Corrigendo Tabulam

“You’re here early.” Giles remarks as we reluctantly let Quentin and his entourage inside.

“I thought it best to use the element of surprise to make sure that you didn’t have time to plan any additional subterfuge.”

“Subterfuge?” Giles remarks, arching an eyebrow.

“Considering the conflicting reports, we got from you about your Slayer’s death, and then the report on her resurrection after we discovered for certain that she was dead. I felt it was a necessary action.” He gives a smile, “I’m sure you understand.”

Giles sighs, “Unfortunately.”

Buffy steps out from the kitchen and walks towards them, “Oh believe me.” She says, “I’m back. In the flesh. What stupid and ridiculous tests are you going to try and put me through this time?”

Quentin’s smile is still so annoying. It turns up only on one side and his energy is so…bleurgh strikes me as the appropriately technical term for it. I put my hand on Willow’s arm as a reminder that I’m here and also that she doesn’t need to get involved right now.

“Well,” Quentin continues, “This is Dr. Moffat.” He points to one of the lackies that he hasn’t introduced, “She’s here to do a full physical work up to make sure everything is okay given your untimely and unsanctioned resurrection.” He points to the man on the other side, “and this is Dr. Falschion who is here to go over your psychological wellbeing.”

“Do we really have to put her through all this nonsense?” Giles asks, “Haven’t you already done enough?”

“It’s like you completely forgot our previous conversations.” Buffy remarks, “They weren’t that long ago, and here you are—in my house. Yes, my house,” she continues, “given my mother died last year, not that you bothered to send your condolences.”

Quentin does his best to remain stoic, but there’s a look between the two doctors which I’m not sure if it’s amazement at what is going on between Buffy and Quentin, or at what Buffy is accusing Quentin of. I have no doubts that it’s the truth considering how little the Watchers’ Council seems to think of her despite what she does.

“Nothing to say?” Giles asks, archly.

“Don’t forget you are a retired Watcher at this juncture.” Quentin tells him.

“You’re not though.” Buffy says, “You’re still a Watcher or a Watcher’s Watcher?” she says, “I was never quite clear on the semantics, and Giles was still a Watcher when you found out, and before that so I’m sure you were aware from his diary entries what had happened to me, and then, therefore, what had happened to my sister once my death became apparent and yet you didn’t get in touch with her either, no sorry your sister is dead, sorry you have no one left in your life—”

“Buffy—” Dawn tries but Buffy continues on.

“—sorry, there is no support for you and it’s all our fault. Nothing. You knew I was going to be fighting a literal God with little in the way of actual support, especially considering my job title is ‘Vampire Slayer’ except it’s not really a job is it? I don’t get paid.”

“Being called to be a Vampire Slayer is a sacred duty.” One of the doctors puts in.

“Is it?” she asks, “Really?” she shakes her head, “and who decided it was? From what I can infer talking to the First Slayer she was forced to fight for because people were too scared to do it themselves.”

“We can’t take responsibility for what the forefathers did.” Quentin replies.

“Oh, but you sure take advantage of the consequences.” Willow points out, “just like your council chronically has taken advantage of young women for centuries, and from your age I imagine you’ve seen at least three or four different Slayers, and I bet if they had any family they were screwed over too.”

“We operate pertaining to the rules as written and handed down.” Quentin tries.

“I’m sure the ‘rules as written and handed down’ were never altered along the way.” Buffy remarks, “Look at the Bible.”

“And just because someone has rules doesn’t mean they don’t need to change with the times.” Anya adds, “believe me I know—that I have heard about those things as a perfectly normal human.”

Quentin gives her a sideways look, “What, exactly, is your point?” he says to the room at large.

“This isn’t how I’d intended for us to have this discussion.” Giles says, “but you are the ones who wanted to try and catch us off guard.”

Quentin gives his cohorts a side eye. The sort that says ‘this should be good’ and how beneath him whatever it is might be.

Giles plows on, “In keeping with the modern times that we find ourselves in and the sheer extent to which Buffy has gone for the cause it’s only fair that you compensate her.”

Quentin snorts, “I’m sorry what?”

“Com. Pen. Sation.” Giles repeats.

“You know when you give someone generally something monetary in return for the services they have been offering you.” Anya chimes in.

While they’re talking, I’ve been shuffling the cards.

“We’re not paying that criminal though.” Quentin states.

Buffy doesn’t say anything to that, “I want this pay in writing.” She says, “A signed contract. I’m sure Willow would be happy to let you use her computer to write it with.”

“I would.” Willow agrees.

I feel compelled to flip a card, and it shows the Three of Wands, the next, the Princess of Swords. This deck has Prince and Princesses instead of Pages and Knights.

“What about the third one?” I muse.

“What was that?” Giles asks.

“She said ‘what about the third one?’” Anya repeats.

I turn to look at the rest of them my cheeks heating up.

“Excuse me?” Quentin asks.

Willow comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“This shows three.” I explain, pointing at the card I pulled even though only Willow and Anya can really see, “A fated three tied together; Buffy…uh, Faith and someone else. They’re younger though given they’re a Princess not a Queen, Swords suit, probably darker complexion, serious but spitfire type, always pushing boundaries—butting heads.”

Willow chuckles and I realize it’s because Quentin is changing colors almost as badly as I am. It feels as though there are two hands, one on each shoulder. Willow is only on one side.

I feel a cheek brush against mine from the free side and the lightest of kisses on that side. Proud of you, baby girl.

Thanks, Mom.

“What may or may not be going on with someone else is none of your concern.” Quentin huffs.

“It is if she’s going to show up on my doorstep and bring drama of her own with her like someone we know.” Buffy remarks.

“She will not.” Quentin says, stiffly, “We’ll draw up the paperwork tomorrow.”

“We want that in writing too.” Giles remarks, “and that would be now.” He pauses and says with no pleading whatsoever, but much matter of fact ‘now’ tones, “Please.”

Quentin pulls a notebook from the inner pocket of his tweed jacket and brings it to the table where he sits down and begins printing in all caps, while occasionally glancing at where the two cards are still in front of me.

Giles comes to watch what Quentin is writing, “and life insurance.” He remarks.

“Health insurance too.” Xander adds, “For both of you, and Dawn.”

“This ridiculous country and it’s lack of National Healthcare.” Dr Moffat says.

“I’ll have my secretary find some way to arrange that nonsense.” Quentin grumbles, “We do this, and you will be physically and psychologically evaluated.”

Buffy shrugs, “None of that stupid Japanese instruction, while blind fighting and carrying a dummy. Just normal physical work up.”

The doctors agree before Quentin can say anything. Then he signs the notebook page. Giles signs. Buffy signs and one of the doctors and Anya sign as witnesses.

“I’ll keep that. Thank you.” Giles says and tucks it into his wallet.

I think Quentin lets the doctors leave first purely so he can huff out the door and pull it loudly shut behind him.