Title:
For A Good Cause
Chapter
Title: About That Time Again
Author:
Restive Nature
Disclaimer:
I do not own the rights
to BtVS. They belong to Whedon & Mutant Enemy. Nor do I own any
rights to other shows represented through the rest of this fictions.
All shows belong to their respective owners. No infringement is
intended and this fiction is for private enjoyment only.
Rating:
Various, up to R
Chapter
Rating: PG
Genre:
Crossover
Type:
BtVS/ Various
Pairing:
Various
Summary:
When threatened by an old foe not their own, how else can the
combined forces of the Scoobies and the Fang Gang respond? By having
an auction!
Spoilers/
Time line: This is post series for both Buffy and Angel. Other shows
and will be discussed within each chapter that it pertains to.
Feedback:
Always welcome!
Distribution:
Ask first please.
A/N:
This is a response to the Twisting the Hellmouth “The Bachelor/
Bachelorette Challenge.
For
A Good Cause
Chapter
Two
About
That Time Again
There
had been losses. Huge losses, Xander knew. Of course there were going
to be when a battle as large as the one in Los Angeles occurred. An
apocalypse that Angel had jump started it turned out, on a vision
passed on from Cordelia before she went into the light, or whatever
it was that back from the dead seers did when their time was up.
They
had actually kind of won this one, though both Angel and Spike
admitted it wouldn't have happened if Willow and the Slayers hadn't
shown up. Willow, shuddering through the telling, had told Xander in
a private moment, that LA had very much been in danger of being
dragged down to hell. And not Sunnydale go boom with the Hellmouth
kind of way. It would have been a city of millions thrust into the
darkest kind of horrifying nightmare with no idea how to survive.
As,
much to the relief of Xander, Dawn and Andrew, their people started
to filter back, through various methods of transportation, because as
Kennedy had rightly declared, the porting in of such large groups and
then the fight had drained Willow too badly to use that method any
time again soon. The others had been in vehement agreement. And so
some flew, some drove, some bussed it, but they were all back,
gathered together on the Cleveland Hellmouth, in the large house that
Giles had managed to snag through an auction when the house was
repossessed by the bank for mortgage payments that hadn't been made.
It certainly wasn't large enough for all their needs, but it served
as a base of operations for whatever slayer was monitoring the
Hellmouth.
Andrew
had been happily employed in the week that it took to get everyone
back, cooking, feeding, tending to wounds that had, for the most
part, already healed. Xander and Dawn had the more important task of
tending to the wounds that weren't visible to the naked eye, helping
those slayers that experienced their first apocalypse, to deal with
the losses of civilians, sister slayers and other good people.
Of
course the trio left behind in Cleveland had been inordinately
relieved that they hadn't lost any of their people, but there had
been a palpable grief when they learned that Wesley had been lost
prior to the battle. The God-King that had once been Winifred Burkle,
was still swearing lusty bloodthirsty vengeance on the demons that
had gotten away from her at Willow and the Slayers interference.
Xander couldn't help but count themselves lucky that she hadn't
blamed her lack of carnage on them instead.
And
now, with everyone gathered in the 'war' room, the Vampires, Slayers
and other key players were trying to work out how to handle things
now. But Xander could see that it was too much for them. They had
just come through the apocalypse and needed to de-stress, not immerse
themselves in the logistics of dealing with the fallout. To that end,
he'd directed Andrew to return to the kitchen and come up with some
finger foods, since the young man had been disappointed that no one
was ready for the gourmet meals he had whipped up. Experience had
taught Xander that people were more likely to eat if it just happened
to be there and just a little at a time. That's why snackage always
disappeared so fast, whereas meals were only picked at.
It
also got him out of the vicinity when Xander pulled out his other
distraction technique. The urn that he had brought back with him from
Australia. He and Dawn had had a good look at it in the light of day
while they were waiting for word of... well, anything. Both had
agreed that there was something off about it and there was a demonic
language of some kind that Dawn couldn't make out. Nor was she able
to match it to her books that she had available. She thought that
there might be something in one of the libraries that Giles had
stashed in certain areas of his life. Like his home in Bath, or Rome
or wherever his other allies might be that he didn't discuss with the
“children”. They had discussed the idea of Andrew looking it
over, but when Dawn had approached him with the sympbols she had
painstakingly copied out, the young man hadn't recognized it. He had
promised to look in a few areas of references tools that he had, but
so far nothing had come up that matched.
There
were a near consensus of dispirited heads drooping as people slumped
into their chairs around the round table that they had taken to
meeting at. Xander suppressed a smile when he realized that things
had kind of evolved to us and them mentality again. Angel, Spike, the
man known mostly as just Gunn and their pet God-King Illyria sat
huddled together, while the Sunnydale alum were seated together. For
the most part.
He
pushed the door shut behind him, carefully cradling the urn like on
would a baby, before settling it in the center of the table. “And I
say, voila,” he offered, gesturing to the artifact before him.
“Huh?”
