__Keeping Up__
By Jolene Beasley
It was just out of his reach.
The bright orange object, dangling tantalizingly near his fingertips, beckoned to the explorer in him. He wanted desperately to seize it and examine it thoroughly, to taste it, learn its shape, find out if it came apart. He liked the music it played when he swatted at it, but he wanted to find out what was inside!
Marcus Everett Giles, the four month old son of Buffy and Rupert, gave a screech of frustration as he sat up and stretched his small body towards the mobile over his bed. As soon as he had learned to sit up on his own, his parents had moved the dangling toy out of his reach, suspending it from the ceiling above his crib. He was well on his way to pulling up and standing, but he still hadn’t figured the balance thing out yet.
The existence of an offspring from a Bonded Watcher and Slayer was the center of a whirlwind of Council controversy, half-understood prophecy, and tradition-shattering revelation. Buffy Summers had been the most unusual Slayer in recorded history. She had faced four master vampires and defeated them all. She had defied prophecy by drowning and being resuscitated by her friend Xander. Her death had created a phenomenon that had been heretofore unheard of... the calling of a second Slayer while the first still lived. She had felt the ancient call of the Bond between herself and her much older Watcher, and had subsequently fallen in love with him. She had retired from active Slaying, married him and finally, defying the odds one more time, bore him a son instead of a daughter.
In other words, she’d taken the Slayer’s Handbook, along with centuries of carefully written and preserved Watcher dogma, and ripped it into tiny shreds. Her son was a complete unknown, as far as prophecy was concerned. There were no dark volumes that foretold of doom and gloom when a Slayer gave birth to a boy child. It was simply unprecedented, and she preferred it that way. Marcus’ arrival was unplanned, but joyfully welcomed. She wanted nothing more than to raise him without the Watcher’s Council looking over her shoulder.
Marcus’ coordination was improving daily, and his parents were hard pressed to stay ahead of his developing skills. They’d gone from a floor pallet to a playpen to a low crib, trying to keep him corralled so they could snatch a few housecleaning moments from time to time. Giles happily watched him in the mornings, having arranged his fall schedule so his classes would all be late ones. Buffy crammed all available subjects into the first hours of the day, coming home in time to relieve her husband and watch him dash off to work.
Evenings were the best times, spent on the living room floor playing with their precocious son. He was a happy baby, quick to laugh, quick to imitate their expressions and sounds, and always highly curious. When he finally went to sleep at night, the two harried parents dashed around, doing chores before trying to snatch some quiet together-time. It was a punishing schedule, but it kept them from having to put Marcus in a public day care center.
She doubted seriously that any day care worker on earth could keep up with Marcus for long.
As far as physical tests could determine, he was a healthy, normal baby just beginning to show signs of accelerated development. He’d begun teething at three months, and at four was already crawling energetically. It made Giles laugh to see him tear out across the living room after one of his toys. He was still a chunky infant, but Buffy was guessing that as soon as he started walking he’d lose a lot of baby fat. That’s what had happened to her when she was a baby, according to her mom. Joyce was embarrassingly fond of telling Giles, "the instant Buffy figured out what her feet were for, she was gone."
Marcus could feel his mother close by, and he needed some help in getting those teasingly close trinkets into his anxious little hands. She’d been trying to teach him some words earlier, and he decided to try one now. He let out a squeal, louder, this time, and began babbling rapidly. "Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!"
That did the trick. Buffy dropped her dust rag and came running. "Marcus, honey, did you just say ‘Mama’?"
Encouraged by the success of his first attempt, he repeated the phrase, holding his chubby arm up towards the desired toys. "Ma-ma-ma... MAH!"
She grabbed him up and swung him around, thrilled beyond reason. "You said Mama! Sweetie baby, you said Mama!" She gave him a swift kiss and a hug. He wiggled impatiently... now was not the time for snuggles, now was the time for toys! He grunted insistently, reaching for the plastic fish again. Sure enough, his delighted mother unhooked one fish from its hanger and handed the trophy to him. He crowed in triumph and stuck a third of the fish right into his mouth. As he chomped down enthusiastically, Buffy breathed a grateful prayer that the silly thing was solid and couldn’t be crushed by her son’s strong jaws.
She carried him over to the window, looking out to see if Giles was on his way down the street. She loved the new house, with its second story bedrooms and wonderful view. From this vantage point, she could see her husband’s van as it rounded the corner onto their street in the afternoon, and loved to watch him approach. She could pinpoint the exact spot where she would be able to feel his presence in her mind. The Bond seemed to broaden and grow with every new day. Sharing thoughts with her husband was a wonderful, joyful, yet sobering thing. Sharing thoughts with Marcus was proving to be a learning experience for both of them.
Not willing to sit still and be ignored, Marcus squirmed in his mother’s arms and cried, "Ma-ma! Ma-ma-ma..."
"Yes, I’m Mama, and you’re so smart!" She rubbed her nose against his as he waved the plastic fish at the open window. "Just wait ‘til I tell Daddy about this! I bet he’ll be all jealous!"
Marcus frowned. He didn’t understand the words, but the feelings behind them were clear. His lower lip started quivering... he wanted happy Daddy, not upset Daddy. Even at four months, he knew the difference.
"Oh, honey, no, he won’t be upset! He’ll be so proud... you’ll have to learn to say ‘Daddy’ too. He’ll be in seventh heaven then. Say Da-da... you can do it... Da-da..."
Marcus’ face cleared instantly. He began to babble again, practicing his ‘d’ sounds as if he intended to say ‘Daddy’ that very evening. The consonant came out pretty mushy sounding, but he was trying.
Buffy sighed. "Having a mind-reading baby is kinda tough sometimes, Marcus." She gave him another kiss on the head, just so he would know she wasn’t upset. She decided to take him downstairs to wait for Giles’ return while she tried to finish dusting the living room.
Marcus grinned at her and jammed his mouth full of plastic again.
********
Giles allowed the door to swing shut and stifled the urge to shout, "Lucy! I’m home!" ‘I’ve been watching too many TV reruns,’ he thought to himself with a rueful grin. Teaching was wonderful, and then you had all that lovely summertime off... Now it was back to reality, and an increasingly busy schedule with a new semester and a very active baby.
He felt Marcus before he saw him, and heard his happy squeal. The Bond rippled with his child’s welcome. Even without words, Giles could feel his emotions plainly. From his spot on the living room floor, the baby held up his arms, and Giles swept him up, giving him a kiss and hug. Babbling and drooling all over the three piece suit Giles was wearing, Marcus started using his new-found word. "Ma-ma!" He held out a hand to Buffy. Marcus waved vaguely in her direction, unable to point properly, and said again, insistently, "Ma-ma..."
Delight and pride plain on his face, Giles nodded as Marcus grabbed his lip and stuck his fingers in his father’s mouth. Holding his head back so he could speak, Giles said with a huge grin, "That’s right, Marcus, love, that’s Mama. When did you learn to say ‘Mama’?"
Buffy grabbed Marcus’ free hand so he wouldn’t mangle Giles’ glasses. "He started this afternoon, right after lunch. He’s working on Dada, too, aren’t you, sweetie baby?" She gave the squirming child a kiss, and he shouted, "Mamamamama!"
They both laughed. He was trying so hard to communicate. He certainly understood parts of what was going on around him, but hadn’t developed the skills to interact as yet. He was still a tiny baby, and they weren’t all that anxious for him to grow up. Baby time was a good time for the three of them.
As Buffy moved to put dinner on the table, Giles sat with Marcus in his lap and began talking to him in gentle tones. To be on the safe side, he removed his glasses and set them on the sofa table out of the reach of his son’s questing fingers. "And just what did you and Mama do today, Marcus? I see you’ve managed to chew up another toy. How many teeth do you have now? Let me see..."
Marcus obligingly opened his mouth like a baby bird begging for a worm. Giles chuckled at the serious look on the child’s face, and carefully felt his gums. "One... two...three... four... and I think... yes, there it is... five teeth! Five beautiful baby teeth!"
"You sound like the Count on Sesame Street!" Buffy called from the dining room table, trying not to laugh.
"It’s never too early to begin educating a child, dear. Marcus is quite bright. He will be talking before we know it."
