Part Nine

"I love your mom," Willow said cheerfully. "Have I mentioned that lately? 'Cause I love your mom." Buffy raised an affectionate eyebrow at Willow sudden gushing. Willow smiled sheepishly. "The brownie content of my blood is getting low," she explained. "Well, we can't let *that* happen," Buffy answered. "We'd better get you to Giles's, stat. Well, as soon as we drop our books at the dorm," she amended. "Excuse me!" a young voice called suddenly. "Excuse me!" A girl came jogging across the commons, headed in their direction. She looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, with green eyes and red hair a few shades darker than Willow's, pulled back into a sloppy braid. She wore a slightly oversized T-shirt and spandex shorts, an outfit clearly put together to allow for quick movement. "Are you Buffy Summers?" she spoke with an unfamiliar accent, offering a hand to shake. "Yes . . ." Buffy replied slowly, taking the girl's hand. "Wow!" The girl shook Buffy's hand vigorously. "It's so great to meet you!" "Uhh . . ." Buffy exchanged a confused look with Willow. ". . . thanks." "Oh." She let go of Buffy's hand with a nervous giggle. "Sorry. I get ahead of myself a lot." "That's okay." Buffy discreetly flexed her hand to make sure that the little girl's startlingly strong grip hadn't broken any bones. "Actually, I do need to talk to you about . . . stuff." She glanced warily at Willow, then gave Buffy a significant, wide-eyed look. Buffy caught on immediately. "Oh. Well, it's cool. Willow knows all about *stuff*." Willow nodded quickly. "I am stuff-aware." "Oh! You're Willow! Oh, wow! I should have known, Wesley said our hair was almost the same color, I'm Chloe by the way, Wesley's my watcher," she finished in a confusing rush. "Watcher?" Buffy stared. "You're a *Slayer*?" She wondered, frantically, if Faith had died, and felt a strong twinge of guilt. Chloe saw it cross her face and hastened to reassure her. "Oh no, I mean yes, I am a slayer, but not a Slayer like you, I'm a *little* slayer." She paused for breath. "See, there're Slayers like you, with all those powers, and then there are little slayers like me, with just *one* power. I'm as strong as you. There are other girls who are as fast as you, or can hear like you, or have reflexes like yours. Stuff like that." "And Wesley's your watcher?" Willow asked. "But he said the Council fired him." "They did," Chloe explained. "We met after the wipe-out, at the Meeting Place." The animation faded from her face, replaced by a deep sadness. "The assassins killed my first watcher, Michael. I don't know why, he never did *anything* as bad as the Council." She looked at Buffy seriously. "I miss him so much. All the girls at the Meeting Place miss their watchers, but I got lucky and found Wesley. He's my *real* watcher. We were meant to be paired together, like you and Mr. Giles." "How do you know that?" Buffy asked curiously. Chloe shrugged. "You can just tell. That's why you and Wesley didn't get along. Once you've met your real watcher, no other watcher can ever be good enough." Chloe shook her head, as if physically shaking off the conversation. "Anyway. I'm looking for Wesley. He said he was coming here and that I should stay and help the other girls because they're all so confused without their watchers to tell them what to do, but they're doing okay now, even Kiana and she was having the most trouble of all of them, and I miss Wesley a lot. Plus I was worried," she confided in a confidential tone. Buffy nodded in understanding, imagining herself and Giles in that situation. She would move heaven and earth to find him in that case, she was sure. "He's staying with Giles," she told Chloe. "We were going there anyway. We just need to drop our books off at the dorm and we'll all head out." Chloe grinned. "Cool." ********** "How have I been," Ethan repeated Lucius's question. "Do you have a few years?" Wilson chuckled warmly. "Well, this does cut down on introductions a bit," Giles remarked pointedly, not entirely pleased over being the only one who didn't know a visitor to his own house. "Lucius Wilson," the visitor replied. "It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Giles." Giles nodded, accepting and shaking the proffered left hand. Ethan frowned. "Last time I saw you, you had two of those." Wilson glanced at what remained of his right arm. "I lost it that night," he replied briefly. Ethan's eyes darkened and he gave a short nod. During the exchange, Wesley had sat on the couch, still and uncharacteristically silent. His eyes had taken in the fresh, reddened marks on Ethan's face and neck, beginning to swell, and had also seen the anger on Giles's face when they first entered. Arriving at the obvious conclusion, he shot Giles a black look, which was lost on all except Lucius Wilson. He immediately liked the boy even more - that one look had made his loyalty to Ethan clear to anyone who cared to see it. Still silent, Wesley rose and headed into the kitchen, pulling a tea towel out of a cupboard handle and raiding the freezer for ice. He emerged a moment later with a makeshift ice pack, which he held out wordlessly to Ethan. Ethan accepted the compress, his hand lingering on Wesley's as their gazes met and held. They stood that way for a moment, looking into each