l'androise blanc

Chapter Four: Coming Home

"Hallie!" Anya squealed at the sight of her friend, sitting innocently atop a stool at the coffeehouse. "What are you doing here?"

Halfrek placed a finger to her lips, gestured toward the stool next to her. "Keep your voice down, Anyanka, you wanna break my cover? I'm working!"

Anya hopped up on the stool. "What're you working on?" she whispered conspiratorially.

Halfrek sighed. "I don't know if I should let you in on the particulars," she said. "You're out of the game, after all."

Anya pouted. "Not by choice."

"Still… I don't think the boss would appreciate me spilling trade secrets," she replied. "You're one of them now." She threw her arms wide, indicating the humans milling about.

"This is just so annoying," Anya said. "I don't know what to do with myself!"

Halfrek shrugged, picked up her coffee mug. "Get a job, get a man, have a baby… you can do whatever you want!"

Anya raised an eyebrow at her. "You make it sound so easy, like… like casting a simple Yarweith revenge spell on a sleeping adulterer."

Halfrek giggled. "Remember the time you turned that man in Wales into the dead limb of a mulberry tree --"

"-- and his mistress was the gardener," they finished together. Anya laughed. "Ah, good times like that shall never come again."

Halfrek took one last sip of coffee. She patted Anya's hand. "Things will be fine," she said. "In fact, things are looking up for lots of folks here these days," she added with a grin. She picked up her purse and climbed from her stool. "Gotta go now, hon, busy day ahead!"

Anya waved weakly. With a sigh, she propped her chin on her hands and began to contemplate her situation. Get a job, okay, well, I suppose I could do that, she thought, though there's not much demand for shepherdesses these days, so I probably should scratch that from my résumé. Get a man… I guess I'm fairly fetching and young, why not? Someone tall and dashing, like the last czar of Russia. But having a baby, now that doesn't sound terribly pleasant. Wouldn't that get in the way of the job and the man, what with all the largeness of belly and daily vomiting? If that's what humans are supposed to do these days, though, I guess I'll have to blend in and go with the flow.

She left the coffeehouse and walked a few blocks, just getting a feel for the town and its current inhabitants. Sunnydale, the home of the Hellmouth. She'd been here before a few times over the past century, lots of calls for vengeance here and throughout the rest of suburban America in the '70s, when cheating spouses hit a record high. The publication of The Joy of Sex had been great for her line of work. Now all the attention in these parts went to the stupid vampires and the more offensive demon sects. She rolled her eyes at the thought of them. Ridiculous sorts, all slimy and bent on destroying the world. Totally lacked finesse, subtlety and panache. And they had terrible fashion sense.

She'd heard rumors that a slayer had been sent here a few years ago, but the story went that the girl had gone power mad and murdered a human. That meant there was no one around to thin the vamp herd, but also no one around to detect Anya as anything less than a perfectly run-of-the-mill twentysomething human female.

Maybe she'd do just fine here after all.

She passed a storefront, a magic shop with a festive array of candles and dried herbs on display. She peered inside with longing for a moment, then spotted a small "Help Wanted" sign propped against the inside of the window.

Get a job, the first step toward obtaining a respectably normative existence.

She moved to the front door, but noticed with disappointment that the shop was closed, the proprietor perhaps taking an early lunch.

She fished coins from her pocket, slid them into a nearby newspaper stand, and sat on the stoop to wait. And D'Hoffryn said she had no perseverance.

***

Half a dozen times, Buffy thought of explaining her predicament to Giles and Xander on the ride to her house, but kept chickening out. This was out of her league… hell, she had no league at all. Soon enough, they were pulling into the driveway of a simple two-story home with large oaks dotting the front yard and modest shrubs flanking the front steps.

"When did you last visit?" Giles asked Buffy as they exited the car.

"Pretty recently," Buffy said. In fact, she thought, I probably slept here two nights ago.

Giles rang the bell, and Tara greeted them, doling out hugs to Giles and Xander, a shy smile to Buffy.

"Hi, I don't --"

"-- think we've met," Buffy said, a tad more bitterly than she'd meant to. Great. Three down, three to go. Willow, Dawn, and Anya were sure not to know who she was, either.

