__Leap, Plunge And Move On__
By Coast2Coast
Wednesday, April 25th, 2001
Apartment of Rupert Giles
Sunnydale, California
Dr. Samuel Beckett felt the tingling rush of the Leap effect
slowly dissipate and he blinked and stretched to dispel the disorientation
from his mind and body. He began a slow, careful perusal of his immediate
surroundings with as little movement as possible, having learned from
experience that the first few moments of a Leap could be hazardous in any
number of ways if he wasn't sufficiently cautious.
This time, he seemed to be in a safe environment and alone. His gaze drifted over the
comfortable looking furniture, fireplace and bookshelves in the casual lounge
area of what appeared to be an apartment or small condominium. He rose
from his seat on the couch and turned in a circle, noting the stairs leading
up to a loft, the bar separating the entryway from the kitchen and a hallway
that led to a blank wall with recesses on either side that suggested, based on the floor
plan he could see from his position, another room and a second entrance.
Sam glanced down at 'himself' to see a
dark grey dress shirt and conservative tie, suit trousers and a pair of black
wing-tip shoes. He breathed a sigh of relief. Two of the things he most
dreaded in a Leap had been avoided: he wasn't a woman and/or scantily clad.
Since the hologram of Admiral Al Calavicci had yet to appear on the
scene, Sam decided to see how much he could discover about his latest 'host'
while he awaited the arrival of his sole guide and confidant. He approached a
mirror that hung on the wall over an antique wash stand and considered his reflection.
He appeared to be a man in his forties with tawny hair shot
with silver. His face was pleasant and handsome in a subtle but assured
manner but it was somewhat lined and careworn - as though he were stressed or
overworked. Sam removed the glasses that perched on his nose to get a closer
look at an intriguing amber patch in the man's left eye but as soon as the
lenses had cleared his face the image in the mirror became too indistinct for him
to see any detail.
The sound of the Imaging Room door sliding open
caused Sam to turn. The movement in the brilliantly backlit rectangle
signaled the arrival of his friend. Sam hesitated a moment before
restoring the eyeglasses to their previous position because the blur of
chartreuse, orange and a violent shade of purple telegraphed the fact that Al
had exceeded even his own high standards of outrageous sartorial taste.
"Hiya, Sam," came Al's gravelly but cheerful voice. "How's the boy?"
"I seem to be okay. How much do you know about the situation so
far?" Sam inquired, squinting as his eyes readjusted to the change in light
level as Al closed the portal to the Imaging Room.
"Not much in the way of facts or details but enough to make me think this one's gonna be
interesting in the worst possible way," Al groused.
"What makes you say that? Did you talk to the man I Leaped into? Who is he and what did he say?"
Sam wanted to know.
"I wouldn't say I talked to him, exactly. As for who
he is, I've got Ziggy working on it. All I can tell you at the moment is that
he's British, royally pissed off, stronger than he looks and possibly psychotic."
"Psychotic?" Sam echoed in a worried tone. He mentally measured the man's ordinary appearance
and his prosaic surroundings against his faith in Al's judgment.
"Take it easy," Al suggested. "I said 'possibly'. He's definitely British. It's rare to hear an
American call someone a 'bloody pillock' but I've got plenty of pals in the Royal Navy who
use that term, and worse," Al said with a grin. "As far as the attitude and
the pumped up state of our new acquaintance; the minute I stepped into the
Visitor's Room he grabbed me by the neck, lifted me right off my feet and
slammed me into a wall," Al admitted shrugging one shoulder and glancing away.
Although Sam could see no signs of physical damage, he knew such
an experience would rankle with his friend. Al's sense of self-worth
and masculinity was tied to his mental and physical toughness. Before Sam
could offer a comforting comment, Al went on.
"Thank God I've learned some pretty crafty moves of my own. I managed to get away from him
and out of the room. I've got Dr. Beeks watching him and if he doesn't calm down soon
I'll have Ziggy dose him with tranquilizer gas. I'd rather not do it because
it doesn't inspire trust and that makes it harder to get the information we
need to figure out what you're here to change," Al said.
"So you think he's psychotic because he attacked you?" Sam asked.
"Nah. That's happened before. It was the weird stuff he said," Al replied.
"Like what?"
Al screwed up his face in concentration. "He said I was 'uglier
than the average minion' and that I could tell 'that bitch-god Glorificus'
that she wasn't going to get anything out of him, no matter what. He also
suggested I 'scurry on back to my hell dimension' if I knew what was good for me. The guy's got
a wicked growl when he's agitated and it seemed like he was perfectly serious."
Sam's eyes had opened wider and wider as Al recounted his interaction with the man whose body
Sam now inhabited. "'Bitch-god'? 'Hell dimension'?," he repeated in consternation. "What the
heck kind of situation have I landed in this time, Al?"
"I honestly don't know, pal," Al sighed. "But since your host isn't in a very forthcoming
frame of mind I figure we'd better snoop around here while we wait for Ziggy
to come up with something."
Al tailed Sam as he worked his way around the apartment. The addressee on every envelope in a
stack of mail on the desk was 'Rupert Giles' of Sunnydale, California. Sam leafed through a
leather-bound book and showed it to Al. "It looks like a journal," Sam said, glancing at a
few pages that were covered with a strong, distinctive handwriting. "Maybe
he's a writer. It looks like he's been writing down ideas or a plot for a
horror novel," Sam guessed after seeing the words like 'vampire', 'demon' and 'blood ritual'.
"Maybe," Al replied, surveying the lounge area and its
heavily-laden bookcases. "He sure likes books."
They wandered upstairs and Sam went through the small closet and chest quickly.
"Well, there's no woman on the scene," Al decided. "Or another guy, either. All
those clothes are the same shade of boring and the same size. You'd think a
guy who could cuss and fight like that would at least have
interesting underwear," he sniffed in derision.
Sam grinned. "Black silk boxers and grey stretch trunks are plenty 'interesting' in my book. He
may talk like a crazy man but at least I'll be comfortable in his wardrobe."
"You've got no sense of style, Sam," Al complained as he
followed his friend downstairs and into the kitchen. "Why, if you knew the
kind of action you could get if you just broadened your horizons a little..."
"Al," Sam cut in. "Can we focus here, please? If this guy is
as weird as you say I'd like to find out why I'm here and fix things as
quickly as possible so I can Leap."
"Okay, okay. Yup, definitely a
subject of the Crown," Al nodded, pointing at the cupboard Sam had just
opened. "First rate Guinness and it's not in the refrigerator."
Before Sam could reply to this observation the front door swung open, without a
knock or any other warning, and a small, young blonde woman strode into the entryway.
"Hi, Giles," she said by way of greeting as she
continued on into the lounge. "We thought we'd come by and catch a ride with
you back to the Magic Box."
"'We'?" Sam queried nervously.
"'We'," came another voice.
Sam turned back toward the door to see a slim redhead
with a pixiesh grin and a more generously shaped young woman with a shy smile
enter and close the door.
"This is more like it. He may have lousy
taste in clothes but I can't fault his taste in women. Are you sure you're
eager to Leap now, Sam?" Al asked with a lascivious grin as he relocated to
get a better look at the blonde.
"Great," Sam muttered under his breath.
"It's going to be at least an hour before I get anything useful out of him now."
* * * * *
Monday March 19th, 2007
Waiting Room
Project Quantum Leap Compound
Stallion's Gate, New Mexico
Rupert Giles ended the final in an uncounted number of circuits of the room in which he was
trapped by halting at the main feature of the otherwise unadorned cell - a low, highly
polished table of a shape and size that would also allow it to be used as a
resting platform. The reflection in the almost mirror-smooth surface of the
table was that of a man in his mid-thirties with a strong chin, friendly,
open features, a shock of white at the front of his otherwise golden-brown
head of hair and keen, gray eyes. The sight of a completely unfamiliar
reflection staring back at him wasn't his only, or even primary, concern.
Giles sighed in frustration. He was beginning to
regret his precipitous attack on the only person who had attempted to speak
to him, or even appear in the room. At the time he had reacted on the
assumption that Glory had used a spell to abduct and imprison him. After more
sober reflection and investigation he found he could detect no evidence of an
aftereffect of magic use. And the man he had accosted had appeared human, for
all that his ludicrous costume suggested a demon of some kind.
Giles sank onto the table, rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his face into
his hands. He was tired; exhausted in a bone-deep sort of way that he failed,
every night, to alleviate with the few hours of sleep he allowed himself.
There was always another book to read, manuscript to decipher, progressively
more distant contacts to call for any scrap of information - no matter how
small or questionably relevant - he might glean.
And where had it left him?
He had been separated from his friends and his duty by an unknown
element. Although it had been against his will and out of his control he felt
a familiar welling of unwarranted guilt that he was not at Buffy’s side,
working with their companions to, once again, fend off the agents of the Dark forces.
Giles now had serious doubts about the idea that Glory had
somehow effected this state of affairs. From what they had learned about the
hell-God, it was clear she was severely lacking in impulse control. It was
highly unlikely that she would have delayed the opportunity to gloat over her
small victory, taunt him and, of course, begin her campaign to wrest whatever
information she could from him.
He turned his considerable intelligence to the task of identifying what other force might have
the ability and inclination to interfere in the affairs of the Slayer and her
Watcher. Something in the feel of the featureless room struck a slight chord
of familiarity in him and he latched onto the thread of an idea.