other, until Ethan finally spoke: "Thank you, tiger," he said quietly. "You're welcome," Wesley murmured. Taking a step back, he slipped his hand from Ethan's light hold and resumed his seat on the couch. It was understood by both of them that they would talk in depth later; that and so much more had passed between them in that minute of silent communication. Giles watched this exchange in amazement. He had never seen Ethan demonstrate such intensity toward anyone, for any reason. He tended to reserve it for his magick, or for the times when he had ingested more drugs than the human body should rightfully be able to handle. There was a spark of old jealousy - Ripper rearing his possessive head. Giles ignored it. Wilson, for his part, was pleased by the emotions that his experienced eyes had seen strung between the two. It showed that Ethan had been able to move on after Sharna's death, which was more than he himself had accomplished. And if it had to be with a man, well . . . from what he had heard, homosexuality was the least of Ethan's sins. There was an uncomfortable silence; Giles broke it by glancing at his watch and saying aimlessly, "Buffy and Willow should be here soon - their last class just ended." He glanced at Wilson and began to explain about the "Scoobies," but Wilson shook his head. "Mr. Wyndham-Price explained the situation to me. The more help in protecting the two of you, the better." Ethan, ice pack applied to his jaw, narrowly succeeded in swallowing a snide comment about how helpful he imagined the Slayer's posse would actually be. No need to antagonize Rupert in front of Wilson and Wesley. Especially Wesley. ********** Joyce hummed along to the radio as she drove. She knew better than to sing aloud, even alone, with her singing voice, but she deemed humming to be perfectly safe. Her eyes flicked absently up to the rearview mirror to find that the gray Honda was still behind her. She hadn't given it much thought -Sunnydale was a small town; many cars ended up taking the same route quite coincidentally - other than to be reminded of a game that she had Buffy had played when her daughter was young. When their car and another took several same turns, they would make up stories about why they were being followed, or why they were following another car. This car, however, had stuck with her for nearly the whole drive, and she began to suspect that the driver was not playing. As she turned onto Rupert's street, still accompanied by her Honda-shaped shadow, she had a sudden flash of realization. The assassins. They were using her to track Rupert. Shit. Joyce ordered herself to stay calm. Don't change driving patterns, don't speed up, don't do anything to let them know that she was on to them. And remember that it wasn't necessarily the assassins - it could be that Achala man with his little statuette, hoping for a second chance at persuading her. Or it could be - and this was a soothing thought - an entirely unrelated threat. Or it could be a coincidence. Somehow, she didn't think so. She kept driving right past Rupert's house, mind ticking frantically. She could go to the grocery store and make a few random purchases so it wouldn't look suspicious, then go home and call Rupert. But, wait - if they knew where she lived, they could have bugged her phone while she was gone. Dammit. Dammit! Then an idea struck. ********** Ethan took the chair closest to Wesley on the couch. Giles was just settling himself into another chair when the door opened and Buffy and Willow walked in, accompanied by a younger redhead. Giles spoke quickly. "Buffy, Willow, this is Lucius Wilson. Mr. Wilson, this is Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenburg, and . . ." He stopped, blinking at the newcomer. "Chloe." Wesley's voice was part surprise, part amusement, and part reproval. Chloe launched into a speech whose components, if not actual delivery, had clearly been thought out carefully. "Hi, Wesley, I know you said to stay at the Meeting Place but you were gone for a long time without even sending word or calling or anything and *everybody* was worried so we took a vote and we all agreed that I should find you and everybody's doing okay now even Kiana so I figured it would be safe." She delivered this monstrosity without taking a breath, green eyes wide with persuasive innocence. Wesley could only shake his head and tell her, "We'll discuss this later, Chloe, I don't wish to lecture you in front of the others." The warmth to his tone, however, suggested that the promised lecture would be far from harsh. Further introductions were made. Chloe, upon determining who the owner of the house was, asked anxiously, "Do you have a bathroom? I really need one." "Yes, my house is fully equipped," Giles replied dryly. Chloe giggled and followed his directions upstairs. When she was out of hearing range, Buffy said, "Well. Isn't she . . ." She trailed off, apparently searching for words. "Flighty?" Wesley suggested with a little smile. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'fluffhead,'" was Buffy's blunt response. "Buffy," Giles reproved sharply, but Wesley held up a hand. "It's quite all right, Rupert. Chloe does give that impression, but I assure you that she is more than capable of being deadly serious when the occasion warrants it."