Chapter Five

Buffy tossed a stake end over end in the air, catching it neatly at each plummet down.  She was also seated on top of the dining room table, her sneaker-clad feet resting on a chair.  These habits irritated Wesley no end, she knew, but tonight he wasn't vocalizing his displeasure.  He'd shot several stiff glances at her, but somehow refrained from comment.  His sole conversation to her, after inquiring about her health, consisted of a long-winded report on his previous evening's patrol.

After he wound down, she waited a few moments, then said, "So, basically, it was a little vamp.  You staked it.  End of story."

He sniffed.  "Really, Miss Summers, even a 'little' vampire can be a problem as far as the general populace is concerned."

Buffy eyed him in his honour-guard straight-backed position by the fireplace.  "Wes, is it possible for you to *not* stand at attention?  Every once in a while, anyway?"

"Proper posture separates us from the animals."

Buffy continued flipping the stake as she tried to imagine he and Willow together.  Eventually she gave it up.  She could get as far as the two of them in the same room, but the rest of the image wouldn't come.  "Aren't you going to inquire about my vacation?"

"You said you were well."

"Thanks for taking an interest."

Wesley fumbled for something to say.  "I, ah, wish it hadn't been cut short."

"I can always try again."

"Of course.  Just the matter of a small demon infestation to take care of first and then, certainly---"

"Willow and I could go back to the beach," Buffy interrupted.  She studied him out of her corner of her eye as she added, "There were all these gorgeous hunks by the water, we're talking double figures here, but Willow insisted on wearing this huge one piece bathing suit which covered almost everything.  Now I saw this lovely teeny bikini that would be perfect for her.  A beautiful wine-coloured one with a strapless bra that would come just over her---"

"Is this really pertinent?" he asked, but she'd caught the twitch under his collar.

Hiding a smile, Buffy continued, "Wes, a man's opinion might make all the difference as to whether or not I could actually get Willow to wear it.  *I* think she would look ravishing in it.  The bottom piece is only held together by these little rings and the legs are cut just at….."  She made a gesture as if to illustrate but he abruptly whirled to the mantle and straightened a knick-knack.

"Yes, well, I'm, ah, sure Miss Rosenberg will purchase whatever suit she feels most comfortable with.  Now, the location of this infestation is---"

"You told me already."

"And you'll need a---"

"Got it."  She held up her stake.

"I was going to say, another one, in case---"

"You're worried about me?"

"I am attempting to ascertain whether you're properly prepared."

"Preparation.  I remember.  Your one key word repeated three times."

Wesley looked at her in trepidation, not knowing what to make of her attitude tonight.  "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"I'm fine."

Buffy hopped off the table and was at the door when he said, "I rather think a second stake is in order."

She sighed.  "You said it was a small nest."

"Overconfidence is not a virtue, Miss Summers."

She glared at him as she left, and he blinked in dismay under it.  Surely it was not unreasonable a request to take more than a single weapon.  Had she been this truculent when Giles undertook training her, he wondered?  Giles' early journal entries were vague on the subject of the Slayer's attitude, other than strange references to 'teenage girl illogic', and Wesley had come to the conclusion that Giles had been overwhelmed by the job in the beginning.  There was some slight mention of attitude in Mr. Merrick's journal, but that Watcher had been, Wesley knew, quite pro-Slayer.  It would have taken a concerted effort on Buffy's part to get much of a negative mention at all from her first Watcher.

Wesley poured himself a sherry and carried it into his study.  He'd had a phone call this morning from a friend in London, a Watcher in training, who'd wondered why he was still in California.  It was one of those innocent questions that have no answer, the kind that bring on a defensive resentment.

"That Slayer's not the only stubborn one," his friend had joked, "and if she doesn't want you around, why bother?"  The conversation stalled on that note.

Wesley had never thought of himself as stubborn.  In fact, he felt he'd often gone the other way, bending back and forth like a reed in a gale to please the whims of his father and various instructors.

So, why bother, indeed.  There were others besides the Slayer, others whose knowledge put them in the line of fire.  He had no illusions about his 'ability' in battle, but he had other ways to protect and give aid.  And he could worry.  As it turned out, worrying was something at which he now excelled.