At that moment, the doorway through which the garishly dressed man had
earlier entered the room slid open and Giles rose and turned to see a lovely
black woman step across the threshold and stop, maintaining as much distance
from him as possible while remaining in the same room. The juxtaposition of
the figure of the woman, who wore a white lab coat, and the armed,
fatigue-dressed young man wearing a grim scowl who stood behind her leant
credence to a suspicion that had been blossoming in the Watcher's mind.
"So, I presume you are Maggie Walsh's successor?" he challenged the woman.
"Who?" Dr. Verbena Beeks inquired with a curious tilt of her head.
* * * * *
Wednesday, April 25th, 2001
The Magic Box
Sunnydale, California
Sam tried, with marginal success, not to stagger as he followed the three
young women through the door into a shop at the end of a street lined with
quaint storefront businesses. He sincerely hoped his heart rate would slow
soon or there was the distinct possibility he would faint. He now understood
the reason for the concerned glances the redhead and the shy girl - whose
names he had learned were Willow and Tara - had shared when he suggested the
blonde they called 'Buffy' drive them to the Magic Box. Since he hadn't known
what the Magic Box was, much less where it was located, it had seemed a good
idea at the time. He hoped that he could remember enough of the landmarks he
had glimpsed to find his way 'home' again, as he certainly wasn't planning on
asking Buffy to chauffer him.
"Wow," Al exclaimed. "I'm glad I'm not here in the flesh. That girl has *got* to be the
worst driver in the entire world. I thought you guys were goners when she ran that stop sign."
Sam, unable to speak to his companion - who was invisible and
inaudible to the others - settled for a weak grin and a heavy swallow.
"Hey, Xander!" Buffy shouted, approaching a dark-haired young
man who was seated at a table a fair distance across the room. "Giles let me drive his car!"
Xander rose from the table and turned quickly, passing
Buffy on his way to confront Sam. He reached out and grasped the older man by
the elbow. "Are you okay, G-man?" he asked, raking a concerned glance from
Sam's face to his toes and back. "I didn't think anything short of a
life-threatening injury would compel you to ride in a car Buffy was driving -
and you let her drive your Beemer?"
"I... I had a headache and my vision was a little blurry," Sam explained, repeating the
excuse he had used earlier. "I thought it would be better if someone else drove."
Xander considered this statement with obvious skepticism. "Are you feeling better, now?" he
asked.
"Ah, no - actually," Sam admitted. In fact he was dizzy,
nauseous and extremely jumpy from the residual adrenaline in his system.
"There's a big surprise," Xander said, leading him over to a seat
at the table. "You didn't even yell at me for calling you G-man," he added,
shaking his head in sympathy. "I'll get you some tea."
"Th- thank you," Sam said.
"We're alive, too," Willow informed Xander shakily as she
and Tara gratefully slid into wonderfully solid and unmoving chairs on the
other side of the table. "Thanks for your concern."
"I'm making cups for you guys, too," Xander replied. "But he had to worry about his car as
well as his skin - and I'll bet you made him sit up front."
"It was his idea," Willow shot back.
Sam accepted the cup of tea Xander offered him.
The young man was correct. Willow and Tara had all but dived into the back of
the car, leaving the shotgun seat for him. It had been all he could do to
keep himself from grabbing the steering wheel several times and his right
ankle and knee were throbbing from the amount of pressure with which he had
applied his right foot to the floor board in front of him - for all the good
it had done him.
"It wasn't *that* bad. I think I'm getting the hang of
this driving thing," Buffy said breezily, then sent her frown around the
table when no one spoke up in her defense.
"Yeah, well *any*way," Xander interrupted before things could devolve further. "I guess we should
get back into Research Mode."
"Where's Anya?" Willow asked, glancing around the shop.
"She went to the bank to deposit the day's receipts.
She's going to pick up dinner on her way back." He turned to Sam. "She was on
Cloud Nine. You really ought to let her handle the money stuff more often."
"I'll see what I can do," Sam replied absentmindedly. The warm,
soothing tea had begun to relax him when his eyes fell on the pile of books
lying open on the table. As the content of several images on the pages visible to him
became impressed on his brain he straightened slightly and bit back an exclamation.
Al, ever vigilant when visiting his friend in the
past, noticed the change in Sam's demeanor. "What's wrong, Sam?" He moved
behind Sam's chair to see what had caught his attention. "Holy crow!" he
announced, snatching his unlit cigar out of his mouth. "What the hell are these people into?"
Sam shivered in unspoken agreement. The books varied
widely in size, shape, age and language but there was one constant: every
illustration told its own little horror story.
"So, Giles," Buffy said, as the four young people regarded him with mild interest and no visible
reaction to the panoply of the macabre scattered across the tabletop. "What
should we concentrate on next?"
"Uh, maybe we should just pick up where
we left off last time?" Sam offered. They all shrugged and picked up books,
settling into their chairs to begin reading. Just as Sam was about to move
away from the table to attempt a private conversation with Al, the annoying
chirp-warble of Al's handlink cut through the silence.
Al squinted at the tiny screen and tapped the display a few times. Finally, he looked up.
"Ziggy says this Giles guy is talking to Verbena without getting physical."
Al glanced back to the table for a moment before fixing Sam with a serious
look. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he reassured his friend.
Sam inclined his head in a slight nod of acknowledgement before heaving a
deep sigh and lifting a book with the least offensive picture he could find.
The sound of the Imaging Chamber door sliding shut behind him only deepened his gloom.
* * * * *
Monday March 19th, 2007
Waiting Room
Project Quantum Leap Compound
Stallion's Gate, New Mexico
Giles remained standing near the table in the center of the room, silently considering the woman,
who had also maintained her position near the doorway. The door had slid shut with a quiet
'whoosh', which intrigued Giles but was less significant to him than the fact
that the armed guard he had seen now had no line of fire into the room.
"I don't know anyone named Maggie Walsh," Dr. Beeks informed him.
"And I'm pretty much the original article as far as my position here," she
added with a friendly smile.
"And where would 'here' be?" Giles asked,
in a tone that suggested he didn't really expect an answer and might not be
disposed to believe her if she supplied one.
"That's a little complicated. Al usually provides the explanation for our visitors but you
weren't in a particularly receptive frame of mind when he approached you," she replied.
"'Visitors'?" Giles seized upon the plural. "You have others
here? If you've harmed her... them," he began in warning as he took several
steps to come round the table.
Verbena Beeks took a step back toward
the door, which opened to admit Al. They collided in the doorway as she was
moving backwards and Al had been concentrating on his handlink display.
"Whoa, Doc," Al warned, grasping her by the elbows so she
wouldn't fall - and possibly take him with her. "What's going on? I thought
he had calmed down," Al complained seeing that although Giles had halted a
foot or so past the edge of the table he had a dangerous gleam in his eyes,
his fists were clenched and he was breathing heavily.
"I told him you usually explain things to our visitors. He assumed we have one or more of his
friends here," Verbena explained.
"Oh, okay," Al said with some relief.
He swept one hand toward the open doorway, encouraging the psychiatrist to
leave. "I'll take it from here."
Dr. Beeks shifted her gaze to the irate
visitor and back to Al, her doubt that this was a good idea clear on her face.
Al smiled. "We'll be fine, sweet cheeks." He cocked his head
swiftly at the door. "Go on, scram." The woman gave him a brief nod and
fleeting smile and left the room. As the door slid shut behind her, Al turned
fully toward the center of the room and approached Rupert Giles.
"Who else did you bring here? Are they all right? Let me talk to them!"
Giles demanded.
"Calm down, fella," Al suggested, halting a few feet
short of the seething man. "All your friends are right where they belong.
When Verbena said 'visitors' she meant we have had more than one visitor but
only one at a time. This time it's you."
"Why do you keep referring to me as a 'visitor' when, clearly, I'm your prisoner?" Giles
inquired.
Al sighed. "I'm sorry, Giles - you go by Giles, right?"
Giles, whose eyes had widened at being called by name, recovered
sufficiently to incline a slight nod of confirmation.
"Well, Giles," Al continued, motioning toward the low table and seating himself once Giles
had, grudgingly, perched at the other end. "I'm sorry we have to keep you
here, but it's really for your own good. I can't tell you everything but I
can give you some information." When Giles opened his mouth to speak, Al held
up a hand. "As I said, you're not the first visitor we've had and
you'll pardon me if I anticipate a few of your more burning questions - it'll
save us time, believe me."
When Giles subsided and disposed himself to listen, Al nodded at him approvingly and went on.
"First, we are not a part of or even associated with," Al glanced down at his handlink and
frowned. "The Initiative?" he snorted. "Must be Army. Anyway," he went on,
looking back up at Giles. "We are not them, whoever they are. We didn't bring
you here deliberately and we're only keeping you here for your
own protection. You'll go right back where you belong, probably within a week
- give or take a few days."
"If you are, as you say, benevolent," Giles interrupted. "Let me go now."
"I can't do that, Giles," Al raised a
hand once more to stave off another outburst. "Meaning it is not within our
power to do so. You'll go back, but we can't exactly control when."
Al proceeded to tell Giles about the Project: how Sam had believed he would
be able to observe history; how they had been dismayed when it turned out he
had actually traveled back in time; how they had discovered that, by
changing history, Sam could Leap from life to life; and their mutual notion
that a 'Higher Power' had taken over the Project in order to right past wrongs.