"He was practicing his ‘d’ sounds today, babe. He’ll be saying ‘Daddy’ before you know it."
"All in good time. ‘Mama’ is easier to say, all the child psychology books say so."
"He’s trying awful hard." Buffy finished setting the table and clapped her hands together. When Marcus looked up at her, she held out her hands. "C’mere, sweetie baby, so Daddy can wash his hands for supper."
Marcus bounced eagerly and reached for his mother. He was ready to eat something besides plastic fish and teething rings.
********
After what seemed like the hundredth time Buffy pulled Marcus’ hand out of her plate, she implored Giles, "can you take over for a minute? He won’t let me eat tonight."
Giles obliged by pulling Marcus’ highchair closer to his side. "Young man, you are being insufferably rude. Keep your thieving hands to yourself." This was said with a smile, and the baby responded by laughing happily and grabbing a handful of peas off his father’s plate. "Marcus! Good Lord, what a mess!"
Buffy laughed and wolfed down a few bites of her dinner as Giles attempted to wipe his son’s clenched fist. Marcus had no intention of releasing his prize, however, and Giles finally gave up. The instant he released the chubby little arm, the green goo that was oozing out between Marcus’ fingers went straight into his mouth.
Buffy and Giles both jumped up, worried that the unaccustomed food would make him choke... and also worried that he would spit the unfamiliar substance all over the table. She got there first due to her Slayer speed, but he had already gotten enough food into his mouth to taste, and was exhibiting great surprise at what he’d discovered. His eyes were wide as he rolled the paste around in his mouth.
"Well, he’s not spitting it out or choking, so I guess it’s okay." She watched as he swallowed the captured peas.
"He likes mushy peas." Giles looked inordinately pleased. "Must be the British in him."
"Must be." Buffy made a face. She let Giles make mushy peas because he liked them, but she couldn’t stand eating the oatmeal-like green pudding herself.
Marcus decided he wanted more, and began reaching for his daddy’s plate again. "Hang on, now, Marcus, at least let me help you this time." He held up a small dab of peas on his spoon, and Marcus did his baby bird imitation again, opening his mouth. Giles gently spooned the green mush into Marcus’ mouth, and grinned widely as the baby gummed and swallowed it with relish.
Buffy sighed as she realized he was growing up too fast. It almost made her misty eyed. "I guess this means we’re skipping the rice cereal stage."
Marcus held a green-smeared hand out to her and said, in what seemed to be a consoling tone, "Ma-ma."
********
The doorbell rang just as Joyce was putting the finishing touches on the dinner table. She ran to the front and threw the door open wide to admit her daughter, son-in-law, and her grandson. She gave Buffy and Giles a hug, then took a happily shrieking Marcus for a series of slobbery hugs and kisses. He was learning to kiss, but hadn’t mastered the puckering part, so a kiss from him was a rather sloppy, open-mouthed affair that left the recipient dripping from his affection.
His baby hugs were perfect, though.
Joyce laughed at his attempted smooch, and Buffy wiped her mother’s face with a tissue as they filed into the kitchen. Wilton came down the hall and greeted his step-children heartily, talking in glib baby-talk to Marcus as Joyce saw to the seating arrangements.
The clatter of dishes and the flow of conversation kept Marcus entertained until they were seated. Once they began eating, however, he decided it was much too quiet. He slapped his hands on the high chair tray in front of him and stated matter-of-factly, "Ma-ma!"
Of course, Joyce and Wilton oohed and cooed over his accomplishment for a good while, and his parents took turns feeding him mashed potatoes and formula. Buffy and Joyce discussed baby food, cooking techniques and other details about growing children as the men listened with affectionate amusement.
Dinner passed without further event, and as the maid gathered the dishes and shooed the two women out of the kitchen, Giles and Wilton retired to the study to talk shop. Buffy set Marcus in the middle of the living room floor and plopped down beside him, allowing him to pull his toys out of the diaper bag at his own pace. Joyce curled up behind them on the couch, peacefully content.
As Marcus played happily, Buffy turned to her mother with serious eyes. "Mom, how old was I when I started to talk?"
"Around seven months or so. You were babbling before then, but nothing coherent."
"Marcus is early, then, isn’t he?"
"Yes, I guess so, but the doctor said he was slightly advanced for his age. You should expect early milestones."
"I know. It’s just that..." She looked over at Marcus. He was watching her with an equally serious look on his face. "See, Mom? He knows everything me and Giles feel already. Sweetie baby, it’s okay, Mama’s just being silly. You go ahead and play." He looked at her suspiciously for a moment, then resumed banging his teething ring against the side of the diaper bag.
Buffy sighed. "I’m just so afraid I’m gonna do something, or think something, that’ll scar him for life. He already knows way too much for a little baby, Mom. I don’t want him to know about the big, bad world for a while yet."
Joyce searched for words to soothe her daughter. It wasn’t easy... despite her extraordinary gifts, Buffy was still just a young mother with the accompanying fears and doubts. She took a deep breath, and did her best. "Buffy, I know this is going to sound trite, but you’ve just described every parent’s fears since the dawn of time. There’s no owner’s book for babies. You just do the best you can. Marcus will take what you give him, use what he can, ignore what he can’t, and go on. You have to do the same. Life isn’t easy, but it’s better than the alternative."
Buffy smiled at her mother. "How come you know just what to say? Are you sure there isn’t a Mom Manual you’re not telling me about?"
"You write your own as you go along, honey. You just have to write your own."
Before she could get teary-eyed again, Marcus threw his teething ring right in Joyce’s lap. She jumped, then started laughing, and her reaction broke the serious mood. Marcus fell to his hands and knees and started for the couch, intent on retrieving his toy. This was one of his favorite games; toss the toy, then go get it. Buffy giggled at his frown of concentration, and commented, "he does his own throwing and fetching. I usually don’t even have to get up unless something lands on the table or behind the TV."
"He’s got a pretty good arm! That last toss must’ve been ten feet!" She watched with growing amazement as Marcus reached the couch and began trying to pull himself up. He couldn’t make his feet behave, but he eventually got up on his knees and grabbed the teething ring. He swung his arm triumphantly, his fist closed tightly around the rubber toy. Joyce commented sagely, "honey, I hate to say it, but before long, you’re gonna have to childproof everything in your house. He’ll be tearing the house apart."
"Giles has already put child locks on every cabinet door. It’s getting to be a pain to cook dinner." She laughed as the budding toddler turned loose too soon and flipped the toy over his head. Bewildered, he began to try to look around, but his kneeling position kept him from spotting his prize.
Frustrated, he whimpered, then seemed to have an idea. He looked at his mother steadily for about a minute, watching carefully until she realized what he wanted. She looked directly at the teething ring, sitting on the carpet about three feet behind him. A smile of realization crept across his face, and he dropped onto his bottom and rolled until he was facing the opposite direction. A few crawling strides brought him to his toy, and he grabbed it, chomping on it with relish.
Buffy looked up at her mother. "See what I mean, Mom?"
Joyce couldn’t believe what she’d seen. This time, she didn’t have a clue what to say!
********
"I don’t know what to say, Rupert. Are you sure? This sounds fantastic, even for your milieu."
"Empirical data, Wilton, that’s all I have to go on. But he knows our thoughts instantly, and there’s no way to block them, that we’ve been able to discover. It’s the same Bond, but a completely unknown facet." Giles ran one hand through his hair and shook his head. "He’s pulling up, did you know? We’ve had to move things out of his reach already." The smile on his face was sadly proud. "He’s changing so fast! I’m with him daily, and yet, he continues to surprise me. I can only hope... ah, well, I suppose there is nothing I can say that a parent hasn’t already said."
Wilton listened sympathetically. He’d raised two children of his own. He knew the fears and insecurities, along with the joys. "Rupert, even though Marcus is gifted, he is still your son. No one else on earth will care for him like you and Buffy will. Surprisingly enough, that works."
"Thank you. I really didn’t come here for you to commiserate about my feelings of parental inadequacy. Sorry to burden you."
Wilton clapped Giles on the shoulder. "No burden at all. I’m an experienced grandfather, Rupert. It’s my job to offer wise and learned advice, then send the kids home when their child starts to misbehave. It’s the best of both worlds!"
