The Chosen - S8 Logo

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Giles slipped the thick, leather-bound books between two others that appeared identical, noting with pleasure how the oversized volumes fit perfectly on the custom shelves. Standing back, he admired the new bookcase; it was one of three aligned against the wall, side-by-side to the left of his desk. The two on the ends were edged with a stunningly intricate floral design, as though it were actually growing vines and flowers. The case in the middle continued the design seamlessly, although only at the top, as it was sandwiched between the other two. The wood was perfectly smooth and varnished to enhance the deep, rich color of the mahogany that perfectly matched the other furniture.

Obviously delighted with both the new addition and the ability to reclaim his office in its entirety, Giles gazed around the room, soaking in all the details. No longer a work-in-progress, the room now had a 'lived-in' feel, even down to the state of organized chaos that infected the desktop. His eyes rested briefly on the scythe, still hanging proudly on the wall behind his chair where it would easily be the first thing noticed upon entering the room, and then drifted to the chest that rested in corner. Having once belonged to Ashley Buchanan, it had found its new purpose in life to hold assorted items of varying importance for Rupert Giles.

With an almost guilty glance over his shoulder to ensure he was indeed alone, Giles crossed to the chest and lifted the lid. Lying atop various books, notebooks and even a few weapons lay a stuffed Owl toy, Disney version, from Winnie the Pooh. Owl seemed to appraise Giles through his spectacles as the Watcher regarded the toy with the same critical eye before reaching into the chest and lifting it out. The two started at each other at eye level for a moment before Giles carried it to the bookcase and began to place it carefully inside, next to a partially-full row of texts.

It was at that moment that his door flew open and Giles, completely surprised, quickly tossed the plushy back toward the chest and spun to face his visitor, turning his body to block Owl's arc as it sailed through the air.

"Oh! Uhh ... K-Kennedy!" he stammered nervously. "How, uh ... how may I help you?"

Either Kennedy hadn't noticed what Giles was doing or she didn't care as she stepped toward the desk. "Will's awake," she responded in a clipped tone, "and all but screaming for something 'useful' to do. So I'm here to get some books she wanted." Producing a sheet of paper that had been ripped from a small spiral notebook, Kennedy offered it to Giles. "She gave me a list. Weird titles."

With a curious expression, Giles took the list and quickly scanned it. "Hm. Books on healing magicks and meditation techniques," he stated and then glanced at Kennedy with a small smile. "I suppose she wants to start working on her wrist right away."

Kennedy shrugged. "Guess so," she replied.

As the Watcher turned to retrieve the requested volumes, Kennedy affixed him with an intense, seeking stare, but it lasted only a handful of seconds before she frowned instead. "Stupid magic," she mumbled angrily to herself.

"What was that?" inquired Giles, turning back to the Slayer.

"The spell," Kennedy quickly replied. "That spell she was gonna do that got her into this mess in the first place." Crossing her arms, Kennedy's frown became contemplative. "I was just thinking, in the long run, what good's magic really done for her? Seems to me that the biggest mistakes of her life were because of it. Maybe she'd just be better off without magic."

Giles placed the three books he was carrying on the desk and focused his entire attention on the Slayer. "The magick is as much a part of Willow as she is of it," he explained. "The two are intrinsically linked."

"But they weren't always," she countered. "You know, way back when."

Pulling a handkerchief from the back pocket of his trousers, Giles removed his glasses and set to work polishing them. "True, Willow was not always a practicing witch, however I believe that her discovery of magick was an inevitability. Willow is simply far too gifted and became far, far too powerful in such a short amount of time for me to believe otherwise."

"So some people just got the knack, huh?" summed up Kennedy with just the vaguest trace of bitterness.

"Some individuals are inherently attuned to magickal forces, yes," Giles agreed, checking to make sure his glasses were spotless before replacing them and tucking the cloth back into his pocket.

This answer did little to soothe the Slayer's rising irritation. "And what about the rest of the world? They're stuck flipping through a copy of Magic for Dummies for the rest of their life?"

