Two

It hadn’t occur to Buffy Summers that she would meet creatures other than fledgling vampires; or at least if it did, she didn’t quite it through her brain that non-fledgling vampires were a lot stronger than she was used to and it was a bad bad idea to engage them. More field experienced Slayers had succumbed to them.

To her credit, she did nearly stake William the Bloody, the master vampire who also went by the alias of the Slayer of Slayers. Buffy had no idea, of course—she knew only that a creature she was born to slay had laughed in her face and called her tiny. He had his fangs to her neck but didn’t bite. If that wasn’t an insult, then Buffy didn’t know what was. Not that she wanted to get bitten and die, of course. She still trembled from her very literal brush with death—but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Spike didn’t think she was Slayer enough to even bite.

Caught between deep relief that she was still breathing and humiliating anger, Buffy lingered in the spot Spike had left her, imagining all sorts of colorful, violent bloody scenarios in which she successfully dusted the white-haired vampire, most of them including a moment of her shaving off his offending hair.

It also occurred to Buffy, at some point, that her sneaking out of the Estate to hunt vampires would get her into a world of angry Watchers, but again, it didn’t quite register so much with her. It wasn’t quite clear if it was one of her defining features, or it was just a product of her youth. Frankly, there was always a Watcher somewhere in the Council angry at her, either for some silly pranks…or some other silly pranks. The state of being in trouble was familiar and even a constant for the ten year old Slayer.

Eventually, she shook herself out of the stupor, and decided that it was a good idea to go back now. Spike was enough of a vampire for the night, and she’d save more slayage for another time. Maybe then she’ll actually meet a fledge, and then bam!—dustage and insta-permission to Slay.

The gravity of her misbehavior didn’t hit the girl until she found herself standing just outside the gates of the Estate, face stricken with horror: the dark, quiet Estate she had left was now teeming with activity. Windows on all five floors were lit, and she could see shadows of people running about. Dogs were barking, and Watchers in their PJs and policemen were milling about the grounds with searchlights.

Oh no no no no, she thought in panic. They’re looking for me! I am so dead! She wanted to run away on the spot, turn back and go to the cemetery. Rather face a horde of vampires than a horde of angry Watchers. A part of her wished Spike had bitten her, just a little bite, so that they couldn’t be that mad at her right away because she would be injured. It’d give them the time to diffuse their anger. Oh gosh…she was too desperate if she wanted to be bitten. What was wrong with her? That was so un-Slayer like. Maybe Spike sensed that.

Or at least that she wish she had staked Spike, then she would have something to show for her sneaking out. Stupid vampire! Making me get in trouble. Which made no sense at all, but Buffy, at that point, would blame world hunger on the vampire. 

No, she was going to have to go through the fire for this. Bravely, Buffy approached the gate, and squinted when several search lights immediately swung her direction, illuminating her like a cartoon thief caught red handed.

“Here she is!” a man called out, “She’s right here!”

“She looks unharmed!”  A second voice informed the rest of the grounds.

Buffy bit her lips as a horde of Watchers descended on her. It was going to be long and painful night.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.

Ten. Buffy had gotten ten lectures in the two hours following her arrival back at the mansion, from five watchers, the gardener, the cook, two witches and a policeman. It had to be a record.

And that wasn’t even counting the one she was obviously going to get from Lydia, who was now just standing by her side, sending her silent promises of many days of punishment. Giles, who was out of town, would definitely give her the third degree and even more lectures once he returned. And Mr. Travers would for sure give her another one tomorrow morning, just because it seemed like it was his main job besides being head honcho. Actually, Buffy surmised that Mr. Travers was the head honcho because he was the best at giving lectures. All Watchers were good at it, and even the maintenance staff had some talent in speech-giving. It was like a thing for the Watchers; she wondered if they all had to take a class in it for their Watcher training.

 It was a very good thing that Mr. Travers lived in his own house elsehwere and not at the Estate, because Buffy didn’t want to go through that tonight.

In the end, the gist of all the lectures was this: “You’re stupid. How could you think about going out on your own? We were worried to death.” Buffy wanted to remark that they all looked very alive to her and she had been the one close to death, but she figured it wouldn’t do her any good. Besides, when Irma, the cook, was angry at her, Buffy knew it meant she was in for weeks of disgusting healthy foods and no more fairy cakes or Irma’s special bakewell tarts. Really, Buffy would have rated this as her worst punishment if she had already talked to Giles, Lydia and Mr. Travers. Those three still had the potential of outdoing the punishment that was the outlawing of desserts.