Two hours later, Buffy had not checked in and there was no answer at her home.  Cursing apprehensively, more at himself for not going with her than at her, he picked up a stake and got into his car.

The grocery store that housed the small den of demons was completely dark, and Wesley entered cautiously, swinging his flashlight around the room with one hand while holding the stake with the other.  Pieces of furniture loomed up in the bouncing light, stopping his heart until he figured out what they were.  After making sure he was alone, Wesley examined the floor and found ash but, thankfully, no blood.

He sighed as he returned to his car.  After checking for messages on his cell phone, he called Buffy's house once more, then his, then closed the phone and sat for some time, tapping his fingers angrily on the steering wheel.

He could go to the Bronze, though the idea didn't appeal to him.  His age made it awkward for him in there, and the bouncers at the door did not respond to requests from a man in the alley that they go looking inside for a particular girl.  However, he suddenly brightened, someone could go into the Bronze and look for him.

He started his car and drove to the Rosenberg house.

---

Willow peeked at Wesley while he drove, then quickly turned her eyes back out the window when she thought he'd noticed her slight shift.  She didn't know what to say without a phone in between them.  Apparently neither did he, apart from an awkward greeting at her door and a barrelled-out explanation of a missing Slayer.

She settled back in the plush interior of her seat before realizing just how plush it was.  She glanced around the interior of the car at an amazing number of gadgets lit by the green glow of the dashboard, and ran her hands over her seat cover.  "This is…..very nice."

When he glanced over, she added quickly, "The car.  It's…..what kind of car is it?"

"A ninety-nine Lancia Y."

"They don't sell them here, do they?"

"No, it's Italian."

Willow considered Giles' Citroen and wondered why Cordelia had chosen someone with a car like that over someone with a car like…..

She firmly quashed the thought.  She'd made a promise to herself two months ago not to have any why-Cordelia notions.  If it had been her, it would have been an easy decision.  Giles was handsome and deeply caring and there had been times, in the past three years, when he had looked at her with those warm eyes and Willow felt that…..

No!  She slammed *that* down too.  That had been another just as firm promise.  No Giles thoughts.  No why-Cordelia thoughts.

She fidgeted under a horrible swell of guilt.  She was only supposed to have Oz thoughts.

"Are you all right, Miss Rosenberg?"

Willow realized he was staring over at her.  "Yes, I-I'm fine."

But he was still looking at her, with an expression she couldn't read in the dim.

"The light's green," Willow said.

"It was that or blue.  I can turn it off if you prefer."  Wesley touched a switch and the dashboard darkened.

"I mean, the stoplight," Willow said.

"Ah.  Right.  I thought we were still talking about the car."  Wesley jerked his attention back forward.

'He's tense,' Willow said to herself and felt another wave of guilt.  She'd been so wrapped up in herself, she hadn't noticed how upset Wesley was over Buffy.  "I'm sure she's fine.  She's probably at the Bronze.  You said you didn't see any blood, right?"

"No.  No blood."  He was quiet for a few moments before asking, "And you?  Have you recovered from your misunderstanding?"

"Pardon?"

"With the girl?  In Long Beach.  She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"Oh!"  It dawned on Willow.  "It was, um, just a kiss."

She thought she saw his mouth tighten.  "Ah, well, those can be painful sometimes," he said.

"You mean, the repercussions," she murmured.

"I'm sure your young man will understand," Wesley said.  "It is between you and him, of course.  I would never divulge your confidences."

Willow fiddled with the stuffed padding of her seat belt.  "I haven't told Oz.  I could, but it wouldn't make any difference."

"He does seem quite devoted to you."

Abruptly, she asked, "Did you go to the hospital?"

It took him a moment to catch up.  "No, it was a minor injury."

"It could get infected."

"I've been scraped worse playing soccer.  We're here."  He parked across the street from the door and reached for his wallet.  "I'll give you the cover, Miss Rosenberg."

"There's no cover after nine.  Aren't you coming with me?"