Despite her rising aggression, Giles responded with utter calm, perching on the corner of his desk as he addressed Kennedy. "Magick requires dedication and practice. I-It's much like anything else in life, really. Anybody can pick up a violin and make noise. With years of study, they find they can play 'Strassburg' to perfection." He smiled fondly. "But then once in a great while, you get Mozart himself, who can only be born and never made."

Kennedy's mouth began to twitch upward in a smirk, her mood lightening. "Will's Mozart, huh?" she queried.

With a matching expression of amusement, Giles rose to his feet. "Yes, well, don't tell her I said so; I'll never hear the end of it."

"You really understand this stuff," Kennedy stated with a tone somewhere between wonder and envy. "This part of her." She snorted a humorless laugh. "I guess that's why you're the anchor."

Understanding dawning on his face, Giles regarded Kennedy with compassion. "Willow selecting me as her anchor means nothing more than the fact that we're ... mystical attuned, you might say," he explained kindly. "A-And even I'm not ultimately the best choice, I'm simply the best option available. Magickally speaking, we've been through a lot, but it doesn't mean—"

"It means I'm not good enough!"

As soon as the words left her mouth, Kennedy jumped back, every bit as startled by her outburst as Giles. They blinked dumbly at each other for a moment before the Slayer shook her head frowning.

"Sorry. Don't know where that came from," she apologized before trying to vocalize her feelings with fewer decibels. "I mean ... Yeah, I've heard it. Her version, which let's face it, is pretty much the same as yours. And I guess I'm just thinking, if she's as linked to the magic as you say she is ..." Kennedy sighed heavily and ran a hand through her hair, gaze darting away from Giles to the side, "...then me not being able to relate is kind of a problem, isn't it?"

Giles tilted his head, unsure exactly of how to respond.

Not even the repetitive motion of throwing the ping-pong ball at the wall and catching it seemed to penetrate Xander's mood. He reclined against the pool table, rhythmically going through the catch-and-throw motion. His expression largely vacant, there was no visible trace of what was going on in his mind that made the action of one-man catch so enthralling. Little attention was paid to his surroundings – not the fresh puck-sized hole in the new plaster behind the air hockey table, not the occasional outbursts from the video games along the far wall, and certainly not Andrew's entrance.

The blond spotted Xander and immediately his face brightened. He rushed over, but then slowed as he took note of the carpenter's mood and sobered considerably himself. "Hey Xander," he carefully broached with a tiny wave.

Glancing over, Xander nodded his greeting but said nothing.

Andrew winced as he tentatively asked, "How's Willow? Is she okay?"

"Yeah, Will's gonna be okay," was the reply, holding some relief. "Still stiff and sore – I hear that gettin' pummeled within an inch of your life'll do that to you – but she'll be fine."

"That's good," breathed Andrew with relief. "When I heard, my tummy got all twisty. Like on roller coasters. Or merry-go-rounds." He paused briefly before adding, "I have a sensitive stomach."

"Yeah, well, it was no joy to see, either, lemme tell you."

An awkward silence settled as Xander continued his game and Andrew shuffled his feet, but then Xander caught the ball and rather than throw it again, turned to the other man, something clearly on his mind.

"I've been thinking," Xander began. "We came close, you know? If Buffy's spider sense hadn't started tingling, we might've been too late. And while I was in the hospital, every now and then I'd look over at Will, and just for a second, I'd see Anya. Not in a delusional psychotropic freak-out way," he hastily clarified, "but I'd be thinkin' ... could we have saved her too?"

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Andrew was only too painfully aware of Xander's intense, expectant stare. "I don't—" Breaking off, he took a deep breath. "She never saw it coming," he stated with an uncharacteristic sense of assurance. "With all the swords and the fighting ... I don't think there was anything you could've done."

Xander absorbed this information with apparent impassivity and then nodded once, firmly. A defeated smile appeared on his expression. "I guess we'll never know, huh?"

At this, Andrew's confidence crumbled, and he looked stricken with guilt. The change was obvious and Xander easily picked up on it, lightly tapping the younger man in the shoulder with his fist. "Hey now, buck up little buddy," he said cheerfully, if patronizingly. "Haven't you been watching the new episodes of 'Enterprise'?"