********
Marcus slumbered peacefully in his car seat as Giles turned onto their home street. As they approached the house, Buffy noticed a black sedan parked in front. She frowned as she tried to recall anyone who drove such a car. She couldn’t. She looked at her husband, and instantly, the same thought occurred to them.
The Watcher’s Council.
"Now, Buffy, before we start panicking, we must remember that the Council has dealt with the evil Watchers..."
"Yeah, right, as far as we know. I’m still gonna keep a close eye on anyone they send, no matter what!"
"Yes, well, it never hurts to... err on the side of caution."
Buffy laughed shortly as they pulled into the driveway and parked the van in the garage. The closing of the garage door made her feel unreasonably safe, as though their combined destinies could be held at bay by a few strips of wood and metal. She hurried to get a sleeping Marcus out of the vehicle and into the house, with Giles right behind her, keeping close.
Buffy put Marcus in his crib, searching the Bond carefully for signs of wakefulness. He was out like a light. Traveling in a car always lulled him to sleep. She gave him a tender kiss before dashing back downstairs. Giles was looking carefully through the blinds at their visitor. The car was still there, but the driver hadn’t moved since they arrived.
Giles moved aside to allow her to see for herself. "I wonder what he’s up to. I may need to call Father and see if he knows what’s going on." Giles’ father, the head of Council Security, was the only person in the remaining Council that they were comfortable with. The friends they had trusted--before the onset of the Civil War that tore the Watchers carefully preserved society into shreds--had either retired or died. Cedrick Giles was the only one they could turn to. Giles tried very hard not to abuse that privilege.
"Here the guy comes... we’ll find out in a minute what’s going on, babe, like it or not!"
The doorbell rang shortly thereafter.
Buffy tried to stay calm as Giles went to the door. Her heart was beating double-time, and she felt every pulse in her head and her clenched fists. She willed herself to relax, knowing her anxiety would transmit to both her husband and her child. Not that she intended to voluntarily introduce Marcus to the Council.
As the front door swung open, Giles was struck by the apparent youth of his visitor. Despite his age, he wore the ubiquitous tweed uniform that so marked Council members. They probably all came from the same tailor. The man was younger than Wesley, Faith’s new Watcher. He was sandy haired and bland faced... innocuous. Deliberately so, Giles surmised.
The young man spoke with an accent borne of high breeding. "Mister Rupert Giles, I presume?"
"Yes." Giles kept his face dispassionate, his only expression the slightest curiosity.
"Excellent. A pleasure to meet you, sir. As you may have surmised, I represent the Watcher’s Council... I am Captain William Armstead, sir. It would seem I am to be your liaison to the Ruling Board."
‘If the old Director was still in office, I would have no need of a liaison,’ Giles thought wryly. Clearing his throat, and plastering a polite smile on his face, he stepped back from the door. Even in broad daylight, there was no sense in inviting a stranger into your home. Armstead entered, nodding in approval at Giles’ caution. He moved to shake Giles’ hand, surprised at the older man’s powerful grip.
Giles released Armstead and politely held out a hand towards the living room. "And just what is your task as our liaison?"
"I am a spy, of course."
Giles short barking laugh caught Buffy by surprise. As the young man entered the living room, he did a double take when he saw her. His expression was stunned for a moment, his eyes wide, and then he caught himself and attempted to retreat back into business mode. "Mrs. Giles, I presume?" He held out a hand in formal fashion, and she stepped forward, deliberately letting him feel her strength, as her husband had just seconds before, as she shook his hand firmly.
"You presume correctly. There aren’t any other short, blonde ex-Slayers hanging around Rupert... at least, none that I know of." She flashed him a teasing smile, and he responded instantly.
Armstead seemed to be having trouble controlling his admiration. "Forgive me, Mrs. Giles, but the Council told me of your exploits, but they neglected to mention how beautiful you are. Took me quite by surprise."
Giles eyebrows shot up at least an inch, then gathered into a frown. Buffy felt his reaction, but she decided to see just how far the flattery would go.
"You think I’m beautiful? That’s a real surprise. I didn’t think Council members saw me as anything but a weapon... and an uncooperative one, at that."
"Weapon? God forbid!" Shock and horror showed plainly on his face. "You are far beyond that... you are our very reason for existence! Our avatar!"
She looked at Giles for the definition of avatar, but saw the possessive thunderclouds gathering in his mind, and decided not to push the issue. She sent him a wordless burst of affection, and the sun peaked out from the storm cloud as he smiled. "Well, whatever they think I am, in real life I’m Mrs. Rupert Giles. Please, have a seat Mister... um, I didn’t get your name..."
"Armstead, Mrs. Giles. Captain William Armstead. Forgive me for waxing poetic... a tendency that I have often had to suppress in the RAF."
"Are you a pilot?" Giles exhibited polite interest, but Buffy fought back a grin. He was fascinated with flying, and had been so since he was a small boy.
"For several years, yes."
"Ah. Impressive, for a young man such as yourself."
Armstead shrugged. "Means to an end. I washed out of Watcher training."
Both Buffy and Giles looked surprised at the man’s openness. Such failures were rarely made public. Giles recovered first. "Then, exactly what are you doing representing them?"
The young officer tapped the side of his head near his right eye. "I suffered a retinal detachment during high-G flight. Disqualified me from piloting. I took medical retirement and turned my intelligence training into something useful. The Council were kind enough to reconsider me."
Second chances were rarely the norm for Watchers, but since Giles had been the beneficiary of one such decision, he couldn’t discount the story completely. The fellow certainly seemed forthcoming with his answers. Giles decided to test his honesty. "Buffy, Captain Armstead is a self-proclaimed spy."
Buffy accepted the statement calmly. "You don’t say. A spy? I’m shocked." Her face showed no surprise at all.
Armstead smiled at her lack of reaction. "Anything else I might have said would have been completely disbelieved."
"Not that we’re believing you now, but what do you want?"
"Simply put, I am here to observe your son grow up."
"And send informative little reports back to England?"
He nodded guilelessly. "Of course. Otherwise, they would be disinclined to foot the bill."
Giles smiled, a slight lifting of the corners of his mouth. "Of course."
Buffy interjected, "why you?"
"Ah. Excellent question, Mrs. Giles. I have a Medical background... pre-surgery, which I abandoned when I began pilot training. I fear Doctor Singh is rather advanced in age to be dashing off halfway round the globe."
Giles acknowledged that point with a rueful nod. Singh had been the one to tend his wound during their trip to England. A crossbow bolt injury was an all-too-common occurrence in Watcher experience, and Singh had seen his share. The man had to be in his eighties.
Buffy read his thoughts easily, but for Armstead’s sake, she asked, "is he the one that fixed your shoulder when we ran into that nut-case Post?"
"Yes. That was an eventful trip."
She grinned widely. "Sure was. Especially the last part." He mirrored her grin as a flash of memory, tinged with strong, sweet emotion, passed between them.
Armstead saw the look. He knew their history. He knew the trip they spoke of with such tenderness culminated in their wedding. He was almost regretful that he had to intrude on such an intimate recollection.
The silence grew until he became decidedly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, and it seemed to break the spell.
Buffy once again turned her attention towards the stranger. "So, what does this kind of Watching entail, Mr. Armstead? Because I don’t want my baby poked and prodded by both his pediatrician and some Watcher wanna-be with a few years of pre-med."
"You certainly are plain-spoken, Mrs. Giles. I appreciate the candor. To answer; no, I shall not poke or prod. Any medical data, such as blood tests and lab results, I will simply request through your regular physician, with the proper authorization, of course. I am merely an observer. I will endeavor to remain unobtrusive, but you might possibly feel less threatened if I were to observe openly, and with your consent."
The parents shared another long look. Armstead could almost tell when they reached a consensus. They focused on him with almost the same intensity, and he fought the urge to squirm under their gaze. Finally, Giles took a deep breath and sat back. When he spoke, the ex-Watcher’s voice was velvety smooth, but with a core of steel that caused Armstead to pay close attention. "You have our permission, then, to observe, so long as that observance does not interfere with the raising of our child. We will, under no circumstances, tolerate any hidden agendas. If we decide that your presence is disruptive in any way, you will be asked, politely at first, to leave."