"So it seems someone up there," Al concluded. "Has decided that
something needs to be fixed in your life, or the life of someone close to you
- so Sam Leaped into your persona. The sooner we figure out what that
'something' is, the sooner you go back to your new, improved life." He gave
Giles his most winning, 'trust me I'm on your side' smile.
"That's preposterous," Giles told him.
Al sighed. "Okay, you're not on board yet.
How much do you know about quantum physics? I can try to convince you with science."
"It isn't the possibility of the science ultimately becoming
available, given sufficient time, resources and properly capable and educated
minds being applied to the problem that I find difficult to accept," Giles
corrected him. "If you were telling me the truth you wouldn't have told me
*any* of this. Or if you did you wouldn't have any intention of sending me
back into the past with this kind of knowledge."
"You won't remember anything that happened here," Al countered. "It's part of the Leap effect. Or
the Higher Power. Whatever, you won't remember."
Giles considered the calm, sympathetic look the smaller man was giving him. After a long silence
he sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't really matter whether or not I
believe you. I won't tell you anything."
"All I'm talking about is making
this quicker and easier on you. This is the future, man. We have some pretty
serious computer power here and, if necessary, we can research you 'til we
figure out what needs to be fixed." The odd combination of sorrow and humor
in the man's eyes gave Al pause.
"I sincerely doubt that," Giles intoned, dropping his head and staring at his hands.
"You're worried about her for some reason, aren't you," Al guessed. "Buffy, I mean."
Giles head shot up and he pinned Al with a smoldering glare but he didn't speak.
"I was listening with one ear when I came in. You said 'If
you've harmed her' then you substituted 'them'. Nice try, but I caught it.
What's so damned secret about your life, huh? Honest to God, we're only trying to help."
The two men stared at one another for a long time and Al
was about to give up and leave when Giles spoke.
"Put yourself in my shoes," Giles said softly but firmly. "I'm you and your friend Sam is Buffy.
He's facing the most dangerous situation of his life and I'm holding you
prisoner and incommunicado but say I'm just trying to help. All you have to
do is tell me everything you know - who the two of you are, what you do,
*everything*. What do you do?"
Al met the taller man's steady gaze. In
it, he could see the same devotion to this girl Buffy that he had for Sam;
along with an iron-hard grip on a sense of duty. Al knew he would resist any
coercion, suffer any torture, even die before he would take a chance that he
might risk his friend's safety or expose the Project. He had at least as many
trust issues as this guy, and it would take more than he had been able to
offer to convince him that spilling his guts was the right thing to do.
Giles saw understanding and resignation register in Al's eyes. "So,
you begin to understand my position," he concluded.
"Yeah, I'm afraid I do," Al admitted. "But that doesn't help them or us, does it?"
"No," Giles agreed, with sincere regret. "I don't suppose it does."
* * * * *
Wednesday, April 25th, 2001
The Magic Box
Sunnydale, California
Sam tried to keep his mind on the book he had chosen but it was simply
too gruesome. He rose from his chair and began to peruse the contents of
nearby shelves, pretending to be deep in thought. If he wasn't prepared to
learn anything from Giles' preferred reading material Sam thought he might be
able to glean more useful information from his surroundings. A couple of his
new young acquaintances glanced up momentarily but returned to their books
almost at once, so Sam wandered toward more distant shelves and displays
while staying within earshot of any conversation which might spring up among his companions.
After fifteen or twenty minutes his state of alarm had
steadily grown as he collected more clues about his surroundings and situation.
The shelves were packed with charms, statues, idols and other
miscellaneous bric-a-brac with ominous descriptions such as 'Star of Revenge'
and 'Curse Talisman'. There were jars, boxes and bottles containing the body
parts of a wide range of animals; monkey brains, amphibian eyes, lizard
tongues and many, many others. Even the most innocuous books he could find
were filled with magic spells, descriptions of mystical creatures,
denizens of strange and frightening dimensions or planes of existence or
people who had wielded or been destroyed by magic.
If these revelations weren't enough to encourage him to beat a hasty retreat, the
topics bandied about the table had the potential to push him over the edge.
Willow, whose cheerful, bubbly personality suggested a girl
who might only recently have give up playing with Barbies, dredged up spell
after spell over which she conferred with the seemingly wholesome, shy Tara.
They debated the prospective effectiveness of dismemberment, disemboweling
and immolation spells, among a disturbing array of others, for their
ability to kill or incapacitate the largest number of 'minions' in the
shortest amount of time.
The bright, confident Buffy chimed in to say
that carnage was her specialty and they should concentrate on something else
to insure maximum team efficacy.
Xander expounded endlessly on his hope
that the missing Anya would remember to bring a good supply of jelly
doughnuts with her, in addition to the promised dinner, when she returned.
It was a gut-wrenching experience.
The sound of the Imaging Room door opening and the sight of Al stepping into view prompted Sam
to send a silent 'thank you' skyward. He moved purposefully toward the
restroom at the rear of the shop, trusting Al to follow.
Instead of walking behind his friend, Al used his handlink to instantaneously appear in
the small room into which Sam had scurried. The moment he popped in, Sam let
out a strangled gasp.
"Don't ever, ever that again, Al. At least on this Leap," Sam admonished him.
"Little jumpy are we, pal?" Al observed. "What could that pack of post-pubescent cuties have done
to get you in such a state?"
"Let me enlighten you," the normally even-tempered man replied in a grim tone.
Sam filled Al in on all that he had seen and heard while Al
had been gone. Al divided his attention between Sam's report and the data
that kept popping up on his handlink screen, courtesy of Ziggy. When he had
finished his recitation, Sam awaited Al's reaction with growing impatience.
"Well?" Sam finally demanded. "Still think I'm overreacting?"
Al glanced up from the handlink and pulled his cigar out of his mouth. "I agree
it's a little strange."
"A 'little strange'!" Sam objected. "It's... it's... well, I don't know what it is, exactly,
but it's more than a 'little strange'. I think this guy Giles might have lured these kids into
some kind of twisted, over-the-top Dungeons & Dragons sort of role-playing
thing. Maybe I'm here to break whatever hold he has over them."
"I dunno, Sam," Al replied, shaking his head. "He seems like a good guy to me.
Not a sign of being a depraved whacko that I can see."
"Did you get some information out of him this time?" Sam asked.
"Not much and nothing intentional, but lookee here what Ziggy came up with," Al responded,
turning the handlink toward his friend.
While Sam examined the small device, Al told him how Giles' slip during his confrontation with Dr.
Beeks had set Ziggy on the trail of The Initiative.
"It seems this isn't the first time our Mr. Giles has fallen afoul of a secret government
project. These Initiative guys, according to their mission statement, were trying to find
ways to either neutralize HSTs or use them for military purposes."
Sam glanced up at Al. "What's an HST?"
Al grinned. "You know how we military folk love our acronyms. HST stands for Hostile
Sub-Terrestrial."
Sam's expression made it obvious that explanation hadn't quite answered his question.
"Demons, Sam," Al informed him. "They were catching and experimenting on demons."
Sam and Al regarded each other closely for a few moments - Sam in continued confusion and Al in
all seriousness. Finally, Sam blinked.
"Come on, Al," he reproved his friend. "Stop fooling around.
This is serious. Those kids could be in real danger."
"I'm right there with you, Sam," Al agreed. "But I think it's even more serious than either
one of us realizes at the moment. Look at this."
Al punched a button on the handlink and turned the display toward Sam again. A short loop of
video played over and over on the small screen. "This was attached to a report that
described the end of the project. It seems the HSTs got loose and killed and
maimed to their heart's content. According to the report, the human
casualties might have been 100% if it hadn't been for some 'civilian insurgents'.
Sam gasped in recognition as he watched the video repeat.
"That's Giles. And Xander. They're helping soldiers into an elevator shaft."
Al nodded and pointed the bitten end of his cigar at the screen. "And there's the blonde and the
little redhead, right there."
"Buffy and Willow," Sam intoned softly in wonder. "When does this happen, Al? Is it
soon? Has Ziggy figured out how I can stop it?"
Al shoved the handlink into his pocket and heaved a deep sigh. "That happened almost a year ago,
your time. That's not what you're here to fix."
Sam goggled at him. "It's not? But then... then what *am* I supposed to keep from happening?"
Al's expression was grim. "Something worse?" he suggested.
As the two men considered what 'something worse' might entail,
the distant jangling of the shop's bell sounded in the silence.
"Hey, Giles," came Buffy's shout, muffled as it was by the intervening distance and
the closed restroom door. "Did you fall in? Food's here. You'd better get out
here before Xander eats it all."
Sam turned, washed and dried his hands
then reached past Al's image to open the door. Al followed, then came up
beside Sam as they rounded the bookcase that stood between the room they had
exited and the area where he had left the young people. His companions were
dishing generous portions of Chinese food onto paper plates and Sam noted the
addition of an ash-blonde woman of about the same age as the others and a
young teen with long, straight brown hair.
"Yowza!" Al pronounced, with a
tinge of envy. "I like the male-female ratio this guy maintains around him."
"Nothing to fear, G-man," Xander assured Sam. "My darling Anya has
provided copious amounts of food of the Asian persuasion and Dawn says the
doughnuts are all jellies."
Sam gave Xander a nod and ignored Al as he
approached the table. The new woman, Anya presumably, looked up.
"Who are you and what are you doing in here?" she asked in a sharp tone. "We value
your patronage but the store is closed right now."