Andrew nodded reluctantly.

"And aren't the Xindi pretty darned cool?"

Andrew nodded again, this time with much more enthusiasm.

"Then frown no more," Xander ordained. "Life is good."

And then to show just how keen he was to heed his own advice, Xander returned to throwing the ping-pong ball. The blond watched only long enough to decide that the activity was likely to continue without intermission for some time. Shuffling his feet and bringing himself up straight, Andrew took the plunge.

"Hey, d'you wanna maybe come to the comic book store with me?" he offered hopefully. "My new books are in."

Raising an eyebrow, Xander quickly checked the clock hanging over the television. "They're still open?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah, they've having an all-night Magic tournament," Andrew explained, rolling his eyes dramatically at the notion, speaking with a tone dripping with contempt. "I can't believe people still play that. I feel that after 'Ice Age', W-o-T-C showed their true motivation was not in the beauty of a simple yet engrossing card game, but in lining their pockets with the cash of the workingman." He shook his head slowly, admonishingly. "Shame on you, Richard Garfield. Shame on you."

Catching the ball on its return trip, Xander considered it carefully. "If I try to go home now, Buffy'll just kick me out again," he reasoned. "And Slayer boot on my delicate rear end, not as pleasant as you might think." A decision reached, he slammed the ping-pong ball on the pool table behind him and stood tall. Gesturing with his arm toward the door, he announced, "Lead on, Lord Sengir."

Andrew was so excited that he actually hopped into the air with an enthusiastic, "Cool!" However he couldn't help but correct in a low, muttering tone, "Baron Sengir." Turning to Xander, he babbled, "Hey, did you know that I still have a complete set of Moxes and a Black Lotus?" Grinning, Andrew clearly felt this was something of a marvel.

"Did you know that I don't care?" Xander responded sunnily.

"KennEx delivers."

Willow glanced toward the door and away from the window she'd been staring out of. Shifting into a more comfortable position, she wiggled her back into the pillow supporting her against the headboard. When she saw that Kennedy had returned with all five books, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Geez, what'dja do? Build a time machine to go back to the 15th century and make Gutenberg print 'em for ya fresh?" The question was asked in a jovial tone, but it was clearly fueled by at least a small amount of truth.

This did not escape Kennedy's notice and her eyes narrowed. "I was just having so much fun being your errand girl, I guess I lost track of time," the brunette retorted, heavy on the sarcasm. "Still, it was worth it to know that I'm useful to you as a pack mule, if nothing else."

Hurt immediately appeared on Willow's face, and Kennedy followed just a second behind with regret. "I'm sorry," the Slayer apologized. "I didn't mean to say that."

"No. No, i-it's okay," responded Willow, her voice indicating that sting of the words lingered. "It's— I shouldn't've said what I said either. I'm being a– a Snark Mistress or something."

Grinning, Kennedy set the books on Willow's desk and sat down next to her girlfriend on the edge of the bed. "Well you know any combination of you and 'mistress' can't be a bad thing."

A smirk dispelled the remainder of the huffiness. "I guess it's just all this lyin' around like a big ol' useless lump," the redhead groused, waving her hand at her sheet-and-blanket covered torso. "I've come to the conclusion that lots of bed rest? Not all that restful."

"Mm," Kennedy agreed, her voice dropping to a sultry level as she leaned slowly toward Willow. "Maybe you're doing it wrong."

"Could just be." Flashing a flirtatious smile at the steadily approaching Slayer, Willow asked, "So ... Got any suggestions?"

Kennedy moved closer still, now only a hair's breath away. "Oh, plenty." Willow's eyes drifted closed and she leaned forward to eliminate the distance ... only to open her eyes in alarm as the Slayer abruptly pulled back and rose to her feet. "If you weren't an injured woman," she added with an evil smile.

Throwing herself back against the pillows, Willow cursed the ceiling, "Stupid Judith denying me smoochies!"

