SquidgeWorld Archive

Title: The New Watcher
Author: Poodle
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Wesley/Faith
Setting: Buffy 3rd Season. (Don't know why I wrote a Buffy 3rd Season piece, just felt like it.)
Summary: Buffy 3rd Season. Just a little nonsensical interlude, set shortly after the events of "Bad Girls" and "Consequences." The new watcher struggles to understand his perplexing young slayer and attempts to forge a connection. Just a piece of fluff.

The New Watcher
By Poodle~

~*"New Watcher?" Faith
"New Watcher." Giles and Buffy in unison.
"Screw that." Faith ~ "Bad girls"~*

~*~*~*~*~

"I'm terribly sorry. This is most.... unfortunate." The words caught in the throat of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce as he gagged, turned away and felt his legs give way beneath him. He sank to his knees before the toilet as a second wave of nausea washed over him. He cringed with humiliation, feeling the eyes of the young woman leaned against the doorframe boring into his back. "Please.... I'd much rather be alone right now. If I might."

Silence met his pleas and the young watcher felt the heat of embarrassment flush his face even as his body heaved and his stomach spasmed, emptying its contents into the porcelain bowl.

"Way to go, Wes. You upchuck like a real pro." A feminine voice taunted from behind.

Mortified by his undignified position, his lanky frame crumpled in the small lavatory just off the library, he shuddered with shame and fought to regain a margin of dignity.

"Geez Watcher, didn't mean to hit you so hard. But then again, you shoulda blocked."

The solicitous tone, embellished with distain, drifted to his ears.

"Yes....quite right." The words squeaked from his throat as he struggled to rise but found he couldn't. "One must always be prepared for such things. Unexpected kicks and such. My mistake. A good Watcher is a well-oiled machine..."

"Yeah, whatever."

He squeezed his eyes shut and propped his arm against the bowl to hold himself upright. The young slayer was infuriating. "Faith, you may leave now, if you wish," he said through clinched teeth. "We've trained enough for one day. I'm sure that you could do with a bit of downtime. Gad about with your friends and whatnot." He waved a dismissive hand in the air.

"That's a first. I shoulda gut-kicked you weeks ago," she responded with glee, but the girl showed no signs of leaving as she propped nonchalantly in the doorway and studied the curved back of the man crumbled on the floor, his tall, lean frame much too cramped to fit comfortably into the tiny cubical.

Wesley didn't turn to face her, but could feel the burning sensation of her dark eyes trained on his back. He cringed. "Really, Faith, I'm quite all right. You may feel free to leave."

"Just enjoyin' the show."

"Well, I'm delighted to know that my discomfort is such a source of unmitigated joy for you. No doubt you've been inundated by the violence glorified on American television and find such things amusing. Young people here watch far too much of it, if you ask me."

"The boob tube, yeah." She chuckled softly. "Like *that's* more violent than my real life. If you're concerned about my being "inundated" with violence by someone, maybe you should look in the mirror. It's not like I asked you tweedy-suited freaks to come hijack my life so that I could fulfill my glorious destiny as a fang-killer. I was doin' just fine before you people came along."

"Yes. Living in the streets as I recall, having permantly dismissed yourself from any semblance of family life or pursuit of education. I did familiarize myself with your previous watcher's diary, you know. A good watcher's always prepared."

"So now you're a fuckin' Boy Scout."

"Faith!" His head snapped around to face the girl propped in the doorway, his thin lips pursed into a frown. "Really now. Such language is hardly becoming a young lady."

Her dark eyes widened and she began to snicker before bursting into laughter that caused her to sag against the doorframe. "God, you're a hoot. What's next with you, Wes, courses in etiquette? -Cause I can just picture that." She placed her hand on a leather-clad hip and tossed back her head, throwing her mane of dark hair over her shoulders. "Would that be before or after -guttin' your opponent' 101?"

Wesley blinked up at the young woman before slowly reaching up to straighten his glasses that had gone slightly crooked on his nose. He snorted softly. "You believe yourself to be quite amusing, don't you, Faith? When in actuality, your unseemly language makes you seem crass and vulgar." He started to rise, paused and drew a deep breath to steady a sudden, disturbing lunge in the pit of his stomach. *Good lord, how much can one man take?* He fought down another wave of nausea.

The slayer's eyes narrowed dangerously, all traces of humor gone from her face. "Crass and vulgar?" Her tone held ice.