Sam stopped short and stared at the woman, unsure whether she didn't know Giles or could somehow
sense he was not the person who should have been standing there.
The rest of the audience swung their eyes first toward Sam then back to Anya.
"Ahn," Xander said in a patient voice that
also carried a hint of subtle warning. "Remember the talk we had about
playing funny little tricks on the boss? Sometimes not a very good idea."
"That's not my boss. Giles is my boss and that isn't Giles.
Neither is he," Anya insisted, pointing at Al.
"Uh oh, Sam," Al groaned. "I think she can see me."
"Of course I can see you. You're standing right there in front of me. So he's Sam. Who are you?
And for that matter, who is Sam?" Anya added.
"Um, Anya," Sam said in as calm a manner
as he could muster. "May I speak to you in private for a moment?" He turned
sideways and indicated a door toward the back of the shop which he assumed led to a storage
area of some kind. "It's really *very* important," he added when she hesitated.
"All right," she conceded. "But keep in mind that I
can both defend myself and scream very loudly. If you're up to something my
Xander will come and rescue me and you'll be very, very sorry."
"I... I promise I don't have any bad intentions," Sam assured her as he followed
her to the doorway. Behind him, he heard the others resume talking.
"What was that all about?" Buffy asked.
"Some sort of retail-related
misunderstanding, maybe," Xander guessed. "All I know is she'd better not be
playing Sam the Door to Door Encyclopedia Salesman with Giles or there's
gonna be hell to pay."
A chorus of 'eiwwws' and 'TMI, Xander!'s were cut
off when Sam shut the door to the next room behind him and turned to face the
latest complication to his situation.
* * * * *
Wednesday, April 25th, 2001
Training Room, The Magic Box
Sunnydale, California
Anya flipped on the wall switch as she entered the room and
moved away to the left. She stopped short of the side wall by about four feet
and turned to face the two men.
They had halted just inside the room
after Sam had swung the door shut behind them. They took in the features and accouterments of
the room with twin expressions of astonishment before turning toward each other.
"How much weirder can this get?" Sam inquired.
"You're probably better off not asking that question, buddy," Al recommended. "You might get an
answer."
"Ahem," Anya announced. "We came in here to talk, not to take a tour."
Sam walked toward her as he answered. "Uh, right, sorry," he said. "We were just a little, um,
startled by all of this." Before he reached a point within arms' reach of Anya, Al spoke up.
"That's close enough, Sam," he cautioned his friend, pointing
at the hanging display of weapons on the wall directly behind the woman.
"Yes, that's close enough," Anya agreed, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at
them. "Who are you and why does everyone seem to think you're Giles?"
"My name is Sam and this is Al," Sam replied.
"They think I'm Giles because, to them, I look and sound exactly like him."
"Who do they think he is?" Anya asked, jerking her chin at Al.
"They can't see or hear him," Sam responded. "He's not really here.
What you're seeing is a holographic projection that's tuned to my brain waves. A hologram is..."
"I've seen Star Trek," Anya said, waving off
more science talk with a gesture. "If he's tuned to your brain waves why can I see him?"
"I don't know. In our experience, only very young children
have been able to see Al," Sam said, pondering the seeming inconsistency in this case.
"And some animals," Al added with a pointed look at Anya.
"Al..." Sam began in warning. He knew Al was prone to over react
when inexplicable complications arose during a Leap but they couldn't afford
to antagonize someone who could completely blow Sam's cover. Luckily, it
appeared Anya had no intention of rising to the bait or becoming distracted.
"What did you do with Giles? The real one," she demanded.
"He's here where I am," Al responded. "He's fine and he'll be back with you in a few days."
"I don't believe you," Anya shot back. "He wouldn't leave Buffy without telling her, if he would
leave at all. Especially now."
"Why 'especially now'?" Al inquired.
"I'm asking the questions," Anya reminded him. "And I don't believe Giles would leave
voluntarily."
"It wasn't exactly voluntary on our part, either," Sam
interjected, concerned with the level of ire Anya was directing at Al. "I
can't explain everything because it might not be good for you or your friends
to have too much information about what's going on, but we really are here to help you."
Anya considered the gentle, friendly smile the taller man was
giving her. "Well," she admitted grudgingly. "You don't *seem* evil, but that
doesn't mean you're good. Or on our side, either." When neither man responded
to this declaration, she focused her attention on Al again. "Giles is okay?"
"He's safe and healthy, if a little upset," Al replied, determined
to help Sam win this woman over by being as truthful as possible without
sharing information that would compromise the secret of the Project.
"You'd better be careful," Anya informed them. "Giles is getting
really fed up with people doing stuff to him unexpectedly and without his
permission. He's liable to throttle you or something."
"Thanks for the warning," Al replied sarcastically, tugging slightly at the collar of his
shirt at the reminder of his initial encounter with the large Englishman.
"Ooooo!" Anya exclaimed. "Did he thrash you? Darn, I
wish I could have seen that. Giles is good-looking all the time but he's
really sexy when he gets all cranky and menacing."
"We did have a little misunderstanding, at first, but I talked to him a few minutes ago and
he knows we don't mean any harm," Al said, before turning back to Sam. "How
come she can see us?"
Before Sam could answer, Anya spoke up. "Probably
because I'm a demon. Well, ex-demon actually," she said brightly. "We're not
as limited in our perceptions as humans are. I'm mortal now but I was a very
effective Vengeance Demon for more than a millennia."
Sam simply goggled at her until he caught a movement in his peripheral vision. He turned
to see Al slowly rotating an index finger near his temple.
"Yeah," Al said, continuing to make the non-verbal 'crazy person' signal. "That explains it."
"I am not demented," Anya insisted harshly, taking a step towards
Al. "And I'm beginning to find you annoying." She appeared to be about to say
something else but, instead, scrutinized the smaller man closely. "Now that I
think about it, you look familiar. Have you ever scorned a woman?" she demanded.
Sam nearly choked trying to suppress a laugh.
"I... I... may have moved on sooner than someone might have wanted, but..." Al began in
a halting defense.
"You have!" Anya crowed in triumph. "I thought so. I
see I made you short," she considered his outfit with a sneer. "And
color-blind. That was some pretty effective vengeance I wreaked upon your
head. I'll bet you're the target of constant ridicule now. Serves you right."
"Hey, missy! I'll have you know this is the height of fashion..."
"Al. Anya," Sam groaned. "Please, this isn't getting us
anywhere." Both verbal combatants subsided but shot a couple of glares at
each other before completely turning their attention back to Sam. "I know this is a difficult
situation for you, Anya," Sam went on. "But we could really use your help."
"What is it you want me to do, exactly," Anya asked, warily.
Sam, sensing it wouldn't do to push too hard too soon
tempered the request he had been planning. "For now, just don't tell anyone
that I'm not Giles or anything about Al. I mean, think about it; they
probably wouldn't believe you anyway."
"I think you'd be surprised at what they're likely to believe," Anya countered. "But I guess I
can do that for a *little* while. Until I can tell whether or not you're evil for sure."
"Thank you," Sam said with a smile.
"Why did you come here at all?" Anya inquired.
"Sam helps people," Al volunteered. "Either the
person he's temporarily replacing or someone close to them. Sometimes more than one person."
"You could be of more assistance to us, and your friends, if you'd try and think what might need
to be fixed here," Sam added.
"Like what?" Anya asked.
Before Sam could answer, there was a knock on the door and it was opened a crack. Xander stuck
his head in and looked around.
"Hey guys," he greeted them. "Is everything okay? The food's getting cold."
"We'll be there in a minute, Xander," Anya assured him.
"Okay," he replied and disappeared.
The trio began to move slowly toward the door Xander had closed behind him.
"Like what?" Anya repeated.
"Oh, like protecting someone from danger or finding out
something important that they need to know but wouldn't find out about
without Sam's help," Al told her. "Sometimes he helps people get out of a
relationship they shouldn't be in or gives them a push into a relationship
that will be better for them and the other person."
"Can you think of anything similar that might need to be fixed here?" Sam asked as Anya reached
for the doorknob.
Anya paused and turned, a thoughtful expression mixed with a little doubt on her face. "How long
did you say you're going to be here?" she inquired.
* * * * *
Wednesday, April 25th, 2001
The Magic Box
Sunnydale, California
As he settled into his chair at the table, Sam was relieved to see that
the ghastly literature had been put aside, allowing him to focus on his
dinner. He was glad his arrival had not been delayed any further as the
massive amount of food disappeared very rapidly. Sam was eyeing the last
portion of cashew chicken when Buffy spoke up and distracted him, giving
Xander the opportunity to scoop up the carton and dump a third helping on his plate.
"Giles, are you sure you want to patrol with me tonight?
You're not really dressed for it," Buffy observed.
Sam let his hand hang in mid-air, its path toward the single remaining egg roll interrupted.
"Patrol?" he queried.
Anya spoke up before his ignorance could be further displayed. "Giles left some clothes here the
other day when we were planning to do inventory in the basement."
Sam exhaled in relief and sent Anya a smile of thanks, which she acknowledged with a brief nod.
He lowered his hand toward its target, only to encounter an empty plate. Sam turned to see
Dawn munching on an egg roll with no apparent remorse. He sighed and rose
from his seat. "I suppose I should get changed, then."
"On a shelf behind the counter," Anya whispered to Sam, under cover of the general
conversation around the table and while ostensibly focused on collecting the used paper plates
and containers.