Buffy grunted, raising her head just slightly from where it was
resting on her arm.
“That's
the thing I was telling you about last night,” Dawn supplied
helpfully, sitting next to her sister and studiously avoiding looking
at Spike. She still wasn't over Spike not contacting her, even if he
couldn't bring himself to talk to Buffy. “You know,” she
prompted. “The urn that was giving Xander the freaky vibes.”
“Urgh,
urn, right,” Buffy sighed and blinked her eyes tiredly. She turned
to regard one of her oldest friends dejectedly. “Do we have to do
this now?”
“Nah,
not really Buff,” Xander smiled as he took a seat available next to
Willow, but leaning forward so that he could see the blond. “Just
thought I'd bring it around in case anyone was interested. Better to
be safe than sorry, right?”
“Was
there any reason that you thought this was important?” Giles asked
as he retrieved his glasses from the table where he had dropped them
and easily replacing them on his face.
“Not
sure,” Xander shrugged. “The Aboriginal tribe elders were wary of
it. And there's some writing.”
“We
thought that if there was a timetable on it,” Dawn offered
helpfully, “it might help to know it before it went kablooey.”
There
were grimaces all around at her word and when she looked puzzled,
Illyria made a sort of grimacing smile. “I believe they are
reminded of the weak natures of their digestive organ that made
itself known when the dragon which we battled was destroyed in an
explosive manner, raining it's viscera upon our heads in a bloody
shower, the likes of which I have not seen since-!”
Her
steadily growing enrapture with the demise of the dragon that Dawn
and Xander had already heard about was cut off from many quarters
with gags and protests before the God-king went silent, with a cool,
arched eyebrow.
After
a long moment as the main occupants of the room regarded one another,
Giles cleared his throat once more. He reached for the urn and pulled
it closer to himself. Peering intently at the piece of pottery, he
then inhaled and blew softly over the surface. There were small puffs
of dust rising up from where it had collected in the lines of carving
that had been etched into the surface. He glanced up once at Xander,
still sort of hovering behind in his chair, uncertain about having
sat down.
“How
did you manage to get this through customs?” he wondered aloud and
Xander shrugged, finally settling in fully.
“Special
dispensation from the aboriginal tribe leaders,” he explained
quickly. “From what I was told, normally people aren't allowed to
remove treasures, national or otherwise from Australian soil.”
“Which
is true of most countries,” Giles nodded, the British curator in
him rising to the surface.
“But
since the aborigines are a first culture,” Xander went on, moving
his legs restlessly, thus causing the rolling chair that he'd chosen,
to mimc that agitation, “they have a system of governing
themselves.” He allowed himself a grin. “They don't really have a
policy of allowing other people to take their treasures. But from
what the chief told me, they don't want
this urn around. So they told the customs officials that they had
chosen an organization to study the artifact and after we've made our
report on the findings of what it all means, then we'll be returning
the artifact to it's native soil.” He allowed his lips to soften
into an amused grin. “Of course, what King George didn't say, was
that he could care less if our study over this thing lasts a hundred
years or more.”
“They bought all that?”
Dawn chuckled, not having heard the story yet, since it hadn't even
occurred to her that there could be trouble transporting the thing.
Xander nodded.
“Governments,
particularly politicians like to step carefully around Native
peoples,” Angel noted tiredly and when he put it in that
perspective, Dawn nodded in understanding.
“So do we know what we
want to do with it first?” Willow asked as she, even with her body
slanted sideways to rest at the table, reached one arm out to point
at the urn. She glanced back at Dawn and Xander. “Have you guys
done anything?” she asked quickly, looking just slightly worried.
Both of the pair in question shook their heads.
“Just looked at it,”
Xander sighed, partly in relief. As he had hoped, interest in this
minor matter was picking up.
“I was thinking about
cleaning it,” Dawn piped up and glances around the table flew to
her. “With that kit that you got me,” she explained, directing
herself to Giles, who had allowed her use of his old museum kit. “But
I wasn't sure where to start and Xander said it'd probably be better
to practice on something that was um, not valued.”
“Quite right,” Giles
smirked and winked at Xander. First time in a while, but Xander felt
almost accepted as a thoughtful adult in his own right under the
man's eyes. “Well, if you're interested in that venue,” he had
turned back to Dawn, “I can certainly provide you with instruction
and practice pieces.”
“Cool,” Dawn breathed
out. “But um, still, should I get the kit? There might be more
writing under some of the dirt on that one side.”
“Dirt?” Giles asked
as he began to carefully turn the urn in his hands to see where Dawn
was indicating. The others leaned in a little to see as well, as Dawn
very carefully set her finger against one area, not as smooth as the
others and carefully ran her finger along it. A small spate of fine
red clay crumbled away and Dawn quickly retracted her hand, glancing
guiltily up at their friend and mentor. “Oh yes, I see,” Giles
nodded as he peered closely. “It does appear that there is some
discoloration there that does not match the viable material the urn
seems to be made with. Very good Dawn.”