She was checked for injuries, because she told them she had met and fought a vampire. She didn’t tell them that said vampire left her alive, and just let them assume that she dusted the creature. Helga, the usually sweet and matronly witch who had given her one of the ten lectures, forced a bitter, healing potion down her throat while sending her stern looks capable of making Buffy wilt.

Then it was Lydia’s turn. In Robin’s language, it was time for Buffy to face the Dungeon Boss. Or maybe Lydia was the mid-boss, because she still had Giles and Mr. Travers to deal with.

In any case, Lydia pulled her aside into her dungeon (office), and Buffy readied herself for yet another lecture. Lydia’s was going to be much more painful, however, because the lady was like an auntie to her and would personally her carry out whatever sentence Mr. Travers would put upon Buffy. She just hoped it had nothing to do with big books about dead languages. The day of her first Latin lesson was the day eminent Oxford Professor Gertrude Patrick doubted her place in the academic world for the first time in her career of 33 years. Besides, who tried to teach nine year olds Latin? The Slayer-ness gave her super strength, not super brains. Not that Buffy Summers was stupid; she was delightfully precocious when she wanted to be. Besides, it was the Watcher’s job to read Latin.

“Buffy,” Lydia sighed, “I can’t stress how utterly inane your actions were tonight.”

Buffy blinked. Wide-eyed confusion. “Insane?”

“Inane.”

Buffy frowned at the new word, and looked at Lydia expectedly to define it for her. Lydia knew the expression well and sighed. “It means idiotic.”

“Oh,” Buffy murmured as she processed it. Once she was done, her face lit up with a satisfied smile. “I like it. It rhymes! With insane, I mean.” Another word in her arsenal. She would use it soon. Probably on Robin, who was on some sort of interview trip with a university. Buffy didn’t know, and honestly didn’t care. College? Pfft…for old people, obviously, and Robin was getting old…not that he acted his age. No doubt he’d tease her to death when he got back.

“Getting off track here Buffy,” Lydia said, sending a warning look at the girl, “Why did you go out?”

Buffy shrugged, bit her lips and made her eyes wide in child-like wonder, hoping to feign some innocence and cuteness. It was tactic that has often served her well, but the success rate with Lydia had always been low. “Cause…I wanted to Patrol.”

“You know you aren’t allowed.”

“But that’s stupid!” Buffy whined, “You know I can do it, Lyddie! Yesterday, I gave Yes-Sensei a black eye and outmaneuvered his maneuver.” (His name was Yasu, and he was a celebrated Karate master and one of the few Non-Anglican Watchers.)

“Buffy—”

“I’m so good. I can fight super well and I’m a lot stronger than everyone here! Why can’t I patrol?”

“Buffy!” Lydia snapped, causing the girl to jump in surprise. She looked at the Watcher with wide, glassy eyes, and Lydia immediately regretted losing her patience and was nearly about to apologize before she caught herself, remembering that she was supposed to be scolding the girl. “You met and fought a vampire, yes?”

Buffy nodded enthusiastically.

“You were able to stake it, yes?”

Buffy hesitated a bit, and then slowly and regretfully shook her head.

Lydia’s eyes widened a bit in surprise. “You didn’t? How—what happened?”

Buffy bit her lips, wondering how to phrase this. She avoided Lydia’s eyes and become interested in the sparkly stars on her sweater, “Um, he sorta got me, nearly bit me, but he let me go.”

Buffy didn’t see it, but Lydia’s eyes nearly bulged at Buffy’s words. Fear and apprehension filled her Watchery eyes, but she quickly shook it away, probably settling on something in her own mentalscape.

“Why did this vampire let you go, Buffy?” Lydia asked carefully.

Buffy now narrowed her eyes, looking very annoyed. “’Cause he’s a big jerk. Poophead vampire.” Lydia raised her eyes, unable to contain her amusement at Buffy’s rather adorable anger. She wanted to point out that being a jerk wasn’t quite in line with a vampire who didn’t murder her, but the girl rambled on like always: “You know, I don’t think I’ve met a vampire with white hair and he isn’t even that old looking. I mean, do vampires not age but their hair turn white like an old man anyways? Unless he dyes his hair! He’s so weird! And he wears makeup! I mean, a grown man wearing eyeliner? Well, he isn’t a man, but that’s not the point. Point is that he wears makeup. Isn’t that weird, Lyddie?”

Lydia, unbeknownst to Buffy, had again had that deer-in-headlights expression. If she looked more shocked, her eyeballs could have popped out of her sockets and squished against her square glasses.

 “W-white hair?” Lydia repeated, alarms going off in her Watcher head. White hair but young, makeup, weird. Oh god, was it—“Spike?” She very much hoped not. Surely there were many other vampires with bleached hair?