The playful attitude vanished the instant Judith's name left Willow's lips, and like a Pavlovian reaction, Kennedy immediately became a dark figure, glowering and brooding.

"Oh for—" the redhead sighed heavily. "Geez, Kenn, am I gonna have to censor the name for the next year?"

"Maybe longer."

The Slayer was completely and utterly serious, and it only served to further Willow's frustration. Though not her eloquence – she was able to get out nothing but exasperated noises.

Frowning, Kennedy found herself becoming aggravated by Willow's aggravation. "She hurt you!" the Slayer exclaimed, as though this were somehow new information.

Willow raised her cast into the air, almost shaking it. "Only too aware!" she retorted. "Look I know you don't like it. Can't say I'm too fond of it m'self. But it happens, y'know?" The witch shrugged, brushing her injuries off as given. "It's the job we do. I'm hurt. I'll heal. Life goes on."

The two women tried their best to not glare at each other, only meeting with marginal success. So wrapped up in their own argument, neither seemed to acknowledge the sound of raised voices coming from downstairs.

"Sure, this time," agreed Kennedy angrily, crossing her arms. "But what about next time, or the time after that?"

"We'll deal with next time when next time comes!" Willow all but shouted back. "I can't make any promises, Kennedy, neither of us can! You can't tell me that some night some random vampire won't get lucky and rip your throat out, o-or some demon thing'll decide one day," she dropped her voice an octave, "'Oh, hey, she's pretty, I wonder how her lower intestines'll look on my wall?'" Back to normal, she leaned forward as well as possible from her reclining position. "It's what we do!"

The faint but unmistakable rumblings of an angry exchange permeated the room, but again they were paid no heed.

"Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't!" pressed the Slayer. "Maybe you should—"

"Should what? Let you put me in a– a glass case so you ... you can just keep me all safe a-and to yourself?"

"Well at least that way I could get you to actually—" Whatever was being said downstairs became more intense, and Kennedy cast a furious look toward the door. "Now what?!" she yelled, tearing it open and stomping toward the living room.

Buffy was not just an obstacle. She was a living, breathing Great Wall, standing for one purpose and one purpose only: to prevent the raging horde of Monguls from reaching their destination. Or, in this case, preventing Dawn from going outside.

"I'm sorry, some part of 'No' seems to have confused you," stated Buffy in a chipper tone, belied by her aggressive stance and crossed arms. "I'll try and rephrase so you can understand: NO."

Throwing her hands into the air, Dawn exclaimed, "Oh my god, condescend much?"

"Good," the Slayer continued as though her sister had done nothing but concur wholeheartedly, "now that we've reached an agreement, you can go upstairs and finish your homework."

Taking Dawn by the elbow, Buffy tried to lead the teenager upstairs, only to have Dawn violently rip her arm from the Slayer's grip.

"I can finish my homework tomorrow! What is the big deal?"

"'The big deal'," repeated Buffy with a flat tone. "The 'big deal' is my little sister seems to think it's okay to just shrug off school whenever she feels like it so she can go wander the streets, at night, by herself!" Staring at Dawn as though her sister had just claimed vampires were really misunderstood anemics, Buffy incredulously asked, "Did you miss the whole 'welcome to Trillium' ceremony about this being a Hellmouth?"

Her own arms crossing, Dawn peered down at Buffy with a superior air. "It's not a Hellmouth," she corrected snottily, "it's a Hellmouth energy convergence that—"

Waving her hand to cut off the thoroughly disinteresting elaboration, Buffy spat, "Whatever, Giles, I don't really care. It's late, you have homework, and you're not going out there. Case closed."

"But I think I might have something on this eye thing!" protested Dawn. "I was upstairs looking at the design—"

"When you should have been doing homework," the blonde interjected.

That earned a vicious glare, but Dawn concluded, "–and I think I figured out something that could be useful."

The revelation had little effect; arms remained crossed, stances remained unwavering. "And you need to go outside with this information becaaause...?"

Rolling her eyes so much it seemed for a moment they might actually rotate from her sockets, Dawn appeared to feel very strongly that Buffy's question was the single most stupid thing anybody had ever been asked in the entire world's history of questions and answers. "To tell Giles!" she replied. The 'duh!' was all but enunciated.