Sam dutifully retrieved a pair of jeans, a denim shirt and a pair of cross-trainers from
behind the counter and listened to the arrangements the others were making
for the evening as he moved toward the restroom. Willow and Tara were
planning to head home and, as he shut the door behind him, Sam overheard Buffy asking Xander and
Anya to take Dawn home and stay with her until she returned from patrol.
As he pulled off his tie, Sam addressed Al, who had followed along. "What's taking Ziggy so long?
She usually comes up with something before now."
"This Leap just keeps getting stranger and stranger, Sam," Al replied, poking the buttons on his
handlink despondently. "You're not gonna believe this. Ziggy says the whole
town is now at the bottom of a really deep crater. The local newspaper
archives and government records are all gone so she doesn't have access
to the stuff she usually uses to find out what happens to the person you replaced."
Sam stared, wide-eyed, at Al. "I'm here to prevent an earthquake?" he queried, aghast. "How am I
supposed to do that?"
Al shook his head in grim amusement. "Nope, no record of an earthquake. And the
crater thing doesn't happen for about two years, so I don't think you'll need
to figure out how to stop that."
Sam finished buttoning and tucking in his shirt. "What good will it do for me to fix something
small if they're all going to die in a huge catastrophe in just two years?" he wondered aloud,
sadly.
"Oddly enough," Al continued. "Very few people seem to have died
when, well, whatever it was happened. Ziggy has been going over county, state
and national reports about Sunnydale and it appears there was a mass exodus
in the week or so leading up to the town's destruction." Al slapped the
handlink and squinted at the screen before sliding it into his pocket and
producing a cigar.
"She's come up with some interesting stuff but nothing
about anyone you've met so far except for a lot of international travel by
our friend Rupert Giles, both before and after the town goes *splat*, so at
least he survived. We're going to need these people's last names if we expect
her to track down any more details."
"Maybe we can convince Anya to tell us at least that," Sam suggested hopefully as he finished
tying his shoelaces. He rose and settled his gaze on his friend. "In the meantime, I
have to go on 'patrol'."
* * * * *
The group left the Magic Box together. Anya locked the door behind them and then
followed Xander, Dawn, Willow and Tara to a car parked a short distance away.
Buffy and Sam watched the car roll down the street until it left their sight
after rounding a corner.
Sam turned to find Buffy looking at him with a slight smile and a fondness in her eyes.
"It's been a while since just the two of us patrolled together, Watcher-mine," she said, her
smile widening. "And it's nice to be able to call you that again, too. What do
you think, Restfield?"
"Fine," Sam replied, not knowing what else to say. He fingered the wooden stake Buffy had handed
him and he had thrust in the waistband of his jeans before they had left the shop. When he had
returned from changing his clothes, Buffy had set aside the short sword she had been
handling commenting that, without his jacket, it would be too conspicuous, even for Sunnydale.
Sam concentrated on appearing to stay abreast of Buffy while actually lagging a split second
behind. It was a skill he had developed to an impressive degree and by necessity, since he often
needed to walk with someone toward a location that would have been familiar to the
person he had replaced but was completely unknown to him. Due to his
absorption in the delicate subterfuge, Al became aware of their destination before Sam.
"Aw, criminey," Al exclaimed. "You've *gotta* be kidding me."
Sam halted and glanced up to see an arch curving over the
path onto which they had turned. The illumination of the nearly full moon
allowed the words 'Restfield Cemetery' to show in clear relief among the decorative ironwork.
Buffy, who had halted in reaction to Sam's lack of
movement, looked at him quizzically. "Something wrong? Do you think we should
go to Shady Rest instead?"
Sam gulped and struggled to appear
composed. "No, no. This is... fine. I guess," he replied, without conviction,
as he returned to her side. He managed a weak smile and an 'after you'
gesture toward the entrance.
Buffy, apparently satisfied, turned and walked along with Sam under the arch.
Al followed reluctantly behind. "I really, really want this Leap to be over now, okay?" he
groused. "Maybe Sam can go save someone from a bad haircut or an inappropriate choice of a
new car. That would be a good thing, right?"
He continued his diatribe as he trailed along behind Buffy and Sam, who were walking among the
graves in companionable silence. After about ten more minutes of non-stop complaining,
Al was in the midst of reasoning aloud that Sam's Leaps didn't always have
to be about life and death when Sam felt his nerves reaching the breaking
point. Just as Sam began to ponder a way to, unobtrusively, tell his friend
to shut up, there was a rustling in the bushes off to their left.
"Look out, Giles," Buffy warned, running toward a figure that had
emerged from the foliage. Sam and Al stepped back, shocked by the strange
deformity of the face of what they otherwise might have thought to be a man.
Their attention was, shortly thereafter, diverted to the elegant flow of
movement, interspersed with apparently heavy blows, that Buffy was
demonstrating on her hapless foe.
"Wow, take a look at that, will ya?" Al breathed, as Buffy easily dodged three consecutive
roundhouse punches by her opponent. "She's really something."
Sam nodded wordlessly, noticing that, while the creature became increasingly clumsy, confused and
aggravated, Buffy remained composed and seemed to be almost bored with the
action. The thing roared and attempted a headlong rush at her, which
Buffy easily side-stepped. As the much taller and heavier figure went by, she
grasped him by the arm and, seemingly without effort, flipped him onto his
back on the ground. Buffy followed through by plunging her stake, which had
appeared in her hand as if by magic, squarely into the chest of the prone body.
Sam's gasp of alarm was cut short when the body of the man, with a
distinct 'whoosh', dissolved into dust. Sam stared at Buffy in shock as she
rose and blithely brushed dust and grass clippings from her clothes. As she
approached Sam, her smile disappeared and her expression became concerned.
"What's wrong, Giles? Was my form bad? Did you think I toyed
with him too long? I know you're all for 'plunge and move on' but a girl's
gotta work off steam sometimes," she stopped right in front of Sam and looked
up curiously into his face.
Sam blinked. He was dimly aware of Al
prattling on behind him, saying "Did you see that? Sam! Did you see that?" over and over, but he
forced himself to focus on Buffy, noticing the frown of consternation she wore.
"Are you okay?" she asked in a worried tone.
"Um, yes," Sam managed, shifting his weight from one foot to the
other and trying to think of something convincing to explain what was
apparently an uncharacteristic reaction on his part to what he had just
witnessed. As he became aware of his involuntary, nervous movement an idea
came to him. "It's just that... I mean I have to..." he shifted his weight
again while attempting to guess how Giles would explain the situation.
Buffy's powers of observation saved him. "Oh," she said,
taking a step back, her frown giving way to a slightly embarrassed little
smile. "You have to 'spend a penny' as you put it?" she inquired, a twinkle in her eye.
"Yes," Sam agreed with relief. "That's it." He took a step
away from her then stopped, realizing he didn't know if there were any public
restrooms in a cemetery; and, if there were, where the ones in *this*
cemetery might be located.
Luckily, Buffy misinterpreted his hesitation. "C'mon, Giles," she said, brightly. "Lighten up.
It's not the first time you've had too much tea before we went on patrol. You know I
won't peek. You go over there," she said, pointing to a clump of trees a few
yards away. "And you can find me over there when you're finished," she
added waving toward a row of crypts that stood in the opposite direction. She
moved off determinedly toward the structures after tossing him a final cheeky grin.
Sam shuffled hesitantly behind the clump of trees.
"Sam!" Al demanded loudly. "Did you see that? Tell me I'm not hallucinating."
"You're not hallucinating," Sam replied. "I saw it too."
"That was a vampire," Al announced. "A real, live, er... unlive... undead, you know, *vampire*."
Sam mulled Al's opinion over, considering alternate possibilities. "Well, it appeared to be a
vampire," he said, hesitantly.
"Oh, come *on*, Sam. You saw that thing! The weird face, the yellow eyes, the fangs. And it
exploded into dust when she staked it through the heart! Don't try the 'there must be a rational,
scientific explanation' thing with me after *that*!" Al exclaimed in exasperation. "Told
you vampires were real," he reminded Sam smugly.
Sam seemed uncertain and stood silently watching his friend rock exultantly back and forth from
heel to toe, a broad, satisfied smile on his face. "Maybe," Sam allowed.
"Just give me a minute and we'll talk some more while we go find Buffy."
Sam turned toward the tree and reached for his fly.
"What are you doing?" Al inquired.
Sam sighed deeply. "Sometimes it's not just an excuse to
talk to you privately, Al. Sometimes I actually need to *go*," he explained.
"Oh, sorry pal," Al apologized. "Don't mind me. I'll just go over here..."
Just as Sam turned back toward the tree and Al turned the
other way, they both heard the crackling of something moving in the bushes
nearby. The men leaped away from the shrubbery, expecting another attack.
Their hearts started beating again and they let out sighs of relief when a
small dog wiggled his way into view.
"Holy Christ," Al wheezed, his hand pressed against his chest. "Don't do that ya mangy little
varmint. You could give someone a heart attack."
The dog, a black and tan Chihuahua, barked sharply and wagged his tail; apparently pleased that
he had frightened two huge interlopers in his domain. He stayed some distance away but
sniffed in Sam's direction and, after a moment, gave a little warble of a
whine and a snort. He turned his head toward Al and sniffed, then shook his
head. He sniffed again, then stiffened slightly, growled deep in his throat
and shied away out of sight beyond the trees.