Buffy looked up at Lydia in surprise. “Yeah! That was him! Spike. What weird name. Ugh, everything about him is so strange. Wow, you know everything, Lyddie!” The look of pure admiration on Buffy’s face made Lydia uncomfortable.

Of course she knew of Spike. She had written her thesis on him; she knew firsthand (Well, secondhand really. She’s never met him, thank god.) how capricious the vampire was, and how utterly bloodthirsty. The thought of Buffy meeting William the Bloody made her weak in the knees; but what had shocked her most was learning that it was Spike, Slayer of Slayers, who had let Buffy go free. The obvious question, of course, was why? Was he just being his unpredictable self? Had he taken a leaf out of his absent Grandsire’s blood-laden legacy and had let Buffy go with plans to stalk, harass and mentally and eventually physically torture Buffy before he killed her?

“Buffy, please,” Lydia continued, her voice wavering somewhat, “Tell me everything you remember. Why did he let you go?”

Buffy pouted and answered grouchily, “He said ‘cause I was short.”

Lydia blinked several times, uncertain and incredulous. “Because you were short?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t Slayer enough for him. He called me bite-size!” she complained, “Said I should get all train up and get stronger and then he’d come and kill me.” She gave Lydia a hard, serious look. “I’m so going to be ready for him. I’ve decided on my lifelong goal as a Slayer: dust Spike.”

“Oh…” Lydia anxiously pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. William the Bloody had just marked Buffy, and, in a sinisterly amusing twist, ten year old Buffy had marked Spike as well. The vampire was going to wait until Buffy was strong enough, until she was worthy enough of his Slayer of Slayers title—how very…well, she didn’t know what to call it. Buffy’s lack of fear made Lydia very nervous as well.

Her academic mind was twitching with curiosity and excitement at this new insight into the life of her study subject. Her Watchery mind, however, was fraught with fears: a powerful vampire after a tiny girl, and he knew her to be a Slayer! Oh god, it was going to come out to the demon world that there was a tiny Slayer running about in addition to the regular one. This was not good; for five years they were able to keep Buffy contained and protected, and now? Oh dear lord… Lydia shuddered to think about it. She just hoped at least Spike stuck to his plan of letting Buffy grow up first.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the worst part of this whole affair. She looked at the small girl sadly; the greatest danger to the small Slayer didn’t come from the demon world or a vampire with a penchant for Slayer-killing.

“Buffy,” Lydia began, sounding breathless and anxious, “You don’t tell anyone that you met Spike, do you understand?”

Buffy frowned, puzzled. “Why not?”

“I can’t tell you,” Lydia replied, “Not now. But you must not tell anyone, especially Mr. Travers.”

Buffy furrowed her brows in confusion. “What? Why? Why not Mr. Travers?”

“Just promise, okay? It’s for your own good.”

“Okay…” Buffy answered quietly, astonished by the look of fear on Lydia’s face. Was Spike that dangerous? Would Mr. Travers get angrier because she met Spike and not just any vampire?

“When you are asked, you say you met a fledgling, and you dusted him,” continued Lydia, “Do you understand?”

Buffy frowned, irritated at the repeated ‘Do you understand?’ She wasn’t stupid: she understood what Lydia wanted, but not why. “I think so. You want me to lie to Mr. Travers? But Lyddie, that was ruled 39 in List of Buffy No-No’s: don’t lie to your Watchers! Especially Boss Watcher.”

Lydia took a moment to marvel at Buffy for remembering the number of the rule. The girl usually acted like the list didn’t exist. She made point to look it up later to see if it was really number 39.

“Yes. BUT, just for this only.”

She nodded. “Can I tell Giles?”

“No!” Lydia exclaimed, “No one! Understand? No one needs to know that Spike let you go.”

Buffy frowned again. What? This was getting really confusing. Spike letting her go was the problem? Did Lydia want her to get killed? Did Mr. Travers or Giles? No way. Lydia and Giles would never do that to her; though she wasn’t sure about Mr. Travers. He had shifty eyes. “Okaaay. Can I say I staked Spike at least?”

Lydia shook her head. “No, Spike is too high profile of a vampire to lie about. Just don’t mention Spike. It was just some fledgling.”

“Is that poophead vampire really famous?” Buffy asked disappointedly.

“Er, yes, he is. He’s one of the Scourge of Europe.”

“The what?”

The Watcher let out a tired sigh. “Let’s save Vampire history for tomorrow, Buffy. It’s time for bed. You’ll have to meet with Mr. Travers tomorrow.”