Another shot of fear coursed through her, this one more powerful than all the unpleasant little surprises she'd met with already. What if, in the hours since she'd left him…

She realized Tara was looking at her, expecting an introduction, and she'd been lost in her own thoughts.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm Buffy."

"I'm surprised you two haven't met," Giles said. "She's --"

"-- concerned about how Dawn is," she interrupted, not yet wanting to have everyone take her for the imposter she felt like, though how she could keep up the ruse, she had no idea.

Tara let out a small gasp. "Y-your name is Buffy?" she asked.

"Why does everyone think that's a funny name?"

"I think it's cute," Xander said.

"No, no, it's not that… it's…" Tara's attention darted to Giles. "Dawn. She had a nightmare about a girl named Buffy."

Giles's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure Dawn's had dreams with her sister in them before."

Before Buffy had a chance to explain anything to the now-clearly baffled Tara, a voice came from the stairs.

"You're her, aren't you?" Dawn asked.

Buffy climbed the short flight to meet her. "Dawn, are you okay?" she asked. "They said you were sick…"

Dawn wasn't registering recognition, not exactly, yet there was some trace of deeper, more sinister knowledge in her serious expression.

"You're the strange girl Willow cast a spell on," Dawn said. It sounded like an accusation. "Aren't you?"

Buffy looked around at the others. Logic told her to lay her cards on the table, try to elicit their help… but logic wasn't in control.

She took off running, nearly sending Xander flying as she whipped by him, heading at breakneck speed for the only place she hoped she'd be accepted.

That house and its strangers weren't home now, if they ever had been.

***

He'd ventured through the tunnels up to the shop earlier, only to find it empty and dark. Spike had picked up the phone, then realized he had no idea what number to dial. Defeated, he'd slunk back to the crypt and tried to go to sleep. As he lay across the bed, he'd begun to feel a dull pang of hunger. He slid his tongue carefully across his teeth, willing them not to obtrude.

"No, no feedin' 'til I know what's what," he told his growling stomach. "I don't much like the thought of what you're asking for, even if it is all bagged and at the ready."

He shifted, careless of his grubby boots on the comforter, and tried to think of something relaxing. The image that sprang to mind was Buffy… Buffy smiling, Buffy sleeping, Buffy expertly pulling him mid-run into a backflip that left him sprawled out on a stranger's lawn… and then… Buffy hovering over him, rumpled sheets against his sweaty back, her knees pinning his hips to the mattress as she rode him in delicious, slow movements, the first spasms of her orgasm causing her to tighten around his shaft, his hands clutching her waist, giving him leverage to thrust upward, deeper inside her, shuddering, his mind spinning in release as they came together…

Buffy…

He opened his eyes, and there she was, standing right next to the bed, wild-eyed and frightened.

"Buffy!" he exclaimed, startled, hoping she wasn't mere fantasy. He sat up, reaching for her.

"Oh, thank God, you know me," she whimpered. He felt her tears rolling against his cheek, soaking the collar of his dark shirt.

"Shhh…" He stroked her hair, gently pulling her down onto the bed. "Of course I know you, luv. Of course. Why shouldn't I?"

***

She spilled her troubles out in wracking little sobs, leaving her face pink and tear-stained, her breath ragged. Spike hung on every word, murmuring bits of comfort at each pause.

"We'll get it straight," he tried to assure her. "We'll go back to them, and we'll get it all straight."

Buffy recalled the stares she'd gotten that day, some blank, some suspicious, and all of them unpleasant. "I don't know if I want to see them again."

I don't want to see them, either, he thought spitefully, but knew they couldn't really be avoided. Then an idea struck him. "D'you think it's just you?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe I'd have better luck, maybe I could talk to them."

"I don't know," Buffy said doubtfully. "They don't seem to know they ever even had amnesia, and if you and I are the only ones who still do…"

"My head hurts," Spike said with a rueful smile. "This whole bloody business is too confounding."

"You could try to go, I guess, maybe once it gets dark."

"What time is it, pet?"

Buffy looked at her watch. "Four in the afternoon."

Spike brushed the last remnants of tears from her face. He smiled at her. "I wish I could erase this day for you," he said tenderly. "I wish I could make it all okay."