"I guess he recognizes Giles and is upset that he couldn't smell you," Sam said to Al, amused by
the tiny dog's performance.
"Tough," Al replied. "He scared ten years off my life jumping out of the bushes like that."
Sam moved back toward the tree and Al remained where he was. Sam had just undone his fly and let
himself relax enough to let go when a voice sounded behind him.
"Oi, Watcher. Don't ya have no respect for other folks' front gardens?"
Sam whipped around in fright, sending a stream of urine across the lower legs of
the jeans of the latest prowler.
"Bloody hell!" the intruder growled. "Watch yourself, man..."
Sam stuttered over an apology while tucking himself away but whatever he was about to say was cut
off when the bleach-blond young man scowled at him and took a menacing step forward.
"I thought I heard Buffy's voice but you're not Giles, for all
that you're wearin' his clothes. What are you up to, then?" he challenged.
"And what the *hell* is that," he added pointing at Al, who had approached at
the sound of a new voice.
"Is everyone gonna be able to see me on this Leap?" Al groaned.
"I... we..." Sam began in halting explanation,
trailing off as the dog that had scared them earlier trotted back into view.
Evidently put out by other males marking objects in his territory, he lifted
his leg and put his mark over the one Sam had just placed on the other man's pants.
"Leave off, ya little bugger," the blond snarled, swinging a
booted foot in the direction of the small animal.
"Hey!" Sam objected, on behalf of the dog - who had anticipated the retaliatory attack and danced
out of reach.
"Sam! Vampire!" Al yelped, pointing at the young man, who
was clutching his head in pain and whose face had morphed into a mask of
horror, his fangs clearly visible as he grimaced in agony.
Sam fumbled for his stake and barely managed to pull it free of his clothing as the
vampire struggled through a final flare of pain. He lifted his head to see
Sam's fist, holding the stake, hurtle toward his chest.
"Wha..." was all he managed to say before Sam let go, stepped back and watched as the vampire
burst into a cloud of dusty ash that settled slowly onto the grass.
Sam and Al stared down at the remains of the
vampire, stunned into silence and immobility. The little dog appeared once
more. They watched as he circled the spot, lifted his leg and christened the
area with his scent. After scraping his back paws through the untouched grass
beyond the edge of the dusty remnants of the creature, the dog gave a
dismissive snort and trotted off into the darkness.
"Holy crap, Sam," Al intoned, looking up at his friend. "You killed a vampire!"
Sam shifted and rubbed his face with one hand, clearly
uneasy. "I don't suppose that's what I was here to do and now I'm going to
Leap?" he said, with very little hope evident in his voice.
Al pulled his handlink out of his pocket and punched a few buttons, then looked back
up. "No, I guess not. No sign of you being ready to Leap."
Sam sighed and poked the toe of his shoe into the near side of the pile of dust. "Do you see
my stake?" he asked Al.
Al scrutinized the darker area of grass. "Nope.
Maybe you're supposed to keep hold of it and pull it out after you stab them.
I think that's what Buffy did. Besides, would you still want it after, you
know?" he concluded waving at the pattern of dampness visible in the
otherwise dry circle of debris.
"I guess not," Sam agreed. "But since I'm unarmed now I should probably go find Buffy."
"Yeah, we wouldn't want you roaming around out here in the bad, old dark without protection, would
we?" Al responded with a wide grin.
"Uh huh," Sam replied sarcastically. "You were scared to even come into the cemetery. And that
was *before* we knew about the vampires. And you're not really here, either."
Both men sobered, reminded of the fact that Sam was probably in very real danger as
long as he was here. Their faces lightened at the sound they now heard.
"Hey, Giles. Are you okay?"
"Over here, Buffy," Sam called.
"Are you decent?" Buffy asked, her voice coming from just beyond the stand of trees.
"Yes," Sam replied, double checking quickly to make sure he had completely closed his fly mere
seconds before Buffy sauntered into view.
"What's going on, Giles? I was getting worried..."
she let her question trail off as her eyes, having roamed Giles' figure
looking for damage, settled on the patch of dust in the grass. Her gaze
flicked from there, back to Giles and on to the tree, where a trickle of
liquid was still visible in a vertical line down the rough bark. She choked
off what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle and turned back to Sam. "A
vampire? While you were..." her eyes danced and she pressed her hand
firmly over her mouth. It was no use. A huge guffaw escaped her and she bent
over, hands pressed against her stomach.
Sam stood impatiently waiting for her to regain her composure, but Buffy continued to howl with
laughter. Every time she tried to straighten and become serious, she caught sight of
the glower on Sam's face and off she went into a fresh paroxysm of hilarity.
For such a pale, delicate beauty she seemed to have an unexpected
propensity for snorting and choking when she was amused. Finally, despairing
of an impending end to what Sam saw as her inappropriate reaction to the
situation, he spoke up. "It's not funny. I could have been killed," he complained.
"Sorry. I'm sorry, Giles," Buffy apologized. "Oh my God. I
can't remember the last time I laughed that hard."
Sam watched her brush tears off her cheeks as she continued to smile at him contritely. He
considered the fact that this all seemed unremarkable to her and the thought
of what such a life would be like for someone her age caused him to
relent. "Okay, I guess it was a *little* funny," he admitted.
"Are you out of your *mind*?" Al barked.
"Those whacky creatures of the night. Some of 'em have no manners at all," Buffy said, linking
her arm through Sam's. "What say we go dust a few more?"
"I lost my stake," Sam admitted.
"I've got a spare one," Buffy replied, handing the weapon over.
"But carelessness with one's weapons? Tsk, tsk, Mr. Giles," she continued in
a mock-serious tone and a horrendous, affected English accent. "I suspect
an extra training session is in order."
"Really, Sam," Al interjected, unheard, of course, by Buffy. "Don't you think we should go
inside now? Huh? You know, no sense tempting fate. Sam?"
Sam and Buffy continued along through the cemetery, unheeding of Al's suggestions and
warnings.
"Fine," the Observer huffed, following along behind the couple.
"One of these days you'll wish you'd listened to me. Just wait and see."
* * * * *
Wednesday, April 25th, 2001
Restfield Cemetery
Sunnydale, California
Buffy and Sam, with Al still fuming and following along
reluctantly, finished their circuit of Restfield without seeing further
action. They moved on to another cemetery but, after an hour of
slow circling, they had added only one staking to their tally, a
newly-risen vampire that Buffy dispatched with very little fuss.
"It's awfully quiet tonight," Buffy observed as she rejoined Sam
and they resumed their stroll through the ranks of headstones.
"Quiet!" Al snorted. "She calls *this* quiet. Horrible
monsters leaping at you out of the dark. I'd like to see what she
calls active... On second thought, I take that back," Al finished, shaking his head.
Sam ignored the Observer, as he had been for quite
some time, but was sufficiently distracted that when Buffy stopped short he
nearly ran into her. Buffy held up a hand and tilted her head, as
though straining to hear something.
"Now what?" Al groused.
Sam turned slightly and laid an index finger over his lips, sending a stern glare
at his friend. He turned back in time to see Buffy gesturing for him to stay
where he was and indicate that she was going to circle their position. Sam
nodded and Buffy gave him a fleeting smile before moving quietly out of sight.
Al moved up next to Sam. "I didn't hear anything, did you?" Al asked.
"No," Sam hissed, keeping his voice down so that Buffy, if she
were close enough, wouldn't hear him talking, apparently to himself.
"But she didn't have the disadvantage of having to listen to you
stomping along behind us and babbling non-stop."
"Sor-ry!" Al shot back. "This whole situation is just so... creepy." He pulled his handlink,
which had been unusually silent, from his pocket. He smacked it, then shook
it, then thrust it back in his pocket with a scowl and a grunt. "I wish Ziggy
had enough information to provide us with some useful advice."
"So do I..." Sam whispered, then stopped when he caught sight of Buffy reemerging
from the darkness. "What was it?" he asked her.
"More like who," Buffy replied sourly as she moved closer to him. She looked up into Sam's face,
her brow creased in thought. "I need to talk to you about something," she said
after a moment's consideration. "Let's go over to the park across the street.
The playground has a lot of open space around it so we can be sure
no one's lurking around close enough to hear us talking."
"We could go inside," Sam suggested.
"Amen to that," Al concurred, nodding enthusiastically.
Buffy shook her head. "That's kinda what I want to talk to you about."
Sam wasn't sure what to make of that statement, so he
simply agreed with her request. When they reached a bench near the
playground, Buffy stopped and turned in a complete circle. Sam copied
her behavior, noting that the meager light provided by scattered lampposts
allowed them to see that there was no one nearby in the wide, open area surrounding them.
"Have a seat," Buffy offered. As Sam complied, Buffy
turned to face him, still standing. "I'll watch that way and you let me know
if you see anything moving back there," she said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder.
"Jeez, she's not at *all* paranoid," Al said, pacing
around the bench and peering into the darkness. "But I guess it won't hurt
for me to keep an eye peeled, too."
"There was someone following us? In the cemetery?" Sam asked Buffy, bringing her back to the
topic she had alluded to before their change in scenery.
"Yeah. One of those Knights of Byzantium. He took off when he realized I'd spotted him. I can't
believe how stealthy those guys are considering the amount of metal they wear," she
added ruefully, blowing out a frustrated breath.
The beeping sound of Al punching handlink buttons startled Sam slightly before he forced himself
to relax, concluding that Al was probably querying Ziggy for any information
she might have about the Knights of Byzantium.
