Disclaimer: All the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB station. I own nothing, I’m a poor college student, please don’t sue!
“Hey, Giles! Seen Buffy anywhere?”
“Giles, my man, what’s shakin’?”
Rupert Giles looked up from one of the large, musty-looking old tomes that seemed to always be in his hands and allowed his lips to quirk up in a small but genuine smile as Willow bounced happily into the Sunnydale High School library with Xander close on her heels.
“Oh, hello Willow. Um, n-no, I haven’t seen Buffy yet today. She wasn’t in her morning classes?” he asked, closing the book and turning to face the two friends more fully as they made themselves comfortable at the large study table. Willow regarded Giles guiltily as she realized that she had perhaps given away her friend. Xander chuckled around a mouthful of Twinkie.
“Oops,” the teenaged boy commented, and shrugged. Giles sighed.
“Well, I’m sure if Buffy didn’t go to class, it was for a good reason,” Willow offered, none too confidently.
“I should say it was.” The unfamiliar and British-accented voice floated down to the small group from the stacks, and all three of them twisted around suddenly to face the emerging figure. Willow looked worried, Xander stopped mid-bite of his twinkie, and Giles looked incredulously at the man, whipping his glasses off as if to confirm what he was seeing.
“Why do I get the sinking feeling that you were waiting for that opening in our dialogue?” Xander asked nervously after he had finished chewing and swallowing. The short, stocky man chuckled humorlessly at Xander, eyebrows raised.
“My dear boy, why don’t you take this lovely lady elsewhere so that Mr. Giles and myself might converse in private,” he said condescendingly, with a slight head nod to indicate Willow and the doors respectively. Sensing a potential threat, Xander instinctively turned up the attitude, settling more comfortably in his chair and hoisting his feet up on the table.
“Hey, anything you have to say to Giles, you can say to us, too.”
“Xander,” Giles admonished warningly, to no avail.
“Hey, that guy is *English*,” Xander said pointedly, leveling his index finger at the man, to which Giles responded with a puzzled and exasperated expression. “All the English people we get besides Giles are evil,” he finished, folding his hands over his stomach.
“Xander, Willow, please do leave us alone,” Giles pleaded wearily, but Xander was obviously not listening.
“Spike, Drusilla, Gwendolyn Post. . .” the teenaged boy began ticking them off on his fingers.
“Xander!” Giles yelled suddenly, startling the boy into removing his feet from the table and quieting quickly. “You and Willow will leave us, please. And if you see Buffy,” he hazarded a glance at the man watching the exchange, “tell her that she needn’t check in today. I will call her if I think it’s necessary.” Willow just nodded meekly, blushing faintly at the rebuke, even though it wasn’t directed at her. Xander had the good grace to look ashamed, but threw a dirty look at the stranger over his shoulder as he left anyway. As soon as the two students had exited the library, Giles turned to face the man fully as he watched him slowly, and with a self-important air, make his way down the short flight of steps from the stacks to the main floor.
“Quentin Travers,” he addressed the mad with audible distaste, “what brings you to Sunnydale?”
Faith looked around fearfully as the small and enclosed clearing she occupied was steeped in fading, purplish, misty light as the sun began to set. She absently dabbed at her already-healing wrists that had nearly been rubbed raw by the hemp rope that had bound her limbs earlier. She had already unbound Buffy and was waiting with trepidation for the blonde to wake up. Casting a concerned look at her comrade, she lit one of the bent Camels from the rumpled pack in her back pocket and took a deep drag off of it, coughing lightly twice as she exhaled slowly. She had cut way back after being called to her sacred duty and had nearly quit altogether upon arriving in Sunnydale. That had a lot to do with the blonde laying off to her right and the barely disguised look of digust that had crossed her face when Faith had lit one up in front of her for the first time. As much as the brunette Slayer hated to admit it, she desperately wanted the older girl’s approval even as she tried to define herself as separate from Buffy. She hadn’t smoked in front of Buffy after that day, and had mostly shrugged off the habit with typical slayer ease. Keeping a pack and a lighter in her back pocket, even if it was only replaced once the remaining cigarettes got too stale to smoke, was something akin to a security blanket for Faith, and she only took one out when she was feeling nervous or worried and needed something to do with her hands and mouth besides fighting and quipping. She fell back on that a few minutes ago as she watched the hypnotic patterns that the blue-gray smoke made in the heavy air.
“Owww. . .” Faith jumped as her meditative reverie was broken by the soft groan from Buffy, and she scrambled to the other slayer’s side, placing a worried hand on her shoulder.
“B? Hey, Buffy, come on, talk to me. . .” Faith babbled softly to Buffy as the blonde blinked her eyes rapidly and began to come back into wakefulness.
“Ugh, Faith?” Buffy queried thickly, her voice husky from hours of unconsciousness.
“Yeah, it’s me, you okay?” Faith moved her palm in small, reassuring circles on Buffy’s shoulder, her arm supporting the blonde’s shoulders as she sat up slowly, rubbing at her temples.
“Yeah, I’m okay. . . my head hurts, and I think one of my left toes is broken, and we’re. . . in a jungle. . .” she trailed off and her eyes widened as she took in their surroundings. “Faith, what the hell is going on? Where are we?” Buffy’s voice took on a panicked edge as the questions came tumbling out, and Faith put up a hand to halt them.
“Look, I’m not sure where we are. . . just from what you can see right here, it looks like just that, a jungle. No clue where, I. . . kinda flunked geography,” she half-joked, looking up at the dense spread of tree branches and leaves above them. “I didn’t want to leave you here to go be Tarzan while you were zonked, so I stayed here. Never know what could be out there,” she finished, half-mumbling as she avoided the other slayer’s grateful eyes. She had all but flat-out told Buffy that she cared about her. . . she didn’t like that. She was Faith, self-sufficient, subservient to no-one, looking out for number one. She wasn’t supposed to care.
But she did.
She watched as Buffy stretched out cramped muscles and sore limbs, standing up and arching her back far enough so that it made a series of small, audible pops. The smaller girl winced briefly and then began hopping quickly from one foot to the other, her blonde ponytail bouncing against her neck as she shook out her arms and legs. Turning in slow circles, she squinted her eyes. She moved like a predator, no doubt turning her senses up to full slayer capacity, as she regarded the area in the waning light. Faith watched her closely, wondering if that was what she looked like when she did the same. Despite the lack of action, Buffy looked dangerous, her eyes and nose twitching slightly, muscles tense. Without warning, the look dropped away as Buffy straightened out of her semi-crouch, her eyes opening up more fully as she turned back to Faith and sighed slightly.
“Well, whaddaya say? Wanna go check out that river?”
Faith’s lips turned up in a smile as she hopped to her feet, brushing off the seat of her jeans.
end