"I'd make some sort of comment about you not knowing what a 'phone' is," Buffy shook her head, "but given how you spend practically every waking moment on one, I know that's a lie."

Waving her hand toward her room, Dawn retorted, "Already tried that, hello? He's not answering. Besides, it'll be faster with two of us researching." It was impossible to not see that each statement, no matter how impassioned, had zero effect. "Look, I'll be an hour, maybe two tops!"

Buffy gazed at Dawn with a wondering expression. "You know, I'm fairly certain I said 'case closed', and yet here you are and your mouth still somehow moving ..."

Inarticulate noises of endless frustration were all Dawn could manage in response.

Sighing, the Slayer put on her best 'I'm being reasonable' voice. "If it's such an amazing discovery, just tell me and I'll tell Giles."

"Oh!" snapped Dawn, throwing her hands into the air and letting them smack her legs on the way down. "Oh, sure! So you can pretend you thought of it and hog all the credit?" She shot Buffy an accusatory glare. "Yeah, cuz I was born yesterday."

"This is all about brownie points now?" Buffy asked disbelievingly.

"No, but you—"

Interrupting the thought, Kennedy pounded down the stairs, her expression livid. "What the hell is wrong with you people?!" she shouted. "Did you just happen to forget that Willow's upstairs, in theory getting peace and quiet?"

To their credit, the Summers girls had the good grace to look chagrined. Taking several deep breaths, Kennedy fought to reign her own temper, and it was clearly taking some effort.

"Just ... Just keep it down, okay?" the younger Slayer requested, though managing to make it sound more like an order. "I'm going to work out, I gotta burn off some of this ... " She shook her head. "I gotta get out for a while."

Recognizing an opportunity, Dawn turned to her sister. "Can I go with Kennedy?" Buffy immediately opened her mouth to protest, but the teenager jumped in before she could. "I know, I know it's late. But it's Friday. I'll do my homework first thing tomorrow morning, I swear, and I really think this will help. Please?" she added imploringly.

Buffy sighed the sigh of the defeated. "Fine," she grudgingly conceded. "But make sure you get someone to walk you home again."

Nodding eagerly, Dawn followed Kennedy out the door. Buffy watched it close, her arms still crossed. After a second, she turned back toward the living room, ruefully shaking her head. "She drives me crazy."

Faith was able to take no more than two steps out of her room at Slayer Central before she nearly collided with Kennedy, who was absorbed in her own world and, as a consequence, paying little attention to where she was going.

"Whoa, damn." Faith managed to get her hands up as a cushion between them, and Kennedy recoiled slightly. "That almost got messy."

Kennedy nodded quickly, anxious to move to bigger and better things. "Yeah, sorry," she stated, not sounding particularly sorry at all. "You wanna spar?"

"I gotta patrol pretty soon, but sure," the Slayer shrugged, "what the heck. Could use a warm-up."

That being all the confirmation she needed, Kennedy immediately headed toward the training rooms, not bothering to wait and see if she was being accompanied.

Jogging, Faith appeared at her side with a questioning glance. "Got a Jones for some quality butt-kickin', huh?"

The question was clearly not rhetorical, but Kennedy didn't see fit to answer anyway, and Faith's curiosity slowly morphed into concern. She put her arm out, stopping the other Slayer short, and Kennedy impatiently spun toward her. "Okay, what's this really about?" Faith asked.

Tossing her head, Kennedy threw her hair over one shoulder. "You. Me. Spar. Doesn't seem that hard, even you should be able to keep up."

"Yeah, well, I dropped out an' all, so I'm kinda slow. Why don't you explain it?" Faith shot back.

"What's to explain? I want to fight something." Kennedy jutted her chin toward Faith. "You'll do." That was all the explanation she saw fit to give, and Kennedy resumed her march to the training room.

This time Faith followed immediately, and dramatically raised a hand to her chest. "Be still my heart," she intoned sardonically. "You sweet-talk all the girls like that?"

