--all the bases are covered, I *know* this. But it's like--I should be somewhere else, you know?" She gave a loud huff and threw herself into one of the armchairs, slinging a leg across one of the armrests.

Wesley twisted open the cap of his water and took a long sip before moving across the room to sit in front of Faith, waiting until she chose to gave him her attention. She stared pointedly at the wall, and he wanted to make a remark about how always took her seriously, even the time when she'd dreamt about getting a Frosty at McDonalds and insisted it was a portent, despite him pointing out that you couldn't even buy Frostys at McDonalds. She had been right, he mused. They'd had to crash a McDonalds in Reno where a warlock had charmed a subsection in the city to thinking that Frostys were now available on the dollar menu. It hadn't been pretty.

As his thoughts rambled farther from the original point of discussion, Faith rolled her eyes and scratched at the healing wound on her arm. If she could just think for a moment, figure out what was bugging on her so hard, she could stop dicking around and get something done. She had that jazzed up energy that came whenever she had those fucking dreams, or when something sketchy was going on. It was her Slayer sense telling her she was gonna get her groove on.

The frustrating thing about all the Slayers running around the world was that the whole Powers thing wonked out, like there was a big train wreck and parts of the whole caboose were thrown around everywhere. Faith stopped for a second, rethought what had just gone through her mind, and winced. Ten years around B, and you start thinking like her, Faith thought. Fuck. Well, it meant that the whole Slayer dream thing was a lot more localized now, only calling everyone when there was something seriously big.

Faith stood up and kicked Wesley in the shin, knocking him out of his thoughts. "I'm going out. Come with."

He nodded, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulders. "I wanna call B, too," she added. "And later, if I don't find what I'm looking for, I'm gonna have to work off some of this energy," she said with a small smile and a pat on his shoulder.

He sighed and followed her out the door, adjusting the strap of his bag. With Faith, it meant either fucking or fighting, so he'd simply have to be prepared for both.

They prowled around the city for awhile, checking out a few leads and poking down some of the nastier side streets. No major attacks, though there was some extra dust floating in the wind, and no sign of whatever baddie was getting a rise out of Faith. She explained to Wesley as they were leaving an abandoned warehouse where they'd rousted a small nest of vamps that this stuff took the edge off, but the underlying feeling was still there. And no, she couldn't explain it, and just give her the damn bag already if he was going to be shifting it from shoulder to shoulder the whole night.

They stopped at a twenty-four hour diner around three in the morning, despite Wesley's repeated pleas to just wait until the hotel opened up the dining room in the morning. Faith simply rolled her eyes and pushed in through the door, ignoring Wesley's nose wrinkling at the overpowering smell of grease. (Certain things were never unlearned.) They sat down and ordered waffles, eggs, sausage, OJ and milk (Faith) and coffee with toast and whatever fruit they had on hand (Wesley) from a dour looking woman named Penny.

Faith was still jittery, and she began to bounce her left foot up and down, slowly thrumming through her whole body until the table shook quietly. Wesley reached out a steady hand to cover her knee, and she looked at him weakly before squeezing his fingers with her own and propping her foot up in the booth.

Their food was delivered and they ate in relative silence, noting the passing cars and the shadowplay on the wall. Mid-bite, Faith shuddered to a halt and dropped her fork onto her plate. "Get down," she hissed at Wesley. He obliged, diving under the table--but not before grabbing a piece of nicely buttered toast.

A large green demon that looked vaguely like the Hulk crashed through the window, screaming "Slayer!" Faith looked absolutely delighted as she called out, "Over here, my man, been waiting for you all night." She jumped at it, it lumbered at her, Penny ran for the kitchen, and Wesley ate his toast.

Twenty minutes later and a lot of broken plywood furniture later, fake-Hulk was dead in a pool of it's sticky blood and Wesley was noting the event in his Palm Pilot, sending it to the central base for updating to the database. Faith had green streaks through her hair, muttering, "I didn't know it would freaking squirt at me, dammit," and he hid a smile as he finished the last of his coffee and left cash for the bill and a nice tip.

She grabbed his arm as they left the dinner, pulling him close and whispering, "Well, that takes care of the fighting. Let me get a shower, and we'll take care of the other half of the agenda."

Ooh! Nice, Victor.

Even though -- I still must hate Connor. But there's irony, and full circle in it.

One note -- Spike wouldn't already be black and blue, unless a couple hours had passed ... he's still be red and stuff.

One note -- Spike wouldn't already be black and blue, unless a couple hours had passed ... he's still be red and stuff.

Huh. Cool biology point! Consider it changed.

Funny, Connor's not really my favorite, either, but honestly? As I started fleshing this story out, I couldn't not use him, y'know?

Cool biology point!

I'm sporting a shiner right now, so I'm all hands on expert.

Should I take it the other guy looks worse?

Should I take it the other guy looks worse?

I need to start picking on guys my own size, methinks. But he felt my wrath.