"The Bronze is a, ah, club for young people."

"You've been in there before."

"Once, and I was looking for Buffy."

She came around to his side and opened his door.  "It sounds packed.  Are you going to make me search through that crowd by myself?

As he got reluctantly out of the car, she added, "It's ok.  I feel out of place most everywhere I go too."  She paused at the curb, looking at him.  "Wesley, maybe you should lose the tie and handkerchief."

Surprised, he asked, "What's wrong with them?"

"You're a little overdressed."

"Is this village perpetually casual?" he muttered, though he did what she asked.

Willow bit down a smile.  "We actually qualify as a town."  She regarded him again, then, with an audacity that both astonished and embarrassed her, quickly undid the top button of his shirt.  "We're perpetually casual," she added as an apology, not quite able to meet his eyes.

He followed her into the Bronze in silence, somewhat confounded by her himself.  The bouncer let them in without a second glance, though Wesley half-expected to be stopped.  Surely it wasn't common for a man his age to accompany a young woman Willow's age into this establishment?

Once they were inside, though, he realized they were far from the oddest couple.  Under the assault of screaming he assumed passed for popular music, the sight of a crowd of hippies, wearing gory coloured outfits, greeted him.  Most of them stood under a haze of smoke, swaying slowly to the music, but some were gyrating in a profusion of pelvic motions that made him dizzy.

He paused at the outskirts of the dance floor, sniffed the smoke again, and came up with another reason for his light-headedness.

"Miss Rosenberg, perhaps you should wait in the car," he shouted over the band.

"Why?  Vampires?"

"Probably those as well," Wesley replied in consternation.  "There is a definite element to the atmosphere."

"What?  Oh.  *That*," she said as she saw him sniff the air.  "That's normal for the Thursday night regulars."

He bent his mouth to her ear.  "It's illegal."

"Buffy, Xander, and I aren't Thursday night regulars, though once we….."  She caught herself.  "Um, Wesley, let's just look for Buffy.  You take the tables and I'll take the dance floor and washroom.  Meet you at the bar in ten."

He did as she suggested, however it was dim away from the stage, and it took him a long time to scour the corners.  He inadvertently disturbed one couple engaged in heavy kissing when he leaned over them to peer at a blonde woman farther back.  He also earned a few choice comments from amused women as he struggled past with his nose buried in his sleeve.  By the time he got to the bar, he was in a terrible mood.

"Did you find her?" he asked churlishly, and Willow's eyes widened at his tone.

"I didn't see Buffy.  Do you have your phone?  Maybe we should try her house again."

While working out a scathing speech he intended to deliver to Buffy once he located her, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"No answer," he said after a moment.

"Have you tried Xander?"

"I don't know his number."

"Here."  Willow took the phone.  Before she could dial, someone jostled him from behind and he fell against her.

"I believe this smoke is affecting my balance," he managed.

"You'd better not become a Thursday night regular," she said, looking down.  "I dropped the phone."

"There it is," he said, but he bent at the same time that she did and they bumped faces.

"Ouch."  Willow pulled back and rubbed her nose.

"So sorry."  He straightened his glasses, then pulled them off and eyed the lenses.

"Broken?"

"Smudged."

"That was my nose," she said.  For some reason, her words made her giggle.

"I think we need to clear our heads," Wesley said, but he was on the edge of giggling as well.

"I'll do the glasses.  You get the phone," she offered, taking a napkin from the bar.

That worked out and she gave him Xander's number as she finished polishing.

"No answer," he said at length.  He looked over to see her glancing through his glasses.

"These aren't very strong."

"They're mainly for reading."

"But you wear them all the time.  Is it a dress code?"

"Pardon?"

"A Watcher dress code?"

"We don't have a, a dress code," he said.  "We have a *suit* code."

That struck them both as funny and they laughed so hard, the bartender came over.

"I think you two have had enough."

"We haven't had any," Willow said between twitters.

"You'd better call a cab on your phone there, bud," the bartender said.  "And get your girlfriend home before her parents come looking for you."

"This extraordinarily beautiful woman is not my girlfriend.  She has a young man elsewhere."