Armstead nodded gravely. "I understand and accept your conditions, sir... madam. I have arranged for a flat at the Chelsea Apartments already, so I should be going. I will contact you once I’ve settled in, and arrange a schedule of visits, or interviews, or whatever else you might like to call them. Nothing terribly frequent, I can assure you. Perhaps monthly. They should be regular intervals, just for accurate recording of facts. However, that can be decided at a later date."
He stood, and for the first time noticed how tall Giles was. Armstead wasn’t a small man, but Giles had at least two inches on him. The firm look on his face was formidable, to say the least. Armstead held out his hand, and Giles gripped it with easy force. "We will hold you to your promise, Captain. As of this moment, you speak for the Council." He dropped the officer’s hand, and added, in that deceptively soft voice that told of his absolute conviction, "and, if we find that you have been sent here under false pretense, both you and the Council will bitterly regret it."
"I have no doubt, sir. Thank you, sir." Reverting to almost military form, he stifled the urge to salute and made his escape. As he strode down the driveway towards his car, he thought to himself, ‘that man would’ve made a first-rate instructor. He’d have all the candidates shivering in their boots.’ He didn’t dwell on the fact that he was still shivering a bit, himself.
* * * * *
The night had fallen, crisp and cool as fall nights should be, even in Southern California. There was a brilliant quarter moon smiling lopsidedly down on the sleeping town. The hour being near midnight, few people were stirring. The small neighborhood slept, oblivious to the unseen danger the night could bring. If not for the unassuming vigilance of the Chosen Ones, life in Sunnydale would be quite different.
In the upstairs bedroom in a modest home, two of the Chosen were cuddled close together, reveling in the afterglow of love and in the intensity of their mystic Bond. From her very comfortable position sprawled across her husband’s chest, Buffy raised her head and snuggled her nose up against his neck. She loved nuzzling into the soft skin, breathing in his scent and listening to the pulse that beat just beneath. It made her feel all mushy and happy... something she suspected they’d both be needing in the coming days.
Trouble rarely took a holiday on the Hellmouth.
She tilted her head just enough to see her husband’s peaceful face. She hated to disturb that tranquillity, but they needed to discuss this latest development in their already complicated lives. "Rupert?" She kept her voice soft. "Do you think that guy was telling the truth?"
Giles shifted slightly, holding her tighter. "Yes, as much truth as he knows. Since the full extent of our capabilities under the Bond’s influence is unknown to them, I doubt the Council would inform him if their agenda had underlayers of subterfuge."
Buffy started chuckling against his neck. "You mean they think we can read minds, so they kept our boy in the dark about what they really want?"
"Yes. Well said, love."
She moved to straddle him, sliding her arms around his neck as he smiled up at her. "I’m still your interpreter. You come out with a convoluted, involved statement, and I translate it into plain English."
He responded by pulling her down for a long, languid kiss. When their lips parted, she sighed happily and rested her head against his shoulder again. Something she said caught his attention. In an inquisitive tone, he asked, "do you really think of Armstead as a mere boy? He’s considerably older than you."
"Maybe, age-wise. Experience-wise, he’s just a baby. I like my men mature."
For some reason, her statement pleased him tremendously. He began to relax, lulled by her soft breath against his skin. Before he was completely asleep, something occurred to him. "Buffy?"
"Hmmm?"
"Ah, ‘men,’ plural?"
She chuckled against his chest. "I wondered how long it’d take you to notice that."
"You’re a dreadful tease, dearest."
"Just wait ‘til morning, babe. I won’t be teasing then."
********
At two-thirty the next morning, Giles sat up straight in the bed, blinking in confusion. He had the distinct impression that someone had called him. He looked down at Buffy, still dead to the world, and smiled fondly. She could sleep through just about anything... The fact that she was still asleep caused him to frown. The Bond had awakened him. If it wasn’t Buffy, then who else could it be?
Marcus!
He leaped from the bed and dashed across the hall without bothering to put on his slippers. In his urgency, he didn’t stop to reason that Buffy should have sensed Marcus’ distress right along with him. He narrowly avoided bruising his foot on a discarded plastic fish, then stopped and bent over the crib to see what was wrong with his son. The baby was whimpering softly, his tiny tears glistening in the dim light from the safety light outside. He pouted pitifully and held out his arms, prompting Giles to sweep him up and cuddle him comfortingly.
"There, there, Marcus, love, what’s wrong?" Giles checked his diaper, but Buffy had changed him less than an hour before, so the diaper was dry. He felt around the crib to see if there was something uncomfortable in the mattress, but found nothing. He held the baby back slightly, and said, in a reasoning tone, "What is bothering you, son? I don’t understand..."
Marcus patted his father’s face gently, still frowning, and then held out his hand to the window.
"What? Is something out there? Can you sense something?" Giles made his way across the room and carefully moved the curtains aside. He stared at the darkness for several minutes before seeing the flare of a cigarette lighter. Someone was standing just outside the back fence. It appeared the person was watching the house. "Ah... you don’t like people spying on us, do you, love?" He gave the infant a reassuring hug, and his baby face lit up in a snaggle-toothed smile. "Daddy isn’t going to let anyone hurt you, Marcus. I promise."
Marcus grinned again and said plainly, "Daa-daa."
Across the hall, Buffy was roused out of her comfortable slumber by what amounted to a mental shout of joy. Before she could throw on a robe and join them in Marcus’ room, Giles strode in, his happiness billowing in front of him like the crest of a wave. She managed a sleepy smile as her two favorite men joined her in bed. "Hey, sweetie baby. Why did Daddy bring you in here, huh?" She gave her child a kiss, and turned to her husband. "And how come you woke up and I didn’t?"
Giles settled Marcus between them, overwhelmed by the realization of what had just occurred. "It was the most extraordinary thing... this child of ours..." He punctuated the words with a gentle stroking of the soft fine hair on Marcus’ head. "...summoned me, as plainly as if he’d been able to speak. He wasn’t in need of a change, he was just upset. He was... well, pointing, for lack of a better word, at the back yard. I looked out the window and saw someone watching the house from outside the fence. It was upsetting him, so I brought him in here."
"Then what was all the ‘glory, hallelujah!’ stuff coming outta there?"
"Oh, that. He said ‘Da-da.’ It caught me quite by surprise. Sorry if I yelled, mentally, that is. It’s a bit overwhelming, hearing it for the first time."
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
Marcus giggled as Giles tickled his tummy lightly. "You little rascal... have me at your beck and call, do you?"
The infant gave a soft, happy squeak and started babbling. "Da-da-da-daaaa!"
"Oh, that is just so cute! Marcus Everett Giles, you are the smartest baby in the world!" Buffy planted several kisses on his tummy where his nightshirt had ridden up, and he squealed in delight. She settled back onto the bed, her hand brushing the remnant of his tears away. She began to hum softly, her arm around her child, keeping the warm contact until he settled down. In the sure safety of his parent’s presence, Marcus sighed contentedly, rolled over on his tummy, his diaper-clad bottom in the air, and began to doze off. "I guess this means we have a guest for the rest of the night."
Giles turned on his side, reaching over the baby’s head until he could slide the tips of his fingers into Buffy’s hair. "It seems that we do. I suppose it’s that wretched Armstead out there. I’ll have a talk with him tomorrow. I’ll not tolerate his ‘job’ interfering with our lives."
"That’s my man... protecting his territory. That’s probably why Marcus wanted you... Daddy: Protector, Mommy: Comforter. I hope the guy doesn’t make you too mad when you go see him. I’d hate to have to come over and pick up the pieces."
"Of him, or of me?"
She laughed softly, unwilling to disturb Marcus as he slept contentedly between them. "Him, silly. He wouldn’t stand a chance against you."
"Thank you, love. That makes me feel all... macho."
She snorted and shifted uncomfortably, not used to sleeping on her own side of the bed. "This kid is definitely in the way, babe."
Giles thought about it for a minute, then carefully lifted Marcus from his semi-kneeling position. He rested the baby face-down on his chest, arranging the tiny arms and legs until he was sprawled comfortably. Marcus snuggled up to the warmth, and Giles held his arm up so Buffy could move against his side. Assured that Marcus couldn’t crawl away without waking them both, Buffy fell into a blissful sleep with her head pillowed on her husband’s arm, able for the time being to forget the reason they’d been awakened in the first place.