Buffy nodded, and hopped off her seat. She was surprised: she expected more lecturing and less ‘lie to everyone, Buffy’ from Lydia, but she was okay. Not that what Lydia wanted from her made any kind of sense, but she trusted Lydia. She didn’t feel right about lying to Giles, but if Lydia insisted, she didn’t have a problem, cause if she had met a fledge, Buffy had confidence that she would have totally dusted it. Besides, it might convince Mr. Travers to let her out if she did say she had. “Night Lyddie!” she called to the Watcher as she sprinted out of the office, barely hearing Lydia’s “Good night, Buffy.”

*

Later that night Lydia checked the list of things Buffy wasn’t allowed to do. It was not number 39 on the list or on the list at all. The girl had made it up, probably on a whim. Lydia didn’t know if she should find it amusing or bothersome.

***************

Spike watched, rapture in his cool blue eyes, as his Dru worked her thrall on a pretty little girl. She didn’t need to, of course—runaway orphans were an easy catch and an easy dump, but Drusilla liked to play before she had her meal. That was his Wicked Plum, a luscious combination of delightful and deadly; magnificently sweet and ruthless, and as insane as they come. Never a dull moment with his lady.

“Sweet thing, she is, Spike,” said Dru, her eyes never leaving the girl. Spike smirked. Yes, she was a sweet thing. Not unlike a bitty Slayer he had left in the cemetery.

“Little girl,” Dru continued, reaching out towards the girl and pulling her into a hug, and gently patted the girl’s curly brown locks, “There there, sweet.” She turned to Spike with a small pout. “She’s not ripe enough, is she? Not yet.”

“She’s sweet and tender, love,” Spike said, stepping towards them and gently running his hand through the hypnotized child’s hair, “Perfectly aged.”

“Not yet,” Dru insisted softly, “So don’t try, my William. Not yet. You’d choke on her.”

Spike frowned slightly. He had a feeling that they were no longer speaking about the kid in her embrace anymore.  “What are you on about, Dru?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.

“The little one,” Dru answered blithely, “Miss Edith tells me the little one is…not ripe enough. You can’t know her…she is defended...”

Spike’s eyes widened. Was she talking about the bite-size Slayer? Had Dru seen the girl? He waited for her to say more. Perhaps she had a vision? Maybe he was wrong to leave the girl alive?

But Dru became interested in her food again. “I want to drink from her insides, Spike.” She sounded as if she merely wanted a lollipop.

“Then let’s take her to go, love,” Spike advised, “We’ll have ourselves a fresh, warm meal in bed.”

“Yes, let us do that,” Dru said softly. She looked at him, a dreamy smile etched at her marble-like face. “Oh, I can hear it Spike…”

“Hear what, pet?”

“I can hear the songs. The universe sings the song to me.”

Spike cocked his head, curious. “The Universe?”

“Hmmm…they say…” Dru let go of the orphan, though she remained fixed in the catatonic state. The vampiress approached Spike, her dark, doll-like eyes shining with amazement and wonder. “Oh, Spike…” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, “My sweet. You are…my honey-man. Sweeten me always, my apple tree.”

Spike raised his eyes at her last words. Well, that was something new. Still, he reveled in her affections; the oddness in the way his Dru expressed herself had become the norm for him, and he enjoyed every barmy word.

“Hmm, love, I’m your…apple tree,” he said gently, “And uh…your honey-man.”

Dru started to speak again, her voice soft and sweet. It took a second for Spike to realize that she was speaking in a foreign tongue, though he had never heard anything like it before.

“What’s that love?”

Drusilla grinned wickedly. “Such wonderful darkness ahead, my Spike. So very wonderful. I see the black and it is…breathtaking…”

“Is that right, pet? Sounds like an awful lot of fun.”

He dipped his head and caught her lips in a hungry kiss.

***********************

When Giles arrived at his corner of the Council Library, he couldn’t help but gape at the little intruder of the blonde persuasion sitting at his usual table. Not that he’s never seen her in there before; their first meeting consisted of him scrambling away from bookshelves went like dominos as half the library collapsed around him, courtesy a four year old trying to use the top of the shelves as a getaway from bumbling Watchers. That was the day she had come unofficially under his care after he was able to contain the little Slayer with only a fractured thumb to show for it. His fellow Watchers did not get a slightly injured as he did.

“Buffy, what are you doing?” The way he said it would have made someone passing by think Buffy was ripping out the pages of the precious, ancient tomes and making origami cranes out of them, and not demurely sitting in front a handful of opened volumes of some demon-y subject. And beginning French.