"No, I don't," Willow said, losing her smile.  After a pause, she asked, "What was that first part?"

"I am defending your honour," Wesley told her.  To the bartender, he continued, "If you had better control over your patrons, I wouldn't need to find alternate conveyance."

"Whatever," the bartender muttered as he picked up the receiver from his phone.

Wesley returned his attention to Willow.  "What did you say, Miss Rosenberg?"

"I said, I'm of legal age and my parents *won't* come looking for me."  She shot an indignant glance at the bartender, then blinked and looked back at Wesley.  "You look fuzzy."

"So do you," he said with a squint.  "I wonder why that is."

"*What* have you two been up to?" came a new voice.

"Buffy!"  Willow hopped forward and nearly toppled over.  "Where have you been?  Wesley's been all worried!"

"Has he?"  Buffy gave them a fast, appraising look before lifting the glasses off Willow's nose.  "Will, I don't think you're supposed to do cutesy couple stuff, like wearing these, until the third date."

"We're not on a date," Wesley stated, as he retrieved his glasses and put them on.

"Where's your tie, Wes?" Buffy asked.

"That is irrelevant.  The point is, rather, where have *you* been?  You did not check in after your patrol."

"It was a small nest."  To Willow, she said, "You got him to take off his tie *and* undo that top button?"

"I undid the button," Willow admitted, "but he took off his tie himself."

"Way to go, Will!" Buffy said in admiration.

"This is not a date because the young lady is spoken for," Wesley cut in.  "And you should have called me.  I have been looking for you for hours."

"I'm sorry," Buffy shrugged.  "Will, you didn't tell him about--?"  She let the last part drop away.

"About what?" Willow asked.

Buffy leaned forward and whispered, "You know…..Oz."

"Oh!  No.  Wait.  Yes!  I did, didn't I?"  Willow turned to Wesley.

"Uh," he said in confusion.

"He asked me to help him look for you, Buffy," Willow finished.  "And then he turned off the dashboard light."

Buffy took a moment with that statement.  At last, she asked, "Is that when you undid his shirt?"

"When we were coming in, I thought he looked a little…." Willow tried.

"Retentive?" Buffy asked sympathetically.

Wesley sighed loudly as he consulted his watch.  "Miss Summers, it is getting late and I feel that you should--"

"Leave you to your non-date?"  Buffy asked, but stepped back at the look he sent at her.  "Will, do you want me to get you home?  You seem a little happy."

"I'm ok."  Willow gestured over Buffy's shoulder and said wistfully, "It looks like someone's waiting for you."

Buffy glanced at a guy standing at the edge of the dance floor.  "We've just been dancing.  I don't mind--"

"I'm fine.  Go.  Enjoy!"  Willow pushed Buffy gently towards the dance floor.

"I'll tell you all about my night tomorrow," Buffy promised as she left.  "If you tell me all about yours."

"My story's going to be really short," Willow said quietly.

Wes glanced down at her tone.  "Perhaps we should get out of this smoke, Miss Rosenberg."

He offered her his arm and, after hesitating, she took it.  Outside, Wesley leaned against the building and took several long breaths before saying, "I absolutely cannot hold back any longer from telling you this.  That young man of yours needs to have some strong words spoken to him.  I cannot abide that he has left you alone."

"If he comes back, maybe you would have those words with him," Willow said, closing her eyes as she felt a headache starting.  "I'm sorry I undid your shirt.  I didn't know it would be so embarrassing."

"It does not bother me in the least, though I hope it has not affected your reputation."

"You don't know what my reputation is in this village, do you?  I'm Betty."

Wesley stared at her.  "Excuse me?"

"You know Betty and Veronica?  From Archie comics?"  She opened her eyes long enough to see his expression.  "You've never read comic books?"

"Well."  He lowered his head slightly and whispered, "Once, *just* once, I read a Wonder Woman publication."

She would have smiled if the throbbing in her head hadn't been so painful.

"I had better take you home," he said, then added falteringly, "I mean, your home.  Not, not….."

He gave up and gave her his arm again.  This time she held on gratefully.