The compliment allowed
the teen to breath a sigh of relief that she hadn't broken away
something that might be part of the urn, or important in and of
itself. Xander, feeling an antsy sort of clenching in his gut, pushed
away from the table. He held up his hand to volunteer himself. “I'll
go get the kit. I wanted to check on Andrew anyway.”
“Yeah, it's about grub
time, ain't it?” Faith piped up. She'd been curled up in her chair,
knees drawn up, situated in a seat that was between the two camps of
groups. Xander knew from the little he'd overheard elsewhere that
Faith was actually taking Wes' death pretty hard. Considering that
the man had been her Watcher, along with Buffy's for a time, and that
she had kidnapped and tortured the guy, who had then later broken her
out of prison, then died before she could redeem herself totally in
his eyes... Yeah, Xander could only imagine the wrath that Faith had
dealt on the other guy. And knowing how Slayers operated well enough
by now, figured she had turned that rage inwards. So hearing anything
from her, even as quiet as it was, he counted as a good sign.
“Yeah,” he nodded his
agreement. “I'll send him up with whatever he's got. Dawn, where's
the kit at?”
“In the downstairs
study,” Dawn was thoughtful for a moment. “I think I left it in
the desk. But uh... if it's not there, look on the book shelves.”
“Study,
desk or shelves,” Xander repeated as he
headed out with what he hoped was a reassuring grin. He made his
first stop the kitchen, as promised to the others, to check in on
Andrew, who was happily arranging several trays.
“Ah, Xander,” he
smiled, glancing up as he realized that he finally had some company
in his domain. “Here for the party trays?”
“Actually,” Xander
gestured over his shoulder with this thumb. “Just checking to see
if you were ready to go. I've got to grab a kit from the library. Why
don't you take a small tray up and see if you can get some help.”
“Roger Wilco,” Andrew
snapped off a salute that was mitigated from it's seriousness by the
fact that he was wearing a floppy white chef's hat, neon orange apron
with an alien being from some show Xander wasn't familiar with,
airbrushed on it and a hideously clashing purple oven mitt.
“Uh huh,” he sighed
as he watched the potential disaster in the making as typically,
Andrew tried to grab the largest of the trays. With a defeated sigh,
Xander stepped forward and gently pulled the tray from his hands,
where it was already slipping, and settled it back on the counter.
“Seriously Andrew, don't want all your hard work to go to waste if
there was an accident. They girls won't mind helping. They're finally
getting hungry.”
“Right,” Andrew
nodded. “That would be a tragedy.” Taking Xander's advice he
turned instead to a small fruit platter he had made up and counting
silently, but with lips
moving, added a few more clusters of
green and red grapes before stepping out from behind the island
counter.
Xander, sure that Andrew
was on the correct path now, turned and followed the younger man out
of the kitchen. But as Andrew moved off to the staircase, he turned
the other way to get to the library. Unfortunately, the kit he was to
retrieve was in neither of the specific places Dawn had mentioned and
Xander was forced to search the desk. For the life of him, he could
not remember just how big the kit was, which would have helped,
because then Xander could cut some of the locations by knowing that
the kit wouldn't fit.
It took perhaps ten
minutes before he located it, half wedged under the sofa and only
found it because he stubbed his toe on it. Grimacing at the minor
pain, Xander scooped the kit up, flipping the latch up with his thumb
to make sure he hadn't disrupted the contents. They seemed fine to
him. Little miniatures of tools that he had been working with for the
last several years.
Also unfortunately, the
moment he exited the library, the yelling began. With a groan, Xander
knew exactly where it was coming from and what he feared happening
had probably happened. Determined to help, he jogged up the stairs,
taking several at a time. There was yelling, Andrew's name and the
lanky reformed demon summoner denying that he had done it, or at
least he had not meant to. There was a howling sound, like going
through a wind tunnel and flashing lights could be seen from under
the door. Determined to find out what in hell was going on, Xander
threw himself to the door, but it was locked, or jammed or something,
because for all his pounding and yelling of his friend's names, he
couldn't get in. This all, along with an eerie laughter that Xander
was quite sure didn't belong to any of his friends unless Angel was
maybe channeling some hell beast, took another few minutes before
everything finally quieted and the door seemed to open of it's own
accord.
Xander pushed the door
further in and cautiously peered around the gaping opening.
Everything was almost as he had left it, except Andrew was now
cowering in the corner while all eyes were turned to him angrily. The
fruit plate he had brought with him was in disarray and as Xander
caught sight of the rest, he groaned.
“If there was one
thing,” he muttered as he pushed the door wide, “one thing! Don't
break the urn. Don't touch the urn. Don't let Andrew near the urn.
Who let Andrew near the urn?!” he yelled, when no one seemed to
notice his arrival. It was then that all fingers in the room pointed
in unison.
Directly at him.
Xander's eyes widened at
the room wide accusation and the resigned sighs from the majority of
people present. Well he knew what that meant.
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