"No, just the really special ones." The retort was barbed and fully intending to wound, though if it did, Faith showed no signs.

Instead, the Slayer smirked, almost seeming to enjoy the exchange. "Speaking of special ones, why ain't you home playin' nursemaid to your honey? You pretty much been livin' at her bedside. Someone finally surgically remove ya?"

"Needed a break," Kennedy responded curtly.

Nodding as though this were all the confirmation she needed, Faith grinned, "She threw you out, huh?"

Screeching to a halt, Kennedy whirled on Faith. "She did not 'throw me out'. I left. I was getting angry and I left. That's it. Now can we please go beat each other up?" she asked with something like desperation in her voice.

"You two at it again?" the older Slayer rolled her eyes, making no effort to move. "Jesus, you're on and off again more than the vacancy sign at a by-the-hour motel."

Through clenched teeth, Kennedy spat, "Could you not?"

But Faith wouldn't back down. Quite the contrary, she seemed to be gaining momentum. "You know, I wonder why that is?" she asked curiously. "I mean, I known Red for a while now. Saw her with Oz, saw her with Tara ... Fightin' was pretty much non-existent." She started intently at Kennedy, cocking her head to one side. "Y'ever stop an' wonder why it's pretty much a given with you?"

Faith smiled charmingly. It was not a pleasant sight, and an evil gleam appeared in her eyes. This was a Faith who knew exactly what she was saying, knew exactly what its impact would be, and was rejoicing in it.

"I don't want to hear this," Kennedy muttered furiously.

If she thought that would be enough to dissuade the older Slayer, Kennedy was sadly mistaken. "I know y'don't, see, an' that's kinda where I'm thinkin' the problem is." Faith was pacing now, moving back and forth in front of Kennedy like a caged panther. "Cuz I know Red, an' no matter how much she's changed from the shy little thing cowerin' behind B's skirt, she's still the same deep down. An' deep down, she's not so big on conflict an' strife."

Blessed with a moment of forethought, Kennedy tried to walk away, but now that her hooks were in, Faith wasn't prepared to let it go that easily. Effortlessly, she matched Kennedy's stride, her eyes riveted to the younger woman, absorbing every last expression and flicker of emotion. "So I keep thinkin', if she don't fight all the time with her 'soulmates' or whatever ..."

"Shut up," Kennedy commanded, her pace not slowing.

"...but she's fightin' now, then maybe ..."

With a blur of speed, Kennedy had Faith pinned against the wall, her forearm pressed against the other woman's throat. "Keep going," dared Kennedy, increasing the pressure. "Just keep pushing, Faith."

Like a maniac, Faith grinned at Kennedy, managing somehow to lean closer still. "Maybe the problem's you," she rasped, her voice strained but only too audible.

For a moment, the only movement between the two was Kennedy's entire body trembling with only barely contained tension and rage. She looked very much like she might explode, and Faith, watching intently, seemed to welcome it. Kennedy pushed harder on Faith's throat, so hard that the other Slayer's face began to turn red, but still Faith's grin remained and the glint in her eye didn't fade. Then, with a deep shuddering breath, Kennedy pulled herself back, arms dropping to her sides.

"Get out of here," she whispered harshly.

"What, too much for ya?" Faith swaggered. "I thought you wanted t' spar."

Kennedy simply glared, her voice shaking. "Leave. Before I do something I don't want to."

"Oh, bring it, Twinkie, c'mon," challenged the older Slayer, gesturing with her fingers. "I ain't afraid'a you."

Her body tense and coiled like a spring, Faith watched with eager anticipation, but Kennedy simply sighed. "Just go."

With a disappointed huff, Faith did just that, turning on her heel and heading back the way they had come. After a few steps, her face split into a huge grin, and she pumped her arms to the side. "Damn, that felt good!" she exclaimed, then her pace slowed and her expression of delight dissolved into one of confusion. "Damn, that felt ... good," she repeated with no trace of her previous enthusiasm. Furrowing her brow, Faith gazed around her, bewildered. "What the hell's goin' on?"

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