18Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc., not me.
Rating: T (moderate language)
Number: 4/?
Summary: …Well, at least he got further than Oxnard – and decided to linger a little while he was at it.
While I'm here, I'd like to thank Starway Man (yea the mind ticketh over - and yes, he did stop at Oxnard, at least for a short while; as for Cordelia, Doyle etc., see the next chapter when it's posted), aizen the III, DragonGod926 (gotta admit, mind's going in something like that direction), NarutosBrat (little far off, but we'll see), 'Emelan' and poorasdirt (some decent ideas there, thanks!) for their reviews. It's my hope that this next instalment is to your entertainment.
Timeframe: approx. BtVS S4Ep1, 'The Freshman'
Pairings: Buffy/Angel (Willow/Oz, Giles/Olivia)
Feedback: very much appreciated!
Tangent Stage Left: Graduating Divergence, Part IV / Letters I
—ox-oxo-xo—
Bill, junk, junk, bill, junk, restaurant menu, junk, junk… The regulation mail sorted, Rupert discarded the dross, placed the bills aside and opened the other, somewhat larger item.
Upon examination of the untidy scrawl fronting the four letters, he knew who had sent him the bulky manila envelope that had contained them. Although, the fact that said letters had been labelled G-Dawg (he winced), Buffster, Wills and The Scoobies would have provided a clue in any case.
It was not the first time that Xander had sent him mail to be delivered to the others, presumably in the interest of conserving his limited travel funds (which, sadly, had become rather more limited after having to replace his first car when the engine had fallen out of it a mile or thereabouts from a nearby town). That he was sending letters in such a way as opposed to postcards – and, upon rechecking the envelope, that he had sent them from what sounded like a homeless shelter in the vicinity of Los Angeles – indicated that something had happened to change his status. Rupert hoped that whatever the issue was would not intrude overmuch upon current local matters, given that with the end of the summer months the Hellmouth was likely gearing to enter its next phase of heightened activity.
But then, this mystery could be solved by simply reading the boy's latest missive. Sipping his cup of rather good tea (a much-cherished gift, from a high-quality selection that Olivia had come bearing in hand upon her arrival), he cracked the smaller envelope addressed to him and began to do so, noting in passing that the handful of papers had been printed instead of written by hand.
Dear Giles,
(dear, dear Giles, you splendid old chap you!)
He indulged in an eyeroll, given that no-one was there to disparage this.
Great news – I finally decided to stop moving around for a while, so now you and the others can write back! And, I can get to a phone now – the number's at the bottom. Sure, it's to a homeless shelter, but there's an interesting story behind that. See, the woman who more-or-less runs the place at the moment, what with her bosses not wanting to be seen in the neighbourhood? She's actually an old face from Sunnydale. She's got this thing about telling anybody her real name, but if you run into Buffy, tell her 'Anne Steele' says Hi and thanks again for the helping hand.
…Well. Rupert's brow smoothed, at least as much as it might. He would have to call Xander at some point to enquire more closely concerning the matter, assuming that further details had not been enclosed within the letter.
Huh. I just noticed. I just wrote – IF you run into Buffy. I wonder why…
And up went the eyebrows. Certainly Rupert had suffered (at least, for a certain value of the word) a decreased amount of contact with his former charge and her associates, but as far as he had figured, this had not translated into problems so far. Had it?
…Okay, I'm back. Sorry about that, I just had to think about it, and deal with something else that came up. So now there's three more letters, and I'll have to get a bigger envelope to put them all in. Weird, I started this one first, and now it's the last one left to finish.
Rupert sighed. Yet another illustration of the fact that no-one had ever taught Xander how to write a letter properly. Bloody uncultured colonials…
And now to explain the IF thing. Because if I had to guess – and don't get me wrong, I really hope I'm worrying about nothing here, and feel free to ignore this bit if I am – but, I'd say she and Willow and Oz are all making with the Giles-avoidance right now. Probably don't even realise they're doing it, either.