"I don't think I like, um, what was in that smoke," she said after they were in the car.

"Yes, well, that *was* a rather cheap street blend."  At her look, Wesley added quickly, "So I would assume."

"That's ok.  I think the criteria for being a Watcher are having glasses, a suit, and guilty secrets in your past."  Willow snuggled into the seat.

After a few blocks, she said, "Wesley, in the bar, did you actually say that I was…..?"  She stopped.  "Never mind."

He didn't respond.  She felt the car slow before turning a corner, then speed up easily.  "This is not like the Citroen."

Wesley nodded slightly.  At least he understood that comment.  He'd seen Giles' car, from a distance.  He absolutely refused to get into it, or even go near it.  He was sure it was a leaking gas tank explosion, waiting to happen.

"I don't understand Cordelia," she continued.

That last sentence was beyond him.  How had she progressed to Cordelia?  He opted for silence again but, after a few minutes, she added sleepily, "I don't understand why Cordelia is in the Citroen and not this seat."

It was safer not to say anything to *this* as well, though he was starting to see her trail.  If Cordelia's car was anything to go by, she would prefer a Lancia to a Citroen.  Beyond that surmise, he wasn't prepared to go.

Willow was quiet for the rest of the drive and, when he pulled up to the curb at her home, he realized why.  She was fast asleep.

"Miss Rosenberg," he said, touching her arm.

She didn't stir.  He went to say her name again, but paused.  She looked so peaceful curled up in the seat, and he had half an urge to tuck his jacket over her and wait it out until the morning.  If it hadn't been for the neighbours, he might have done so for, from the lack of lights in her house, he doubted anyone was waiting up for her.

Finally he said, "Miss Rosenberg!"

She yawned, then woke with a startled blink as she looked around her.  "Oh no.  Was I sleeping?"  She sat up.  "Was I…..drooling?"

Wesley couldn't stop a smile.  "No, to the last.  As for the other, it was my fault for keeping you out so late."

"Is it late?  What time is it?" she asked.

"Eleven-thirty."

"Considering my lifestyle since I met Buffy, that's not late."

He nodded in understanding before getting out on his side and coming around to hers.  He opened her door and extended his hand.  "Miss Rosenberg."

His palm was warm and uncallused.  "You haven't held too many stakes," she said, then blushed terribly.  "I mean, you haven't done a lot of dishes."

"I'm afraid you're right on both counts," he admitted.  When they got to the door, and he caught her thoughtful expression, he said, "Ask."

"It's not my business."

"It's all right."

Without looking at him, Willow said, "You don't have very much experience, do you?"

"I had just completed my training when I was sent here."

"Buffy's first Watcher died.  Giles has nearly been killed too.  This isn't a nice place.  It takes more than, than training to survive."

"Ask," he prompted quietly.

She finally looked up.  "Why did they send you?"

"They wanted her to die."

A simple statement, and it went right through her.  He felt her hand shiver in his.

"They *told* you?"

He shook his head quickly.  "I've recently come to the conclusion."

"How recently?"

"When I stopped sending reports.  The day after the Ascension."

He saw a sweep of anger in her eyes and her hand tightened.  "Your council has an awful lot to answer for!"

"You knew that already, Miss Rosenberg."

"If they wanted her to die, that doesn't say a lot about your safety or mine or anyone's!"

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

"Are they still waiting for…..that to happen?"

"I don't know what they're doing."

"I don't like your world," Willow said harshly.

For some reason, it was hard to hear her say it, as though her words caused a loss.

"It is business.  All of it.  Just business."  He glanced behind her, at a dark window.  "Is someone home?  Is it safe for you in there?"

"My parents are at a conference in Washington."  At his sideways glance, she mumbled, "They give me a curfew, then go off.  It doesn't make a lot of sense."

"A curfew?  Do they not know that your young man is not here?"

"Wesley, there was a big, um, well explosion covers it.  From my parent's end.  I'm surprised you didn't hear it.  At the end of it, Oz left."

It dawned on him.  Abruptly, he let go of her hand.  "H-how distressing for you."