"If we're being watched, shouldn't we go inside?" Sam repeated.
"Soon," Buffy agreed. "But I've been thinking. If Xander hadn't been at Spike's place when he was
nabbed we might never have known Glory took him. Maybe it would be a good
idea if none of us is alone. You know, within reason and especially at night
when it's easier for demon minions and guys in armor to sneak around
without attracting attention."
"That sounds reasonable," Sam responded, mentally putting aside the comments about demons and
armor-clad stalkers.
"Really?" Buffy inquired, her face brightening in
apparent relief. "I thought I was gonna have a serious argument on my
hands when I suggested you move in with me... us. At... at least until
we settle this Glory business," she continued, a little more hesitantly.
"Move in with..." Sam began.
"Now *this* is getting interesting," Al chimed in, moving closer to them.
"You're the only one who lives alone. Besides Spike, that is; and I'm *so* not asking him to
move in - even if he did keep our secret when Glory tortured him," Buffy explained.
"Tortured?" Al squeaked.
"Buffy..." Sam said, worried that if he ended up sharing quarters with Buffy he wouldn't be able
to search Giles' apartment for clues and that his 'alone time' with Al would be
severely curtailed.
"Giles, just listen for a minute, okay?" Buffy
cajoled him. "It's not just that I'm worried about Glory's minions hauling
you off in the middle of the night and us not knowing until she's been
beating on you for hours - although I *am* worried about that."
"So am I, now," Al moaned. "Thanks, girlie."
Buffy took a close look around them, then sat down next to Sam. She shifted sideways to keep the
area behind the bench in her peripheral vision and placed a hand over one of Sam's.
"I haven't exactly been effective in stopping Glory and the
knight guy said they'd come back in force. I'm worried about what
would happen if Glory comes after Dawn. Or what the Knights might do
if they find out she's the Key," Buffy confided, in a whisper. "Even if I
can't stop them cold, I should be able to slow them down long enough for you
to help Dawn get away and hide her."
"If Glory or the Knights attack your home you want me to escape and run away with Dawn, leaving
you to fight the intruders off," Sam repeated, attempting to comprehend what had become an
incredibly surreal conversation.
Buffy nodded. "Please, Giles," she pleaded with him, vehemently. "You're the only one I can trust
to do this. Next to me, you're the best fighter and you're the smartest one of us.
If anyone can figure out what Glory's up to, how we can defeat her or
a way to keep Dawn safe it's gonna be you."
Sam glanced over to Al, who merely waggled the handlink at him and shrugged - indicating he had no
information to offer that would tilt the decision either way. Sam met Buffy's
eyes again and the hope and trust he saw there made it impossible for him to disappoint her.
"All right, then. I suppose you have a houseguest for the, uh, duration," Sam agreed.
Buffy jumped up from her seat and wrapped her arms tightly around Sam's neck. "Thank you," she
whispered gratefully into his ear, before releasing him and stepping back.
Sam watched her with amusement as she dug the toe of one shoe into the sandy
path. Due to the low level of light he couldn't be sure but he thought she
might be blushing.
"Thanks, Giles," she repeated softly, before lifting her eye's to meet his once more. "Ready to
go home now?"
"As I'll ever be, I suppose," Sam replied, rising to his feet.
Buffy linked her arm through his again and led him toward the park's entrance.
* * * * *
Monday March 19th, 2007
Waiting Room
Project Quantum Leap Compound
Stallion's Gate, New Mexico
At the sound of the door sliding open, Giles looked up to see Al marching toward him. He rose from
his seat on the low table only to receive a hard shove in the center of his chest which
dropped him back into a seated position. Al planted his fists on his hips
and shouted down into Giles' face.
"Vampires!? Vampires are real and you guys run around poking them with little wooden stakes?" he
fumed, leaning over the bigger man.
"If you say so," Giles replied, unwilling to confirm or deny anything.
"I do," Al growled back.
Giles silently met Al's angry glare. He couldn't be sure that Al was who and what he said he was
and it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that these people were allied with
Glory or under her control. Finally, the furious man lifted his gaze and
stepped back. Giles watched him pace away then turn toward him.
"I really want to plant one square in the middle of your mug, ya know?" Al snarled.
"You could try," Giles countered.
Al shook his head and pulled his handlink out of his pocket. He began punching buttons. "Magic,
Glory, vengeance demons, vampires, minions and the Knights of Byzantium," he
listed off, looking back up at Giles. "Just how many ways to die is Sam gonna have to face on
this Leap?"
"I would recommend he not tarry long enough to find out," Giles advised, masking his concern at
the amount of information they had amassed in such a short period of time. "Let me go. I'm
the one who belongs there."
"Yeah, and he belongs here," Al responded. "And nothing would make me happier than to make you
switch places; but I wasn't kidding when I said we can't do that."
"Then I don't believe we have anything more to discuss," Giles concluded. "Unless you want to tell
me how... how my friends are doing."
Al smiled and Giles knew his hesitation had been noticed.
"Buffy is fine," Al informed him. "She and Sam are on their way to her house so I thought I'd come
back and see if you had decided to be reasonable," he snorted. "Fat chance of that, apparently."
He returned his attention to the handlink and punched a few more buttons.
"What is the Key and why does Buffy say Dawn is it?" he asked, in a resigned
tone of voice that suggested he expected this question to go unanswered as well.
Giles was sure he felt his heart stop beating and he made a
valiant attempt to maintain a pretense of indifference. From the look
on Al's face, he was fairly certain he hadn't been successful.
"Jesus, fella. Take a breath before you pass out," Al said, worriedly. "I know you
English have fair complexions but I've seen better color on dead guys."
* * * * *
Wednesday, April 25th, 2001
Summers Residence
Sunnydale, California
Sam followed Buffy up the front walk of an attractive, comfortable looking house. He mentally
noted the address and hoped Al would return soon. Ziggy would be able to get a last name for
Buffy and probably a lot more information with this valuable clue.
Buffy unlocked the door and entered, leaving the door open for Sam. He hesitated in
the entryway to close the door, then moved toward the voices he could hear in the next room.
"Hey G-man," Xander greeted him from the couch where he sat with Anya. "Have a good time on
patrol?"
"Don't call me that," Sam remembered to say.
"Giles dusted a vamp that interrupted him while he was..."
"Buffy!" Sam interjected.
"Oooo, I sense a juicy story that may have blackmail or at least teasing potential," Xander
enthused as he stood up and offered a hand to Anya. "We'll talk later, Buff," he added with
a wink.
Sam gave Buffy a beseeching look that she met for a few moments before giving in.
"Okay, okay," she said, lifting her hands in surrender. "Your secret is safe with me. Sorry,
Xand," she said as she escorted them to the door. "Is Dawn asleep?"
"Should be. She said she was tired and went upstairs about an hour ago," Xander replied. "Want a
ride back to the Magic Box to get your car?" he asked Sam. When he didn't get a
response he tried again. "Hey, Giles. Want a ride to your car?"
Sam, who had been trying not to fidget under Anya's silent scrutiny, suddenly
realized he was being addressed. "Uh, no, that won't be necessary," he
responded, unsure whether or not to broach the subject of his new living
arrangements. Buffy saved him from further speculation.
"Giles is going to stay here until we figure out how to deal with Glory," Buffy
informed them.
Sam watched Anya's eyes narrow at him before she turned
to Buffy. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Sure," Buffy responded with a shrug. "Otherwise I wouldn't have asked him."
"*You* asked *him*?" Anya echoed, suspiciously.
Before Buffy could reply, Xander cut
in. "Uh, Anya, kinda not our business. If the Buffster wants Giles to stay
over it's her, uh, their decision."
Sam held himself as still as possible, as though it would allow him to escape the notice of
the woman who might reveal his actual identity if she saw him as a potential threat to her
friend. The frozen tableau continued for an uncomfortable length of time
until Xander took charge.
"C'mon, honey. Let's go home," Xander
suggested, nervously; guiding Anya out the door with a hand on her lower
back. They were halfway down the front walk when Sam overheard him continue
the conversation. "How come you've been on the G-man's case all night? And
it's not like Buffy brought home a stray demon or a complete stranger. This
is Giles we're talkin' about."
To Sam's disappointment, Buffy shut the
door before he could hear Anya's reply. He turned hesitantly toward Buffy,
wondering what to say about Anya's obvious distrust. Surprisingly, Buffy was smiling.
"Well, that's a relief," she said. "Very un-Anyalike *and*
a relief. Feel like a post-patrol snack?" Buffy inquired, turning
and walking into the dining room on the opposite side of the entryway.
Sam trailed after her, nonplussed. After passing through the
dining room, he caught up with Buffy in the kitchen. He stopped at
the center island and watched Buffy lift a tea kettle off the stove
and move over to the sink to fill it with water. "Un-Anyalike?" he prompted.
Buffy set the full kettle on the stove and lit the
burner. "Well, yes," she responded, opening a cupboard and rooting around
among the packages within. "I mean, I was sure she was going to ask us
how many orgasms we were planning to give each other."
Startled as he was by this comment, Sam was still sufficiently in control of his thought
processes to be grateful that Al was not present at the moment.
Unfortunately, the look Buffy gave him after she turned and placed a box of
cookies on the table in front of him suggested he hadn't schooled his
expression into anything resembling nonchalance.
"Giles, take it easy," Buffy said. "I wasn't... I didn't... You know how Anya is," she
finally managed, throwing up her hands dismissively.