"You can," she replied.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her. They lay curled together in a protective shell of their own making, a place where words and thoughts were not welcome. They simply knew what the other felt. To verbalize it was superfluous.

***

Dawn was tucked under a blanket on the couch, her hands warmed by a fresh cup of tea. She was repeating the dream to Giles, Tara, and Xander for what seemed like the millionth time, trying to recall more details with each telling.

"When's Willow due home?" Giles asked Tara.

"About two," she said, "unless she stops by the library. I think she has a paper due soon."

Giles rose to his feet. "I've got to get back to the shop," he said regretfully. "Please, tell her to come see me when she returns."

Tara nodded.

"Hey, feel better, kiddo," Xander said to Dawn with a light pat on the head.

"Thanks," she replied.

Xander followed Giles outside, the elder man's thoughts running back and forth from the two problems of Dawn's disturbing vision to the other matter he'd agreed to attend to on the council's behalf.

"So, hey, how about giving me a shot at that job you've got open, Mr. Giles," Xander said once they'd gotten into the car, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Job?" Giles said. "Oh, right, yes, job. Er…" He regarded Xander skeptically. "Well, I suppose you'll do," he finally said.

Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but I'll take what I can get, Xander thought, realizing happily that this meant his folks would have nothing to yell at him about when he got home.

When they parked near the shop and got out, Xander asking when he should report for work, they found a figure behind an open newspaper sitting on the stoop.

"How about now?" Giles asked Xander, gesturing to what he presumed was a waiting customer.

Xander cleared his throat. "Hey, hope you haven't been waiting long," he said.

The paper lowered. Huge eyes met his, accompanied by a warm smile. "No, no," she assured him, standing up.

"Pardon us," Giles said, moving to unlock the door. "Come in, please, miss."

Xander gulped. She seriously rivaled Buffy for prettiest girl he'd seen today, and he fidgeted nervously as she continued to smile at him.

"So, uh, can we help you find something?" he managed, despite being fully aware of the fact that he didn't know where anything was that she might need.

"Yes," she said, brightening. "I saw your placard, and I wanted to apply for the job!"

Xander's heart sank. He wondered if you could qualify for tenure if you'd been on the job for less than two minutes. Probably not. He glanced uneasily at Giles.

"Eh, sorry, the position has just been filled," Giles informed her.

The girl pouted. "But I have lots of experience with magic!" she said, taking a step toward him. "I, um…" Her eyes darted about 'til she spotted a small blue orb resting on a nearby shelf. "This!" she said gleefully, picking it up. "This is a Setram adjudicating crystal. Very handy in mediating disputes and casting white glamours."

Giles was impressed. "Yes, yes, it is," he said, "though most people buy them for a paperweight."

"Very rare," she remarked, studying it.

Giles smiled bashfully. "I have five others in storage, actually."

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "You don't happen to have one of the adjustable ones, do you? With the --"

"Optional octagonal frontispiece?" Giles finished for her. "Not at present, but I've put in an order for one."

Great, they were bonding. This wasn't going well, Xander realized. "Uh, yeah, but…" He dashed to a table filled with candles, picking one up and giving it a quick whiff. "Patchouli!" He put it down, got another. "Vanilla!" The third was brown and smelled revolting. He made a face. "Ew, I don't know what this is, but it's probably for something really --"

The woman plucked it out of his hands. "Slug," she told him. "Good for a spell to get rid of a stalker."

"Yeah, 'cause after you stink up your house with that, the stalker'll be too grossed out to hang around." Xander turned back to Giles. "I can, like, learn and stuff," he said feebly.

Giles looked at the two eager faces before him. Clearly, the girl was more qualified, but as Xander was a close friend of Willow's, it might be rude not to give him a chance.

"Honestly, Miss --"

"Jenkins," the woman supplied. "Anya Jenkins."

"Miss Jenkins, I hired Mr. Harris here literally moments ago, but perhaps we can work something out. After all, I might need to be away from the shop a little more often, and it could be helpful to have an assistant manager on staff."

Anya's eyes widened. "Assistant manager?"

"Hey, what about me?" Xander asked.

Giles chuckled. "We'll consider you as a managerial trainee, Xander," he said. On a very long training track, Giles added to himself.