Feeling self-conscious, Willow got her keys and turned towards the door.  "That's how it goes.  I love Xander and I love Oz.  Therefore, neither of them are here."

Recalling his earlier worry, he cleared his throat and said, "I should check inside for you."

"It's ok.  I cast a barrier spell around the house before I left.  It hasn't been broken."

He glanced around the front porch.  "How do you know?'

"I know."  She stepped inside, head down, hair covering her face.  The sight bothered him.

"I do not understand your young men," he said acridly.

"You're not that much older than they are.  It should make perfect sense to you."  She paused before shutting the door.  "Being with someone takes an awful lot of effort.  I wonder how Giles and Cordelia manage it."

Wesley put a hand to the door to keep it open and bent, trying to see her face.  "That's outside my realm."

Willow noticed his strange contortion and peered up curiously.  "What are you doing?"

"I thought you were crying."

"No."

"Ah, good.  Then, I'll be going."  He let go of the door and started off the porch.  "Goodnight, Miss Rosenberg."

"Goodnight, Mr. Wyndham-Price."

He faltered at the bottom step, then turned.  She was still in the doorway, holding her keys in one hand and the handle in the other, a somewhat-sad, somewhat-defiant expression on her face.  She was two steps back.

He took them, his hand reaching towards hers.

And unexpectedly found himself flung away.  He landed ungracefully on his bottom by the rail.

"Good heavens!" he cried.

Willow flew to him.  "I forgot!  The barrier spell!"

"Quite effective."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not anywhere I'd care to mention."

She sucked in her lower lip but it couldn't halt the grin.  "Can I help you up?"

"I think I'm better off where I am."

She sat down beside him, barely brushing him.  Still, he could feel her warmth and her position put the top of her head just under his nose.  Her hair glimmered even in the yellow cast of the streetlights.  The long delicate fingers of her one hand were near his, and he took them.  Her breath caught as he did so.

As he debated the best way to tell her this was a bad idea, her face turned to his and it all came together so easily.  He simply lowered his mouth to hers and it was done.

She tasted like malt sugar, a deep lovely flavour that reminded him of childhood candy, but when she shifted to move closer to him, all thoughts of childhood fell away.  Her hip rubbed his thigh and her breasts pressed warmly against his side as she leaned against him.

As he wound his arms around her, he wondered if that was his heaving breath deafening his ears.  Without warning, he was out of air, submerged and blind.  He started to push her away in panic.  But her mouth opened more under his and her hands moved on his back under his jacket, bringing heat and friction.  He moaned and let himself go into it.

It was Willow who broke the kiss at last.  "Oh, it's your glasses," she murmured.  "Something was digging into me."

Wesley took them off, then lightly ran his fingertips down her cheek.  "Such a beautiful woman," he said softly.

"I am?" she asked timidly.

He ran his fingers into her hair, entangling them in the velvety strands.

"So this *was* a date."

When she spoke, he froze.  "No," he said.

"Oh."

The catch in her voice hurt him.  "Our-our ages," he tried.

She looked away.  "So, it isn't proper?"

"No, it isn't."

"Then, let go of me."

But he couldn't.  The quiver of her against him, the scent of some mysterious feminine fragrance in his nose, the effortless twist of arms and legs…..he couldn't pull away.

"My father is fifteen years older than my mother," she said, intent on a corner of a rail.

Wesley lifted her chin and felt the pulse under her touch.  Even at rest, she was glorious movement.

"Miss Rosenberg, would you accompany me to dinner tomorrow evening?"

"Would it be a date this time?"

A battle of wills, he thought, but he wasn't going to tell her she'd already won.  "Yes, a date," he answered.  "In the best restaurant I have found in this, ah, town."

"Then, I would like to accompany you."  A shy tremble came into her solemn demeanor.  "Would you kiss me again?"

"I hope to, at the end of the evening, but I would certainly ask your permission first."

She put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile.  "I meant, now."

Wesley glanced around them, thinking about the neighbours, but she stirred in his arms.

'To hell with everything,' he thought.  He removed her hand and covered her mouth with his.

---

Chapter Six