"Uh, yes. Of course," Sam stuttered, unconvincingly.
"That does it," Buffy stated. "What's with you tonight, Giles? You're all jumpy and distracted.
Have you been getting enough sleep?"
"Well..." Sam began, remembering his conclusions when he had considered his host's reflection for
the first time.
"I thought so," Buffy cut in. She turned off the burner under
the tea kettle. "No caffeine for you, mister. And no sugar, either," she
added, snatching up the box of cookies and replacing them in the cupboard.
She moved across the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and turned to display a
carton of milk. "Warm or cold?" she inquired of him.
"Cold, please," Sam answered, relieved that she was willing to attribute what she considered
strange behavior to sleep deprivation.
Buffy poured them each a glass of milk. "Drink up," she suggested. "Then we'll get you settled
in."
* * * * *
After finishing their milk and rinsing out the glasses, they went upstairs. Buffy
led Sam to the end of the hallway.
"Is it okay if you take my room?" she asked, in a soft voice.
"I don't want to put you out," Sam replied, unsure what she was actually proposing.
"Don't worry about it," Buffy reassured him. "I'll sleep in mo... the master bedroom. Dawn
sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night and sneaks in there. I don't think it would do
either of you any good to wake up in bed together," she explained.
"Right, good thinking," Sam agreed, hurriedly. He entered the
room she had indicated and turned in the doorway. "Good night, Buffy," he whispered.
"Night, Giles."
Sam had just shut the bedroom door when a grating noise behind him signaled Al's return.
"Hey Sam, nice digs; but isn't this a little feminine for... whoa, you're gonna *sleep*
with her?"
Sam grimaced at the sly smile Al was giving him. "No," he hissed. "Buffy is sleeping in the
master bedroom."
"That's a shame," Al remarked. "Doesn't Giles get *any* perks? And if there's another
bedroom how come you're not sleeping in there and letting her keep her room?"
"Never mind that," Sam said as sternly as possible while keeping
his voice down. He certainly wasn't going to discuss with Al the
reason Buffy gave him for the arrangements. Al would be able to do
twenty minutes, at least, on the possibility of Sam waking up with
a teenaged girl in his borrowed bed. He allowed himself another moment of
gratitude that Al had been absent earlier when Buffy had made the orgasm
comment. "I have the address of the house." He rattled off the street address
and watched Al enter it dutifully into the handlink. "Did you get anything
more out of Giles or Ziggy?"
Before Al could reply, a soft knock sounded. Sam opened the door to find Buffy holding a stack of
bed linen.
"I, uh, changed the bed yesterday but thought you might want fresh sheets and stuff," she
explained.
"Thank you," Sam responded, accepting the proffered bedding.
"I put out some extra towels and a washcloth in the bathroom. They're the manly blue ones,
distinguishable from the others by their complete lack of pink and/or floral decoration."
Sam nodded and smiled. "Very considerate of you."
"Well, good night, again," Buffy said.
"Good night, Buffy," Sam replied, closing the door. He placed the pile of pillowcases, sheets,
blanket and comforter on the bed and began to unbutton his shirt.
"Sam," Al complained. "Are you completely dense or are you just trying to get a rise out of
me?"
"What are you talking about?" Sam was tired, grumpy, unsettled
and not at all in the proper frame of mind to be harangued by Al.
"Buffy!" Al shot back, as though that was explanation enough.
"What about her?"
"She wanted you to kiss her good night," Al said, confidently.
"No she didn't," Sam objected.
"Oh yes she did!"
Another knock interrupted the argument. Once again, Buffy stood
in the doorway; a curious mix of disappointment and apology in her expression.
"Sorry, I forgot, uh..." she sidled past Sam into the
room and walked over to the dresser. She pulled open a drawer, removed a set
of pajamas, closed the drawer and gestured toward Sam with the hand which
held the garments. "I just needed to... uh, I'll get out of your way now."
She crossed the room slowly and hesitated briefly before crossing the
threshold and disappearing down the hallway.
Sam shut the door and turned reluctantly toward his friend. Al's scowl of disapproval had
deepened.
"Sam, you can't just ignore her like that. It's not polite."
"Oh, and throwing her down on the bed and ravaging her would be
the gentlemanly thing to do?" Sam rejoined, with as much sarcasm as
he could project in a soft tone.
Al chuckled. "Much as I'd like to see that, it wasn't what I suggested. I know your limits."
Sam pulled off his shirt. "I don't think she wanted me to kiss her, either," he murmured.
"You may be a genius; but who knows more about women, you or
me?" Al challenged forcefully. "She gave you her bedroom, says good
night, you don't kiss her and she leaves, right?"
"Right," Sam allowed grudgingly as he sat down on the bed to remove his shoes.
"You didn't come across with the lip lock, so she has to think of an excuse to come back
and give you another chance. Hence, the linen delivery," Al went on.
"She was being hospitable," Sam argued.
"Which is why she also made a point of mentioning your masculinity. You are so clueless," Al
responded, rolling his eyes. "If that's all it was she wouldn't have come back again."
"She just forgot her pajamas," Sam groaned softly, wishing
he could believe this conversation would end soon. He removed his
socks, rolled them up and stuffed them into the discarded shoes.
"Yeah, like it would have been a disaster for her to sleep in
her undies or the buff..." Al trailed off.
Sam looked up to see the rapt expression on his friend's face. "Al!" he hissed.
"Yeah, sorry. I just lost my train of thought there for a second." He ignored Sam's
disgruntled snort and went on. "I suppose you didn't notice how slowly she
moved, giving you every possible chance to intercept her. Or how disappointed
she was that you still had all your clothes on."
Sam rose and unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans before pulling his t-shirt off over his
head. He studiously ignored Al while folding the undergarment and placing on
a chair in the corner. Being ignored rarely quenched Al's spirit and this
wasn't one of the times it would be successful.
"Take my advice, pal, and leave the jeans on unless you want Buffy to get a good look at you in
your skivvies. She'll be back any second now," Al warned.
"She's not coming back," Sam said, hoping he was projecting more confidence than he felt.
"Yes she is," Al countered. "She still hasn't gotten what she
came for and if you know what's good for you, and Giles by the way,
you'd better fork it over. Women don't usually come right out and ask
for what they want. They give a guy clues and hints and if he can't learn
to interpret them he's in for a world of hurt."
Sam fingered the closure at the waistband of his jeans while considering Al's words and
self-assured expression. "Well," he temporized. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to wait a few
minutes..."
Al's smile widened significantly in response to the knock on the door.
Sam sighed deeply and reached for the door knob. He swung
the door open and watched with trepidation as Buffy's eyes snapped down
from his face to his bare chest, then she let her gaze slowly drift
down his form. Sam sighed again. Al was insufferable when proved
right about *anything*, let alone women.
"Was there something..." Sam began.
"Oh," was Buffy's startled little exclamation as she recovered her wits. "I, uh, I forgot my
lotion..."
Sam stepped aside and let her into the room, shooting a glare at Al who was grinning like a
maniac and bouncing on his toes in satisfaction.
"I won't say I told you so but if you expect to get any sleep tonight you'd better kiss her," Al
said, with a chuckle.
Sam watched Buffy as she lifted the bottle of lotion from the top of her dressing table, turned
slowly and headed back toward the doorway. The surreptitious glances she kept sending his way
convinced Sam he might as well bow to the inevitable. "Buffy," he said gently.
She stopped and turned fully toward him. "Yes, Giles?"
Sam took a step forward and rested one hand on her shoulder. He brushed his thumb
lightly over her skin a few times. She shivered but didn't move away. Sam met
her eyes and slowly leaned forward, giving her every opportunity to get away
if it turned out Al was wrong in his assessment of the situation. Instead of
bolting for the door, Buffy tipped her head back. Sam's lips descended to
smoothly cover her mouth. Although he had intended to make the kiss brief, when he felt Buffy
lean into his body slightly he let the contact linger until he sensed a rising heat and tension
in both their bodies. He momentarily increased the gentle pressure on her
lips before lifting his head and stepping back.
Buffy was a sight to behold. Her eyes were wide open and shining and a blush had traveled over
the pale skin of her upper chest, visible above the ivory camisole she wore, to
suffuse her face. Sam thought she was the most enchanting thing he had seen
in a very long time.
"Good night, Buffy," he said softly, brushing the
smooth skin of her shoulder with his thumb one last time before dropping his
hand back to his side.
Buffy backed toward the doorway slowly, her
trance-like state broken only when she encountered the obstacle of the edge
of the door. She sent an embarrassed little smile his way as she side-stepped
the impediment to her progress. "Night, Giles," she whispered back before
clearing the threshold and moving down the hallway.
Sam listened for a moment until he heard her close her door, then followed suit. He shook his
head bemusedly, realizing that tender kiss and the feeling it evoked in him
was more than adequate compensation for having to listen to Al gloat about
being proved right. He met his friend's happy countenance and shrugged
his shoulders in a 'go ahead, give it to me' gesture.
For once, Al proved he was capable of subtlety and tact. "Good night, Sam. Sleep well,"
was all he said before returning through the doorway to the Imaging Room.
Sam let out a surprised chuckle, then moved the pile of new bed
linen to the top of the dresser. He decided nothing would be more
likely to induce a pleasant night's sleep than if Buffy's light
scent happened to be lingering on the pillowcases.
* * *