Outside, the shadowy figure finished his cigarette, flicked the glowing butt to the ground, and walked away.
********
Armstead had been expecting Giles’ visit all morning. He’d reasoned things out with great precision. First, he’d make his presence known with a short visit. Second, Giles would come to the apartment to firmly reiterate his conditions for cooperation. Third, Armstead would agree with whatever Giles said, then proceed with his original plan.
Simple.
The knock stirred him from his reverie. As he suspected, when he looked through the peep hole in the door, Giles stood there, waiting patiently. Armstead smiled. This was going exactly as he’d envisioned it. He opened the door and smiled, feigning surprise. "Mr. Giles! This is unexpected. What brings you here this morning?"
"I need to have a word with you." Giles stepped past the younger man without invitation, smiling at the almost imperceptible relaxation of muscles as Armstead acknowledged Giles’ humanity. Even in the daytime, the filtered, indirect sunlight of the apartment hallway could allow one of the undead to pay a visit.
"Please, Mr. Giles, come and be seated. May I offer you something? I have a limited selection, at the moment. I haven’t had the time to go round to the shops."
"Nothing, thank you."
They sat opposite each other warily. Giles leaned forward and began without preamble. "Please, Mr. Armstead, can you refrain from lurking about our house at all hours? It’s quite disturbing to us. If you must observe, please do so in the open, in the daylight, instead of hiding in the back alley."
Armstead’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head for a brief moment before he regained his composure. ‘How in the world did he know I was there? Not only that, but he knew exactly where I’d been standing!’ Armstead took a deep breath and kept his voice even. "I do apologize. I was... well, establishing a perimeter." The explanation sounded weak, even in his own ears.
"Yes, a cherished tactic taught in Watcher training. However, unless you are aware of the boundaries of the Bond’s awareness, you have absolutely no idea where your perimeter should be. In all actuality, you’re not going to learn anything by disturbing a four-month-old baby and his two tired parents in the middle of the night. Please do not do so again."
"I... I had no idea your awareness was so acute, Mr. Giles. I assure you, I meant no disrespect."
Giles stood. "Exactly. If I’d thought you had, I wouldn’t have been quite so cordial."
There was nothing to say to that, so Armstead rose and followed Giles to the door. "I am sorry, Mr. Giles. I am a bit overeager, I will admit. It never occurred to me that my presence would disturb you."
"Of course." The statement carried just a hint of condescension. "You only know what you’ve been taught, Mr. Armstead. My family is quite outside your realm of experience." He paused at the door, turning a kinder, more understanding smile on the young Watcher. "It’s quite outside my realm of experience, as well. If you truly wish to learn about the Bond, you must put away your carefully constructed ideas, and remain open to infinite possibilities. Otherwise, you might well go flaming mad trying to make sense of it."
Armstead couldn’t help chuckling at the older man’s words. He watched as Giles disappeared around the corner, and closed his door automatically, his curious mind abuzz with possibilities. He crossed the room and sat down at the small desk to begin an outline on testing the limits of the Giles family and their mysterious Bond.
********
When Giles got home that afternoon, he felt the waves of welcome from inside his home before he got out of his car. ‘This empathic effect is getting stronger,’ he thought to himself as he started up the steps to the front door. Before he could reach for the knob, Buffy jerked the door open, excitement plain on her face. Marcus was babbling happily in her arms, using both of his new words in an attempt to garner attention from both parents at once.
"What’s happened now? Has our prodigy started conjugating verbs?" He dropped his briefcase on the hall tree bench and nuzzled the child, squinting his eyes as Marcus batted at his father’s face, and not always gently.
"Nope, but when he sensed you driving up, he took off for the front and pulled up like he was gonna let you in! It was hilarious! I had to grab him, or he’d have fallen right out when you opened the door. He was so anxious for you to get here... it sorta made me worry."
"I’m fine. I talked to Armstead on my way to work, and he seemed quite shocked that we knew he was there. There’s something about him, Buffy... can’t be sure what it is. A niggling at the back of my mind, as thought I should know more about him than I do. Strange. I might call Father this evening, and see what he knows about him."
"Great idea! Now, Mister Giles, here’s one wiggly kid for you to amuse until I get dinner ready, okay?"
Giles took a gleeful Marcus and swung him gently in a circle before heading to the living room. "Come on, m’lad, let’s go see what that dreadful purple creature is up to."
Buffy finished dishing up the food and setting the table, listening with joy as her husband played with her son. Rupert was just so... involved... in every aspect of hers and Marcus’ life. She pondered just how lucky she really was as the end of the children’s show flashed across the screen. She put down the last plate and announced, "Okay, boys, come and get it!"
Giles grabbed a squirming Marcus and secured him in the high chair. The child didn’t really like being confined, but he knew from previous experience that if he wanted food, he had to be in that chair. So, he tolerated it until he was full, then it was impossible to keep him strapped in. Giles handed him a spoon to bang with, which occupied him until they could fill their plates and take a few bites. Buffy was trying some baby food out, and she had three tiny jars lined up on the table in front of her, wondering which to try first. She knew he liked peas, but what about strained carrots?
Marcus tried the orange mush carefully. It wasn’t too bad. In fact, he liked it. He bounced and reached for Buffy’s hand as she tried to bring another spoonful towards him. "Hey, hang on there, Speed Racer! Let me actually get this bite to your mouth, okay?"
Marcus crowed happily, a ring of carrot around his mouth. Buffy laughed at his orange-smeared face, looking over at Giles as he beamed paternally. "I’ll sure be glad when he learns to feed himself. This is way messy!"
"It will get messier before it gets better. Or so I’ve been told." Giles suddenly jumped up from the table and started for the living room.
‘Hey! Where’re you going?"
He returned with a small disposable camera in his hand. "I wanted to preserve this moment for posterity."
He aimed as Buffy fed Marcus another spoonful of carrot. The flash caught them just as the spoon went into the baby’s mouth. Marcus flinched slightly, but smiled an orange smile when he felt the sense of pride from his father. Giles couldn’t resist taking another picture to capture that comical face.
"You’ve got the shutter bug, babe. Xander’s gonna have to give up his ‘Photographer Man’ crown pretty soon."
"We’ll be glad when he’s grown... my parents never took pictures of me when I was small. They regretted it later on."
"I’ve seen some pictures of little Giles..."
"Yes, taken by doting aunts and uncles. Mother and Father had other priorities."
He sounded so wistful... she sent him a flash of sympathy through their shared connection, and even Marcus gave his father a solemn stare. Suddenly, she jumped up and grabbed the camera. "Okay, daddy dearest... it’s your turn to feed the kid. Try some of that yellow stuff, whatever it is."
Giles obediently shifted into Buffy’s chair, smiling at Marcus as he slapped his hands on the high chair tray. "You heard your mother, young man. Let’s put on a good show, shall we?" He dipped the tip of the spoon in the gooey yellow stuff and maneuvered it into Marcus’ waiting mouth. Marcus was still for a second, his eyes wide.
Buffy snapped the picture just as Marcus squirted the strained squash out onto his chin.
The rest of the meal was a cheerful mix of picture taking and attempted baby feeding. They discovered that Marcus loved carrots and apples, but wasn’t too crazy about squash or prunes. He liked peas and mashed potatoes already, so Buffy decided that, with his bottle as a supplement, he’d get enough nutrition to keep him healthy. The adults discussed baby nutrition as they finished their now-cold dinner and took turns feeding the baby in question.
She was cleaning his face and hands with a soft washcloth when a sudden feeling of uneasiness came over her. Marcus felt it too, his face falling into an almost frightened expression. Buffy straightened and called to Giles, "something’s wrong, Rupert... do you feel it?"
He descended the stairs two at a time. "Yes. It’s that spy Armstead. I recognize the aura, or whatever you might call it... but there’s something else. Something evil. I only hope he’s got the decency to come to the door instead of skulking about like a common burglar."
The doorbell rang in the next instant. Giles went to the door while Buffy carried Marcus upstairs to change his shirt and diaper. Sure enough, William Armstead stood there, his face a careful mask of contrition. "Good evening, Mr. Giles. I do apologize for the hour, but I received these papers by special courier today, and I need you to look over them."