Giles was sure something was wrong: Buffy Summers studying quietly, by herself, in the library on a beautiful Saturday afternoon? Did he miss a memo? Was she sick? Or was there evil afoot?

Buffy jumped out of her seat happily. “Giles! You’re back!” She attacked Giles in a bear hug, her little arm squeezing the Watcher with more pressure than his frame could handle. The large, aging books he carried in his arms cut painfully into his arms.

“Er…yes…Buffy…bones…fragile…”

“OH! Sorry!” She jumped back, grinning sheepishly, “I’m just so happy you’re here!”

Giles smiled, flattered by the small Slayer’s affections and quickly set his books on the table.

“Whatcha got there Giles?” Buffy asked.

“Oh, these are borrowed books from Council depository in Jerusalem on the Cult of Nergal,” Giles answered, looking on the selected books with a proud smile, “They’ve been active in Kuwait recently, trying to summon Nergal and—” Giles stopped abruptly, and looked down suspiciously at Buffy, who was listening to him with rapt attention. Again, he was bewildered; the girl was never that interested in Demonology unless it involved some gory story about a Slayer killing a great demon.

He looked at the pile of books she was studying when he came in, and back at her. “Buffy, were you studying?”

“Oh, yeah…” Buffy answered, “But go on, Giles. Cult of Nagal?”

“Nergal.”

“Uh-huh. What about it?”

“You don’t have lessons today, did you? It’s a Saturday.”

“Oh gosh, you’re right!” Buffy exclaimed, a little more enthusiastically than it was normal, “It is a Saturday. I shouldn’t be here studying, right Giles? I should be out, playing, sleeping, training like a normal girl..or Slayer…whatever…not cooped up in a library! Good idea, Giles! I’m on it!” She turned to her books and started gathering them as a confused Giles watched.

“What do you think you’re doing, Buffy?” Lydia’s stern voice joined the Watcher and the little Slayer, the intimidating click clack of her Oxford heels approaching them. Buffy froze, and demurely fell back into her seat, becoming suddenly interested in her fingers, searching for a nail to chew on.

“Rupert,” Lydia greeted, “I see you were successful in locating your books.”

“Er, yes, I was,” Giles answered, his eyes still on Buffy and her rather...reserved behavior. He recognized the body language, of course; five years of helping raise the girl had made him privy to all her quirks.

“Giles says that I can go, Lydia…” Buffy tried, a small, sweet smile on her face.

Giles frowned. “Now, I didn’t say anything—what is going on here?”

“Tell Giles what you’re in trouble for, Buffy,” said Lydia, “Go on.”

Buffy pouted, and looked sullenly between the two Watchers. Slowly, she turned to Giles and told him everything about her nighttime escapade from two nights ago, her voice flat and unexcited. Everything sans Spike, of course.

Giles’s reaction was:  “Are you insane, Buffy?! That was bloody dangerous!”

“I’m also inane,” Buffy added cheerfully, “And everyone and their dogs have already told me how dangerous it was, so you’re kinda late to the game, Giles.” She thought of the search dogs barking at her as if they were scolding her too.

“And this is her punishment,” Lydia added sternly, “More book work, less playtime, and physical endurance tests only.”

“All the boring stuff,” Buffy added grouchily, “I’m 10! I should not be studying demonology! Or French! It’s worse than Latin! And the French eats smelly cheeses. Aaaand, Govern Neck demons are sooooo boring!”

“Gavor’nik,” Lydia corrected, “And you’re studying them because Helga is working on the summoning rituals.”

“Am I gonna learn it? Or help her do the summoning?”

“No, it’s purely for your knowledge.”

“Fudge monkey,” Buffy mumbled darkly, “Stupid knowledge.” She slumped back into her seat, opened her books, and started on her demonology and –Er conjugation assignments once again.

Lydia gave Giles an exasperated look. “Can you see she gets it done, Rupert?”

Giles nodded. “Of course, I need to work on translating these books as well. I’ll keep her working.”

“You are researching the Cult of Nergal, am I correct?” Lydia asked, glancing at the volumes that Giles had procured, “Nergal is Babylonian? With Sumerian roots?”

Giles caught Lydia’s eyes. Both Watchers frowned.

“Yes, he is,” he answered tightly.

Buffy looked between them, wondering how anyone could find reading about some stuffy old Gods so interesting. She decided she’ll never understand Watchers.

***

Note: I know it’s an awkward place to stop, but I just need to get this out before I continue with the plot.

 I have to say, writing a ten year old voice is super hard, since my experience with the age group has seen a very wide range of maturity and intelligence. Some time is going to be spent on Buffy growing up with the Council and their attempts to mold her.

Thanks for reading! J