Dear lord, could that truly be the case? For it had long ago occurred to him that, for all that Xander was far from a shining light of applied wisdom and intelligence, he had long prided himself on knowing his friends.
It makes sense, really. I mean, we did just finish off high school with a bang. And now, it's a brand new start in college for the New Scoobies – which sounds kinda bitter now that I read that back, but what the hell. Cause hey, not like we're going to college is it?
There's a thought, Giles. How hard would it be for you to get a job there?
It was worth a thought, Giles conceded. Or rather, it had been worth a thought. Rupert had in fact looked into the possibility, but the structured, mundane nature of the University of California's hiring requirements tended to make employment in their academic ranks difficult to procure, apart of course from the admittedly oft-utilised 'dead men's shoes' rule (in Sunnydale, at least) or intercession from outside sources. And U.C. Sunnydale's head librarian had held the role for over ten years, with no sign of relinquishing the position by death, retirement or otherwise. Ah, the joys of tenure…
Willow's always been the kind of girl to jump into things headfirst – school, computers and magic just for instance. It was always going to take a while for her to poke her head out and take a look around to see what she's missed. Throw Oz into the mix, and – you probably got my point by now.
He took a longer sip at his tea and thought about this. If Xander's surmise was accurate – and he had to admit, it did indeed make a lot of sense – then this did not bode well for her long-term chances at controlling her increasingly powerful array of magics if she were to continue eschewing the guidance of older and wiser heads. This would bear keeping a closer eye upon.
And Buffy… Honestly, it's her I'm worried about here.
See, ever since she came to Sunnydale she's had the problem of being the Slayer when it comes to her social life – especially when you add Sunnydale Syndrome to that. Buff's a social kinda gal, she needs friends. But usually the way you make friends is by doing the same things together.
So what does Buffy do? She Slays, and she goes to college. But it's not that simple, is it? Because the folks she meets when she Slays – well, she tends to Slay them. Or rescue them by Slaying – which doesn't help much either, what with the way they tend to wanna run away and forget they ever needed rescuing afterwards.
And with the college – well. She's still the Slayer even when she goes to college. The same Slayer who never exactly made friends hand over fist back in Hellmouth High. The same Slayer who knew that at least high school was something she'd had practice dealing with – but now she's in college and her life just got more complicated and confusing, which does NOT a happy Buffy make as we all know. And worse – the same Slayer who, in the back of her mind somewhere even though she tries not to think about it, just KNOWS that she's not going to live long enough to finish college, let alone get a shiny new career out of it.
So who does Buffy the Vampire Slayer wanna go to? The people who know what it's like, both sides of the coin. So that cuts Xander-the-townie out, even if I was there anyway.
Rupert nodded pensively, taking another sip. Right there, stated straight out for once, was the reason why Xander had taken so long to return from his road trip – indeed, why it now appeared as though he may well hold no intention of ever returning, though his recent return to California at least did weigh against this. The boy lived for his friends and the chance to make a difference – if he could see no path forward in Sunnydale other than to grow increasingly irrelevant to both, then why would he wish to return?
He had hoped somewhat that the prodigal Xander might change his mind and return after what previous letters had clearly illustrated to be a desperately necessary need of downtime. Alas, it appeared as though his unstated preference to remove himself from temptation to intrude remained steadfast – which was truly a pity, as a few…surprisingly civil conversations with Angel had subsequently served to alert Rupert to a number of matters which one Alexander Harris had felt forced to deal with or otherwise live with, without any of his friends ever really noticing or thinking further upon.
It was a sad corollary of the nature of hunting demons that to excel in the business was to pass without undue notice to anyone – whether those that one hunted or those whom one kept safe. After all, the very goal of battling the darkness was to keep it from encroaching into the light of day, and thus to allow billions of relatively innocent humans to rest easy at night secure in the illusion that, for all the evils humanity itself was capable of, for all of nature's uncaring capriciousness, there was at least nothing worse to fear.