Giles eyed the sealed manila envelope distrustfully. "Why would I want to do that?"
It was plain to the Council watchdog that Giles was not going to cooperate willingly. He didn’t really blame the man, but Armstead had a job to do and, difficult or not, he intended to do it. "Please, sir. Look at the papers. You needn’t sign them if you don’t wish, but I have to deliver them and report that you’ve seen them. My instructions were most explicit."
Giles thought for a moment while Armstead stood uneasily on the porch, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other as the silence grew longer. When Giles tilted his head slightly, as though he was listening to something Armstead could not hear, the visitor realized that there was sub-vocal communication taking place. Fascinated, he stared at the older man’s face as he came to a decision. "Well, then, I’ll look at them." He stood back, once again avoiding an invitation.
As he entered the home for the second time, Armstead realized just how cautious a person would have to be to survive on the Hellmouth. He went straight to the living room and sat on the sofa, placing the package on the low coffee table in front of him. "Now, Mr. Giles..."
"Exactly how did you receive these orders? Did they come under separate cover?"
"Well, as a matter of fact they did. On Council stationery, I might add."
"Open it," Giles commanded.
Armstead was taken aback once more. "Sir? But, it is meant for you..."
"It’s addressed to you, Mr. Armstead. Open it."
The retired military man knew an order when he heard it, so he reached in his pocket for a small pocket knife. Unsheathing the shortest blade, he carefully sliced open the packing tape and turned the envelope up, depositing the enclosed papers onto the table. He stared at the contents for a moment, trying to surmise what they were. An envelope, two stapled documents, and a smaller, sealed package. Strange.
Giles refused to give in to curiosity. He took a poker from the fireplace and shuffled the contents around until he could read the inscriptions on all of them. He didn’t care if Armstead thought him a superstitious fool. "Are you quite certain these items came from Council HQ?"
"Well, of course they did... the courier said..."
"Couriers only say what they’re told to say, young man." Giles continued his perusal of the legal documents, frowning. "These looks very much like guardianship papers, Mr. Armstead. Do you know anything about this?"
"Guardianship... what?" He moved to grasp the document, but was stopped by the cold metal of the poker.
"Careful. Don’t touch anything with your bare hands. I’ve some latex gloves in the study. Wait here."
Giles replaced the iron on its stand by the fireplace and left the room. Armstead stared at the opened package, wondering what made Giles suspect it. Gingerly, he picked up the manila envelope and looked into the well-protected interior. The matter became clear when he saw flakes of something nestled between the paper surface and the clear bubble-wrap inside. It appeared to be... spell ingredients!
Armstead’s opinion of Giles shot into the stratosphere.
Buffy descended the stairs with Marcus in her arms just as Giles returned with his hands protected by opaque white gloves. She stopped just behind Armstead, unwilling to get too close. She took in the scene unemotionally, though her head was reeling. She sent a thought to Giles, her worry apparent through the mental link where it was carefully hidden by her calm exterior. ‘I thought this crap was over!’
Giles looked over at her, and answered out loud, more for their visitor’s benefit than for their own. "I thought this was over, myself. I would imagine this was something set in motion before Travers was arrested for the second time. Please, stay across the room while we look at this. I don’t want to risk getting Marcus too close."
For the first time, Armstead realized that the baby he’d been sent to observe was actually in the room. He sat up and looked around, experiencing a twinge of admiration for Buffy’s beauty before settling his focus on the child in her arms. To his surprise, Marcus stared back, a vaguely accusatory look on his face. It was as if the child was saying, ‘You brought this evil into my house!’ After a few seconds, Armstead could bear the infant’s disapproval no longer, and he looked away, ashamed.
After examining the contents of the package carefully, Giles replaced everything and re-sealed the envelope with a roll of fiber tape. He stood and handed the terrible parcel to Armstead, and said quietly, "Please get this out of my house, sir. I’m afraid I will not be signing any papers today."
"Yes, sir. At once. And, Mr. Giles... Mrs. Giles... we need to talk frankly when I return. This is not at all what I was commissioned to do. Perhaps there are things I am unaware of. I believe I need to be enlightened."
He started for the door, then stopped uncertainly. "Um, sir? Just how am I to dispose of this package? I shouldn’t wish to cause more damage through ignorance."
"Burn it, Mr. Armstead, until only fine ash remains. Then pour holy water on the ashes, seal them in something waterproof, such as a plastic bag, and throw them into a large dust bin. They should be harmless once the water soaks in. It was a compulsion spell, designed to cause us to sign those papers and hand Marcus over to the Council."
"This is simply terrible... horrible! I shall take care of this at once. I will return tomorrow evening, if you don’t mind, perhaps around the same time as tonight?"
"Make it a bit later, if you don’t mind. We were just finishing with dinner."
"Excellent. Thank you, sir. Mrs. Giles..." He nodded his farewell towards her and saw himself out. He didn’t want to face that overly aware baby again at that particular time.
Buffy let out the breath she’d been holding with a whoosh. "That was interesting."
Giles smiled at her and sat down on the couch. "Extremely. Come here, you two." He held up an arm as Buffy slid into place at his side. Marcus immediately threw his arms around Giles’ neck and squealed happily. He seemed to be relieved that Armstead and the cursed envelope were gone.
The remainder of the evening was spent comfortably, with the warmth of family and love surrounding them. The threat of evil seemed to be held at bay... for the time being.
* * * * *
At the appointed hour, Armstead arrived on their doorstep with a peace offering... a bottle of his favorite port. When he entered the house, he was surprised to hear the buzz of conversation coming from the living room. There were other people here!
At his confused look, Giles smiled and ushered him down the hall. "It’s time you meet the rest of our family, Mr. Armstead."
"Family? But, I thought..." He stopped as his gaze fell on Willow. Was there no end to lovely young ladies in Sunnydale? She looked up at him from her place on the living room floor. She was playing tug-of-war with Marcus, and he was squealing in delight as he succeeded in taking the teething ring away from her. A half-smile crossed her face and she said, in her brightest tone, "hi, Mr. Armstead, I’m Willow Rosenberg. Welcome to Baby Central."
Before he could recover, a young, dark-haired man stood and strode forward. His clothes were disastrously casual, but there was an air of quiet confidence about him... almost as if he’d been in the military. He stuck out his hand, his face impassive. "I’m Alexander Harris. My friends call me Xander. Since we’re not sure you’re a friend yet, Mr. Harris will do for now."
Armstead shook the hand, a bit dazed, and took a seat in an armchair as Marcus eyed him carefully. Seemingly satisfied that the stranger held no evil secrets this time, the baby turned back to his play. "Ah, Mr. Giles, Mrs. Giles... I wasn’t aware that this would involve others. I’d rather hoped to keep this under wraps, so to speak."
"What is done and said here effects much more than the three of us, Armstead. Your presence could put all of Sunnydale in danger. We would be remiss if we did not warn those closest to us of any impending danger."
"Oh, I see. Well, as long as it is just these two..."
Buffy cleared her throat. "Everybody’s not here yet."
"Oh?" Armstead felt like he was drowning. How had he lost control of the situation in just one day?
The front door banged open and a dark-haired, slender girl dressed in rather revealing clothes skipped into the room. "Hey, B, G, W and X! Ooo, look, fresh meat!" She strode up to Armstead as he stood politely, eyeing him up and down with obvious relish. "Cute. I’m Faith. Pleased to meet ya."
"Faith, for heaven’s sake..." Wesley’s much-put-upon voice was heard before he came into the room. "...would you please refrain from entering people’s homes without knocking? It’s quite rude." The newcomer marched up to Armstead and took his hand in a firm, but complex, ritual handshake. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Captain Armstead. Your reputation precedes you. You trained with Covington, did you not? My instructor was Albert DeHaviland. I’m the active Watcher."
Realization struck him, and Armstead turned his gaze back to the pretty brunette in front of him. "Oh, my... then you must be our active Slayer!" His precise voice took on a note of awe. "I am extremely honored to make your acquaintance, Miss..."
"Miss? Hah! Just Faith, dude. So, B, where’s the refreshments?"
Buffy laughed at her sister-Slayer’s words. "In the usual place. We just had dinner, so we’re all kinda full, but feel free." Faith sauntered into the kitchen, and the rest of the group rearranged themselves into much the same positions they occupied when Armstead first arrived. "Okay, Mr. Armstead, that’s pretty much everyone, unless you wanna meet my Mom."
