Chapter 3
Giles compliments the Shepherd’s Pie though it’s apparently actually Cottage Pie because it’s not made with lamb or mutton.
“Good to know.” I tell him.
I doubt I will ever make the actual one now. I’ve never been able to stomach lamb and Willow has some bad memories associate with mutton from the rare occasions her mother would actually cook.
“It—it is good.” Giles affirms, “I just feel I would lose British points if I didn’t clarify the difference.”
“How many British points do you lose for just living in California?” Dawn asks.
“I’ve been afraid to ask.” He says, “I-I’m sure The Council has various ideas.”
Everyone pulls a face at the mention of The Council. At least they’re paying him again, and he’s getting the back pay. That must really be helping him have funds to put into The Magic Box.
“Do they know?” Dawn asks, quietly. It’s something she’s wondered about to Willow and I but never voiced to Giles before, “I-I mean they must, right? Another Slayer would wake up because—or however it happens.” Tears are burning in her eyes. It is something she’s long needed to ask the person she might actually be able to get answers from about it, “I mean—it’s not like she was getting paid for all the crap she doe—did so they’re not out any money.”
“Would another Slayer show up here?” Willow asks, reaching out to squeeze Dawn’s hand, and I pass the paper towel roll over to her, “I mean they sent Kendra here—though Faith just kinda showed up on her own.”
“Y-yes, well—” Giles takes off his glasses for a moment and cleans them furiously, “Those are all very good questions and Dawn, “he turns to her after putting his glasses back on, “I wish I had an answer on that. I’ve been making my reports about Buffy Bot’s activities, to them, and so far there’s been no glimmer of them reassigning me or telling me I’m retired. Thank God.”
“Why didn’t they pay her?” Dawn asks.
“I suppose because it’s a very ancient and foolish throwback to the fact the Slayer was never paid in the earlier days.” He says, “I mean, back when The Council was founded women were still property.”
“I can’t believe none of us complained or thought about that—” Willow flashes that cute peachy pink shade of embarrassment, “You think we can get her the years of back pay.”
“I-I think that would raise more questions than it would solve at this juncture.” Giles points out, “They’d certainly want to visit before even considering that and Buffy Bot would not fool them.”
He’s unfortunately right. Buffy Bot doesn’t have all that history, especially with Quentin.
“Yes. Short of—short of Buffy coming back from the dead there’s no way to appeal that sort of thing.”
A darkness falls over the table for a moment.
Giles takes off his glasses again, “I-I’m sorry. That was a crass thing to say.”
“You’re right though.” Dawn says, quietly, looking at her lap.
“It’s bull.” Willow says, “Maybe I should just hack them and get her her dues.”
Oh, that’s okay but the stock market isn’t. Okay. Don’t be silly. She’s probably just joking, even if the idea fills me with an odd glee at the vengeance. You’d think with the mortality rate on Slayers they would at least provide life insurance for their families. It would be quite obvious who hacked them though, and they know where Giles lives and works. They probably know this address too.
Dawn is toying with her food now, but the moment is saved by the door bell ringing and the arrival of Anya and Xander. Anya has a box in her arms.
“The Game of Life.” She declares, proudly, “I thought having a copy here might be practical. It’s the best game I’ve ever played.”
“Because you like selling the children for money.” Dawn teases.
“What else is the point?” Anya teases back, “Those little pegs are worth a lot.”
Dawn looks pensive for a moment but then gets distracted by Xander being a goof and also helping himself to a serving of Cottage Pie. He gets scolded as they’re supposed to be on their way out soon.
“I can put it in Tupperware and take it with me.” He suggests.
“Really, Xander?” Anya counters, she sounds a little more terse with him than usual, “We’re going a-slaying, not to the movies. You need hands free for the stakes.”
“Fine.” He mutters, “Can you save it for me for later?”
“You’ve eaten from that plate.” Willow says, “It’s definitely yours.”
I begin clearing plates and take his separately as Buffy Bot hands out weapons to the crew and giving a cheery pep talk. Dawn gives everyone a hug and they set out.
I hear Anya say, “You’re not going to do that creepy mind-talking again, are you?” to Willow.
“It’s the best way to coordinate without advertising to the vampires our maneuvers.” Willow answers as the door closes.
“Do you want to play the Game of Life?” I ask Dawn as she grabs the roll of paper towel to dry dishes as I wash them.
“Not really…” she says, “I’d rather watch and movie and chill.”
“Perfectly acceptable!” I tell her, “You want to browse cable or find a DVD?”
She shrugs. Fair enough.
Eventually she’s yawning and nodding off on the couch so I send her off to bed and follow upstairs. I stay awake to wait for Willow, reading through one of the spell books she’s borrowed from The Magic Box to see if there’s anything good or helpful. A spell that mimics sunlight would be really useful, or more if it summons actual sunlight. I’ve summoned fairy light type things before to guide Willow back to me when she was lost. Sunlight means poofy-dust, or fire…I guess.
Or if I could pull off telekinesis like Willow can do—stake someone with speedily thrown pencils or tree branches. She’s so powerful I’m always in awe of everything she can do, but I’d be lying if I haven’t been getting concerned sometimes.
I realize I’ve fallen asleep when the door jolts me awake and there she is looking flushed but excited.
“We got one.” She says, “Finally.”
“That’s great.”
“Such a rush.” She says, shedding some of her clothing and crawling onto the bed next to me. She flops onto her side, “Whatcha reading?”
I show her the book and explain the sunlight spell hope. She encourages my thoughts and then leans over to kiss my nose and then my mouth, “You’re wearing too many clothes.” She asserts.
“You still have your bottoms on.” I point out.
“I want to worship you.” She says, “That requires access to certain places, and pajama pants deny me.”
I feel my cheeks flushing at the way she phrased that. Sometimes I revert to the mouse I was, when she tells me all the compliments, but then in that we’re similar. I decide to be a brat and make a show of taking off my shirt instead.
She rolls her eyes at me and begins inching my pants off my hips and down my legs but then stops to kiss my chest and above my belly button before teasing one of my breasts, and sliding some of her fingers inside me and wriggling them around a couple of times, as her mouth moves to the other breast. I put my hands on her head and wrap some of her hair around my fingers and massage them against her scalp.
I find myself leaning my head back into the bed as the continues her ministrations adding another finger to the mix as she leaves my breast and starts to move down my body giving me the hint that I should extract my fingers.
She finishes her route down my middle and removes her fingers, replacing them with her tongue, which she licks up my sex, and then plunges inside, as she rubs that little nub with her fingers at the same time, driving me wild. I feel myself ascending and the stars twinkling at the edge of my vision, getting brighter and brighter and brighter until I’m crashing down on the other side.