It was most certainly debatable whether Xander had ever intended it in the light of professionalism (or indeed in any other way), but the long-term, cumulative effect of a number of stated opinions and decisions on all sides had clearly led Xander to adopt a habit of understating or even neglecting to mention many of his less obvious trials and successes to anyone, whether ally or foe. And while that self-deprecation and secrecy had certainly paid dividends in the form of a number of solid contributions to the overall goal of keeping Sunnydale's human residents safer, it had also led to a decreased worth in the eyes of his compatriots, most of whom had never even realised that said contributions were made, let alone who made them.
Xander had survived, not only because of his allies, but because he had been consistently underestimated by his enemies. But the price he had paid for it was in the form of his allies underestimating him just as consistently, with the single possible exception of Angel. Even Rupert Giles had predominantly failed to spot the boy's potential until the very end of his period of schooling, and the ex-Watcher could only take comfort in the fact that Xander had at least opened up a little – to Rupert, if no-one else – once he had left Sunnydale.
The paragraph continued: It cuts out the family, too, you and Joyce – cause, you know, you're all old and stuff. (He snorted.) But then, that kinda cuts out Willow and Oz and even Angel, too. Because sure, they can Slay – but they're still not the Slayer. And they're her friends too, so she won't want to worry them. I admit, it might not be so bad with Angel – but then, if he's got nothing to do with college then there's only so much he can say about it.
So. Add that all up, and apply it to a girl who has been known to suffer the occasional deathwish (the prophecy, the assassins and trying to make herself Angel-slurpie just to start with), and you can maybe see why I'm sweating here.
Rupert put the letter down carefully, making absolutely certain that his hands did not shake, and went back to finishing his tea. Relaxation was suddenly a commodity he found himself in some need of which to partake.
Xander's view of events had some holes, certainly; the fact of his distance could not but ensure this, as well as his lack of the wisdom that came with decades of adulthood. However, applying that wisdom and contextual knowledge to the hypothesised situation for the most part tended to supplement Xander's surmise rather than discredit it.
One did not need a degree in psychology to understand that by and large, people needed to have a field of expertise, be it a vocation or simply a hobby, which could set them apart from the peers they spent the most time with – not merely to occupy themselves when they weren't in the company of said peers, but also to facilitate time spent in the company of others outside their standard group of compatriots. In short, cultivating more than one circle of friends was required, if for no other reason than to avoid the Shakespearian axiom regarding familiarity and its tendency to breed contempt – not to mention in this case the ongoing benefits of a balanced perspective in maintaining a more…mundane interest outside of the group's vigilante activities. And so, for instance, Oz had his music (as indeed did Rupert nowadays, albeit in different demographics), Joyce had her gallery, and Angel had his literature.
Yet, this process in itself came with its own inherent flaws and risks, particularly when the principle was applied to their common circle of interest – as indeed did taking the choice not to avail oneself of that process. Whilst Joyce was nowadays devoting more time to the gallery, she had confided to missing the increasingly infrequent presence of her daughter. Rupert most certainly enjoyed his times with Olivia and the coffee club clientele, but this did not stop him from wondering if the children were not somewhat correct in regarding his current situation as akin to a 'midlife crisis', which most likely did not bode well for his happiness should he continue to indulge in it for much longer.
As for Angel (who had elected to keep his moniker, and actually chose to utilise Xander's backstory of 'a folly of my youth, also involving large amounts of intoxicants and a tattoo artist', or a paraphrase of such at least, as an explanation to the curious), the ex-vampiric private investigator had also admitted to having his own problems as a part-time literary tutor… Though to be fair, a goodly part of this seemed to be derived from having to fend away the advances of several admiring young ladies among his clientele, along with the inevitable blowback that would result when Buffy learned of those advances.