"I’d be delighted, but no, that isn’t strictly necessary. I take it everyone here has been sworn to secrecy?"
At the blank looks from everyone in the room, he surmised, "Well, I suppose not, then. What we are about to discuss involves Council information, and must be guarded at all costs."
Xander’s drawl broke the silence. "Let’s see, can we keep a secret? Hellmouth, Watcher, Slayer, vampires, demons, spells, witches, warlocks, werewolves, monsters, end-of-the-world-stoppage, and, in our spare time, trying to get passing grades in school... yep, I think we can keep a secret pretty well."
Armstead knew better than to respond to Xander’s sarcastic tone. The boy was right. He had no right questioning the loyalty of people who’d lived under the threat of the Hellmouth for years. "Quite, Mr. Harris, I stand corrected. Now, if we can begin our discussion...?"
Giles leaned forward from his spot next to Buffy. "If you don’t mind, we have some questions first. This may concern your career, but it concerns our very lives."
Armstead spread his hands. "Of course."
"Who commissioned this assignment?"
Armstead decided to go with complete honesty. He seriously doubted that he would be able to lie in the Giles’ presence, anyway. "Quentin Travers and Davis Branch."
Giles nodded thoughtfully as the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. It was obvious what these people thought of Quentin Travers. "I see. Thank you for answering truthfully. What was the exact nature of your initial instructions?"
The object of the inquisition, although having been questioned in training exercises, squirmed uncomfortably in the face of Giles’ intense gaze. "I was to take up residence in Sunnydale for a period of five years, or until the child entered school. I was to watch the child, and administer certain tests at regular intervals, forwarding all physical and observational data to the Surveillance Committee. If at any time I felt that you and Mrs. Giles, as parents, were unable or unfit to properly raise a child of such destiny, I was to report back to the Chairman of the Committee only."
A twitch of a jaw muscle indicated that Giles was holding his anger in check. "I see. And the chairman was..."
"Quentin Travers."
"Ah."
"But shortly before I was to leave, new instructions arrived. I was no longer to report to Travers or Branch, but to Cedrick Giles as head of security, and to the Director if Mr. Giles was not available. My new orders excluded the testing requirements and the rather presumptuous evaluation of you as parents, but otherwise remained unchanged."
"So, you’re on a five year assignment?"
"Yes, essentially."
"And you now answer to my father?"
"Ah, yes."
"Do you mind if I call him and confirm?"
Armstead squirmed again. "If you must, but I was not to reveal the specifics of my mission. I might be recalled."
"I rather doubt it." Giles stood and rounded the couch, reaching for the telephone.
"Are you going to call this very minute?" Armstead fought to keep a tremor out of his voice.
"Is that a problem, Mr. Armstead?" Giles pressed the speed-dial number for his father’s home as he talked.
"I sincerely hope not."
The little group watched Armstead sweat as the long distance connection was made. It was as though they were trying to see into his mind and discover what secrets he was hiding. When Giles finally spoke, it took
everyone’s attention away from Armstead, and the man was inordinately relieved to have the focus taken off himself.
"Hello, Father. How are you? Good. Yes we’re all fine. Marcus has another tooth, and he’s managed to say both ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ this week. It’s quite shocking." Giles smiled as his father asked what the call was for. "I need some confirmation. You needn’t reveal any state secrets, of course, but are you in charge of a certain Captain William Armstead, currently stationed in Sunnydale? You are? Good. Are you confident that the original agenda has been discovered and all possible negative actions have been removed? That is what I wanted to hear. You reviewed the email Willow sent you? Good. I wanted to make sure you were being kept abreast of the situation. Just a moment. Armstead? Father wants to have a word with you." Giles held out the telephone, pressing his palm over the receiver.
Armstead rose and took the telephone unsteadily. "Yes, Mr. Giles?" He listened intently for several minutes, saying only ‘yes, sir,’ and ‘no, sir,’ then handed the telephone back to the younger Giles. He returned to his seat, the very picture of whipped puppyhood. His superior had made it very clear that Rupert Giles and his family were not to be inconvenienced in any way.
"Father? I shan’t keep you any longer. You really should arrange another visit soon... Marcus is growing up before our very eyes. Yes, and thank you. Take care. Good-bye." Giles returned the phone to the desk and returned to his place on the couch. "Now, Mr. Armstead, I think we’re ready to continue."
"Yes, sir. But I’d be honored if you would call me William."
"Ah..." Xander held up a finger for attention. "Just to set the record straight..." He pointed at Armstead. "William, or Bill. Not Will, because that..." He pointed at Willow, who smirked at him. "...is Will."
Armstead smiled. "Bill is fine. My squadron called me that for several years. I am quite accustomed to it."
"So... Bill. You’d better be a good guy, because if you aren’t you’re going to get your ever-lovin’ butt kicked... and this bunch here takes its butt-kicking waaay seriously."
Armstead smiled even more widely, and nodded. As the conversation began again, he mentally threw his carefully thought-out notes away and started from scratch. He held back nothing, feeling less burdened as he realized he would still be able to do his job, only now with the cooperation of his subjects, rather that against their will.
He hoped for the day when they would cease to be subjects and start being friends.
The issue of trusting the newcomer was completely settled when Marcus crawled over to Armstead, pulled himself up by the man’s trouser leg, and gave him a drooling smile. One chubby baby hand patted the man’s knee awkwardly. Marcus then yawned widely, crawled over to Buffy, sat and held up his arms. She took him up into her lap, bestowing a kiss on his head and cradling him comfortably. He was asleep in an instant.
"Well, Bill, that settles it. You’re a part of the Scooby Gang now. You passed the Marcus test." Willow beamed fondly at the tiny baby nestled in his mother’s arms. "Now you gotta remember the first rule of the Slayerettes: Don’t get killed. The second rule is: Me and Xander have seniority!"
Buffy laughed softly and stood to take Marcus to his bedroom. Giles stood with her, his expression clearly stating that he was going with her. Willow smiled at the twin expressions of love on her friends’ faces. She waved them away imperiously, saying, "go on, put your firstborn to bed. I’ll continue the Jewish Inquisition here until you get back."
They both laughed softly and headed upstairs. Faith remained standing and announced, "I’m gonna patrol. Full moon means lots of weird stuff to slay. Coming, Wes?" Her Watcher was on his feet in an instant. "It was a pleasure, Captain Armstead. Do come round for tea." They left without further farewell, leaving Armstead slightly breathless. In one day, he had met both the former Chosen Ones and the current, active team as well. It was a little much to take in.
As he returned to his seat, Willow fixed him with a searching stare. "Back to the burning questions... Okay, Mister, ‘fess up. How old are you, anyway?"
"Before I answer that, I have a rather burning question of my own. Just what is a Scooby Gang?"
********
Giles could tell, as he watched Buffy carefully place Marcus in his crib, that she was disturbed. It was a vague uneasiness, with no coherent thoughts accompanying it. She leaned down to give her sleeping baby a tender kiss, then stepped back for Giles to do the same.
He bent over and pressed his lips against the tiny forehead, lingering for a moment against the soft baby skin. As he straightened, he turned and took her in his arms. "What’s wrong, love?"
Instead of answering, she burrowed into his embrace, almost disappearing against him as she sought his warmth. So slight, so delicate in appearance, yet made of such steel... that this supernaturally gifted woman turned to him for protection and comfort made his eyes water in gratitude, love and humility. He prayed daily that he would never fail to be that place of safety in her life.
He rubbed her back soothingly, waiting for her to speak, or to link her thoughts with his. She finally spoke into his shirt, causing pleasant tingles to dance along his spine despite his concern. "I’m probably being way silly, but I just worry about him. He’s so young, and he can read our thoughts... we can’t control what we think! He reacts when I’m even joking... he feels the meaning behind the words and can’t tell what’s real and what’s just being goofy..."
"...and by the time he understands the words, he will have learned the difference. Darling, even though he is an extraordinary child, he is still a child... our child. All children react to the emotions around them to some extent. We will do whatever it takes to give him what he needs to grow up happy, healthy, and well-balanced. Good Lord, I sound like a radio psychiatrist."
Buffy chuckled into his chest, raising more goosebumps. "You’re a heck of a lot smarter than any radio shrink I ever heard."
"Thank you, my love." His voice had dropped into the lower register, and she felt the vibration against her body. She looked up into his beautiful, compassionate eyes, and sighed as he bent down to touch his lips to hers. The Bond hummed with rising intensity as comfort slowly dissolved into desire.
Finally, Buffy came up for air. "Uh, babe, we have company downstairs..."
"Ah, yes." Reluctantly, he pulled away from her. He couldn’t resist giving her just one more soft kiss, then he took a step back, grinning sheepishly. "Perhaps we’d best go back down. Willow and Xander may have drawn and quartered our visitor by now."
"Or confused him beyond all hope of salvation."
"Either way, he could be in considerable distress." He chuckled and followed her back downstairs.
They entered the room just in time to hear Xander say, in his best drill sergeant voice, "you wanna hear a real oxymoron, soldier? Military Intelligence."
Buffy rolled her eyes and looked up at her grimacing husband. "Oh, no, we’re too late! Xander’s GI jokes... Bill’s brains are probably dripping out his ears!"
"I heard that!"
"Meant for you to, ya big lug." Buffy ruffled his hair affectionately as she walked by.
Armstead thought about the way these people fit together, and found himself nearly in tears. This was a family, as Mr. Giles had said so succinctly. He cleared his throat with a smile and said, "There appears to be no permanent damage due to Mr. Harris’ humor. I believe I shall live."
Willow, being the sensitive person she was, took in the longing looks that passed between her host and hostess, and decided that they’d overstayed their welcome. She could tell there was a ton of subvocal communication going on, and it wasn’t of the "hi, how are ya?" variety. It was so cute to see them so in love, even after being married for almost two years and having a kid. ‘Sorta gives me hope,’ she thought to herself as she elbowed Xander to get his attention. "It’s gettin’ late, Xand. We better go home. Buff an’ Giles look tired."
"They don’t look tired to me. They look uh... oh, uh, yeah, tired..." Xander’s face flushed redly and he quickly stood with Willow. "Come to think of it, I’m kinda tired myself." He gave an entirely fake yawn and stretched comically. "Bill, we’ll walk you out. Sunnydale isn’t exactly a safe neighborhood after sundown."
Bill stood, his face confused, but he said his polite good-nights and followed Willow and Xander out the front door. When they got to the car, he realized the two young people had no transportation. "I say, you two hadn’t intended to walk, had you? You were just admonishing me about safety!"
Xander grinned nervously. "You could give us a ride home, maybe. That would be right neighborly of you."
"Of course, I would be only too glad to give you both a lift." He unlocked the car and they hopped inside, Xander in the back and Willow next to him in front. He swallowed nervously at the lovely redhead’s close proximity. He mentally cursed the Council for choosing a compact as his rental. "Now. I shall need directions."
********
The instant the door clicked shut, Buffy locked it and turned, leaning against the cool wood. She smiled suggestively at her husband and curled a finger in a beckoning gesture. "C’mere, you big, handsome hunka ex-Watcher, you."
He practically jumped at her, causing her to giggle wildly as he pulled her against him and attacked her neck, a rumble coming from deep in his chest. Between nips, he growled, "you shouldn’t tease me so in front of company, little vixen..."
"But it’s so much fun... I loved the look on your face when I thought about what I wanted to do with that bottle of flavored massage oil Will gave us for Christmas... it’s too bad she caught on to what I was doing right away, though. I was hoping to torture you for at least ten more minutes... ohhhh... I’m kinda glad I didn’t, now..." Her eyes closed and she moaned as he lifted her against his chest until she was at his eye level. She wrapped her legs around his waist and captured his mouth before he could manage a sarcastic retort.
Still kissing her hungrily, he made his way to the couch and collapsed onto it with her still wrapped around him, trading moans and giggles and shushing sounds. Above them, Marcus slept the peaceful and deep sleep of the innocent and the loved.
********
As soon as Willow had given him the first turn to take, Armstead asked her, "and just why did we have to leave so soon? I had several more questions I wanted to ask."
"Have you ever been married, Bill?"
The surprisingly personal question made him blush, and he was thankful it was dark. Wouldn’t do to be blushing like a schoolboy around people almost ten years his junior. "Being in Intelligence and then in Watcher training effectively precluded all but the most superficial of relationships."
"So that means ‘no’, right?"
He fought a grin. "That means ‘no’."
"Well, I haven’t ever been married, either, so I’m going purely on second-hand information, but I’ve been around one particular married couple for almost two years, and I can tell when things go from ‘hello, there,’ to ‘hellooooo, there!’ and that means it’s time to leave."
Bill was completely bewildered. He was certain the words were English, but they made absolutely no sense to him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t even know what to ask.
Xander leaned forward in the back seat, deciding the new guy needed some help. "Bill, since I’m a guy, I’ll do my best to translate. It doesn’t take a mind-reader to tell when Buff and the G-man are wanting to get busy. So, we just leave before anything embarrassing happens... well, not that they’d do anything embarrassing right in front of us... except kiss, which doesn’t embarrass anyone but Giles. It grosses me out a little, but it doesn’t embarrass me. It doesn’t bother Willow, ‘cause she thinks they’re ‘cute.’" He snorted, then leaned back, satisfied that he had made things perfectly clear.
"Ah. I think I’m beginning to see. By ‘getting busy’ you are speaking of having marital relations?" He was aware just how prudish that sounded, but he couldn’t think of any other way to put it in mixed company. There was something to be said for Americans and their myriad euphemisms. One could pick the degree of crudity based on the people with whom one was talking. Quite practical, really.
Willow nodded her approval. "Exactly. Good for you, you got it on the second try. Maybe you aren’t as stuffy as you look. Giles was Mr. Stuffy at first, and you see how laid back he is now... although I think Buffy can take most of the credit for that... but you have us, now, and under our careful tutelage, you’ll make a great Slayerette." Just then she pointed up ahead and said, "Here’s my house, and my car, which is at my house, because I gotta drive back to Tech tonight... I guess Mom and Dad didn’t wait up. Either that, or they’re gone again."
"Why do they bother with a mortgage? They could timeshare and get better rates." Xander never could understand why Willow’s parents traveled like they did.
Willow made a face at her best friend and got out of the car. "I’ll see you tomorrow after school, goof-ball."
"Bye, witchy-woman. No naughty spells in the attic, now... Giles will be too busy the rest of the night to bail you out."
"Ha, ha." She ran lightly to the door and was inside in a flash.
As Armstead waited, Xander jumped out and ran around and got in the front seat, grinning. "Don’t want you to look like a chauffeur, Bill. Okay, go two more blocks and turn left."
"Mr. Harris..."
"It’s okay for you to call me Xander, Bill. First name basis is best for Slayerettes."
"Thank you, Xander. What is a Slayerette?"
"It’s just a nickname we gave our little group back in high school... Slayer... Slayerettes... I don’t know how else to explain it."
"And I am a Slayerette, then?" The implication pleased him to an inordinate degree.
"Slayerette-in-training," Xander corrected seriously. "If you can tough it out, you might even get a T-shirt."
"That is a good thing, I surmise."
"Definitely a good thing. It took me and Will two years to get one. Here’s the house."
Armstead pulled the car over to the curb and stared at Xander, trying to assess just how much of his banter was joking and how much was truth. Finally, Xander grinned and let him off the hook. "The T-shirt thing was a joke, although it’d be kinda cool. The part about it being tough, well, that’s not so much of a joke. Sunnydale is a pretty dangerous place. You sure you wanna be a Slayerette?" The grin disappeared, replaced with an expression of genuine care.
Armstead was touched by the boy’s concern. "I believe it would be an honor to be a Slayerette. I shall try very hard not to appear pretentious, but you must realize it has been trained into me by both the RAF and the Watcher’s Council. It may take some doing. Being ‘stuffy’ is a way of life for me."
The grin returned. "Okay, Bill, all you can do is try. That’s about all any of us can do. See ya later!"
The observer drove back to his apartment deep in thought. This was indeed going to be an interesting assignment.
He wondered how long it would take him to ‘go native.’
* * *