(When Rupert was told of this, he had not even bothered to suppress the smirk. While his more serious issues with the man who lived with the memories of snapping Janna Kalderash's neck had faded with time and tan, he did remain perfectly content to watch Angel suffer in minor ways…)
It was in the others that the dangers became obvious. Oz's decision to continue sidelining true research into his lycanthropy, Rupert felt, had the potential to prove recklessly detrimental to his life in the long-term. And on the other extreme, Xander's decision to forsake his own future prospects in favour of the fight had eventually painted him into a corner, clearly leaving him feeling as though climbing out the window and exiting the house altogether was left as his last recourse. Willow's field of expertise – at least, the one which could not be shared with her paramour – was, of course, magic; he had already identified the dangers there.
When it came to Buffy, he would confess to being somewhat torn. Her range of possible interests could be condensed to read: Slaying, college, Angel, family, and he supposed fashion. Or rather, Slaying, college, and Angel, given that she had moved out of home and was no doubt undergoing the traditional steps in distancing oneself from immediate family as part of entering adulthood – and as part of this, was doubtless suffering under the financial constraints of her change in lifestyle.
Or rather, college and Angel, given that he would readily admit that for Buffy, being a Slayer had never truly been an interest. At best she would classify it as a form of stress relief, at worst as an onerous, constantly repeated exercise in thankless drudgery (or at least words to that effect).
If Buffy found that she had problems dealing with the rigours of college – a theory that Rupert could not help but admit the possibility thereof, much as he might protest otherwise should Buffy ever ask – then Angel did stand as a hefty mitigating factor. The question would then become 'to what extent', along with 'how long might it remain effective'.
Angel himself still clearly had a long path to walk before he could truly put the centuries-long tribulations of his past behind him. It was surely far from easy to discard the solitary habits of the spiritually restrained vampire he had been; once the… afterglow of his change of status had begun to sink in for him, Angel had confided to finding it an uphill struggle not to fall back into the behavioural patterns that he had unthinkingly followed for lifetimes – and not just the depressive patterns of Angel's unlife in the gutter, but the altogether more destructive patterns of Angelus, a monster who had viewed the most depraved acts of torture and murder as but an enjoyable pastime and art-form.
Not that this was necessarily a negative, as far as his Slayer went. Angel's intimate knowledge of the murderer's mindset had made him a valuable asset to both the fight against the supernatural, as well as the police departments of not just Sunnydale, but an appreciable and increasing portion of California. And if nothing else, attempting to entreat Angel to follow along the path of humanity and its romantic nuances had been a habit of hers for some years now. It could perhaps even be considered a support of stability in Buffy's life – provided that the pair handled it in something approaching a sensible fashion…
The former Watcher brewed another cuppa and ruminated over the matter. He eventually came to the decision that he had few if any proactive measures at his disposal, but that he was far from helpless when it came to other options. However, given that Xander had apparently gone to the effort of not only thinking the issue over but additionally writing three more letters, Rupert did wonder if Xander had his own advice, and whether it might be applicable to the situation.
And more to the point, why you might not have seen her much.
Am I wrong? I hope I'm wrong.
Well, hopefully it shouldn't matter whether or not I am wrong, at least when it comes to what I'd suggest you doing. The first thing: Buffy's probably not gonna WANT to come to you. But, sooner or later she'll HAVE to, what with you being the one with the dusty old books that make the plans of goodness.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Did Xander perhaps suffer under some compulsion to communicate in such a nigh-indecipherable fashion?
And when she does, just remember – you might not be her Watcher or her Dad, but you're still close enough to both to break out the Voice of Authority and have it stick. Which leads to the second thing: spend more time with Joyce. The Voice of Authority goes far better when it's in stereo. You should spend more time with Joyce anyway, she's probably feeling lonesome.
…and now with the disturbing mental images. Just to point out, I did NOT mean it to sound THAT way.
(…Cause what's the fun in that if I can't watch your reaction?)
Rupert couldn't help but chuckle at that.
Now, this leads to the other letters.
The one for The Scoobies? That's my Last Will and Testament you've got there. Put it somewhere you won't lose it, willya? If I ever get around to needing another one, I'll give you a heads-up.
Notice how the ones for Buffy and Willow are still open? There's a few postcards in there. If you could drop those off, I'd be grateful. My number's on them, so they can call if they want to catch up. Or, you know, in the highly unlikely event that they need me for anything. (Hmm, more bitterness… Oh well.)
As for their letters?
Honestly, now that I think about it, I'm not really sure about them. Probably not for them to read – unless I was right in all that ranting above, in which case I'll make it YOUR call. That's right, I want you to read them first, and if the time ever seems right, give it to them then. But seriously, please – make it count? I've just got this feeling, like it might be one bridge too far…
So anyway, do your best up there and drop me a line sometime. I'd like to hear from you all.
Sincerely,
Xander
All right, now Rupert Giles' curiosity was piqued.
He pulled out first Buffy's, and then Willow's correspondence, putting aside the predictably tacky postcards. Then since he had Willow's letter to hand first, he spent a few minutes frowning over it with increasing worry while finishing his tea. Soon thereafter, Olivia returned from the mall, and his time was thus occupied for several hours with lunch and Olivia.
—ox-oxo-xo—
It was her casual inquiry after the letters that still littered his coffee table that prompted him to finish reading Buffy's letter – at which point he later considered it quite fortunate that there had not been a beverage to hand, for it would surely have ended up drenching said letter. At the time, however, he had no time for such thoughts – because instead he was scrabbling for the telephone, and then scrabbling for the nearest missive with the shelter's number on it.
He was rewarded, after a very brief conversation with a young woman on the other end of the line, with a sardonic, amused chuckle from the author of said letter.
"So, I'm guessin' you just read the letter to Buffy, huh?"
A great deal of spluttering subsequently ensued. Just like old times…
Xander Harris hung up the phone with another chuckle and a slight wince for jogging his ribs. It had been good to hear Giles' voice…that, and it was surprisingly fun to rile him up from a safe distance.
"He sounded worried, Xander," Annie chided him. But he could see her eyes dancing with humour, so he let it pass.
"Yeah, I guess that's what happens when I go join a street gang and take out a big ol' vamp's nest." He paused, scratching his chin. "Maybe I should've sent the will later…? Nah, better they have it in case they need it."
It had been a good week, as far as Xander was concerned – definitely not as boring as bits of his road trip had been. He'd run over a vamp in his car while passing through the area (read: lost), the girl he'd saved in doing so had directed him here for the night, he'd recognised 'Anne' (or 'Chanterelle', or 'Lily' or whatever her real name was) and run into Gunn and his 'Lost Boys' when they came to visit, got to comparing notes…and damn it was nice that there were other 'normal people' out and about fighting the good fight.
Even better, the comparing of notes had led to an idea, then a plan, and a few days ago most of the biggest thorn in the Lost Boys' sides had been wiped out in the space of two bright and sunny hours. They'd taken out a master-level vampire (if a low-level one), all but a few of what's-his-name's nest, and there hadn't even been a single permanent loss.
And best of all, when the last surviving vamps had fled into the sewers, they got to loot the place. Even after the split, by the time the rest of the loot was hocked there was a good three thousand dollars with his name on it.
After he had the chance to rest up some more, he was looking forward to a good long talk with one Charles Gunn and his sister. The gang had taken one hell of a payday, but as they were now, chances were that feeding all those mouths would eat it away inside of weeks – and even then, 'stolen goods' could be traced far more easily in LA, so it wasn't something the gang could repeat all that often. They needed to get themselves set up and raking in some more regular cash-flow, if he could convince them. And for that he had another idea, which could just lead to another plan…
A plan that would need him to return to Sunnydale, at least kind of. But also an idea that gave him a reason to return.
But there was no big rush. Right now, he was still on vacation. Okay, maybe with a little work tossed in – but did everyone back in Sunnyhell really think he could walk away from the fight like that? And besides, for all the danger and stress, it really was a worthwhile job when you didn't have to do it alone.
Next: Thanksgiving, and maybe Buffy's Letter…we'll see when I write it…