"What?" The watcher looked up, almost having forgotten the girl's presence. "Surely you've better things to do than stand about gawking at me. Run along, now."

"*Run along?*" she hissed. "I'm not an eight year old, you know."

"I wasn't implying that you were." Wesley slowly staggered to his feet and immediately went about straightening his rumpled suit, rubbing in vain at his dust covered knees and righting his silken red tie. "One would think the janitorial service around here might be bothered to polish these floors now and again. I've a good mind to complain."

"Yeah, you do that, Wes." Faith interjected dryly. "Tell them you've been groveling around in the john, praying to the porcelain god, and you have a right to clean tile, *damn it!*"

The watcher looked up, attempted a final time to straighten his jacket then raised his chin. "You *are* dismissed."

The girl's eyes narrowed. "You're really such a wuss."

"Excuse me?" He frowned.

"I barely hit you, you know. Pulled the punch, even, and you went down like a sack of potatoes."

"Yes...well." Wesley cleared his throat and gave his jacket another tug as he strode into the library and paused in the center of the room. "Slayer strength and all that. Mustn't ever take it for granted. Mere humans are quite frail in comparison. Despite my many years of extensive training..."

"Giles could of handled it," she interjected bluntly, causing the young man to falter.

"Yes...well." He caught his breath and pulled himself up to his full height. "Need I remind you, that I'm your watcher now, and any comparison between Mr. Giles and myself is a needless expenditure of energy. Besides, had I been prepared for the blow, I would have weathered it effortlessly. I'm fully capable..."

"It's not like I cracked your nuts or anything."

"Faith!" He sputtered and he felt his cheeks flush scarlet. "I....you. What did I say about the inappropriateness of vulgarity?"

"You're blushing!" Her eyes widened in surprise. "Swear to god, I never saw a guy blush just -cause I mentioned his nuts. Hell, most guys are only too willing to talk about them. So proud of the nasty little things they'd drop their pants in a flash just to show them off."

"*Faith*!" It was the only word the flustered watcher could manage to squeeze from his throat and it escaped as an embarrassing squeak. He took a faltering step back from the girl who quickly pressed her newfound advantage by closing the distance between them.

"You do have them, don't ya?" She grinned. "B and I've been wondering. Maybe I shoulda aimed a little lower, just to find out."

His eyes widened and he pushed at his glasses even though they were firmly in place on his nose. He desperately wondered how the situation had managed to degenerate so rapidly. He cleared his throat and decided it was best to meet the Slayer's blatant show of disrespect head-on. After all, "he" was the one in charge here, not this insolent adolescent. "Faith, you'll cease this improper conduct this instant or I shall be forced to take drastic measures."

"Such as?" Her dark eyes sparkled with a dare and she showed no signs of backing down as she continued to advance on the disconcerted young man who suddenly found himself pressed uncomfortably against one of the stacks, books biting into his back. "Care to show me your...drastic measures?"

Wesley pulled himself up straight despite the awkwardness of his position crushed against the books, the leather-clad slayer mere inches away. He barely dared to breathe, for fear the rise of his chest would bring him into physical contact with the disturbing young creature whose toned and lethal body seemed to vibrate with unrepressed energy. Her presence filled the room and Wesley suddenly found himself casting furtive glances at the library doors, wishing for once, that they would swing wide as they often did at the most inconvenient times to admit an onslaught of Buffy's boisterous and unruly chums. But Wesley knew that would not be the case. School had long since ended for the day and the children had all hustled home, each to their respective evening diversions. Even Giles departed, leaving Wesley with the key and an admonishment to lock up behind himself, as if he were no more than another of the adolescents under his care, and not, in fact, the one appointed by the council to be in charge.

"Hello, Watcher. What ya thinkin'?" The girl's eyes followed his where they lingered wistfully on the library doors, studying the dusty shadows of the empty halls revealed through the glass. A smile snaked across her full, brightly colored lips. "Expecting someone? B's gone to the Bronze, you know. I'm meeting her later for patrol. But then, you know that, don't you? Got it all written up in that notebook of yours. You record your Slayers' every move in your little black book." She grinned and winked. "That's all you've got in your little black book, isn't it?"

His thin lips pressed into a frown then he hastened to correct the girl's misinformation as he pulled himself up straight. "Actually, my journal contains not only the whereabouts of my slayers, but copious observations and possible strategies you might very well find useful if confronted by any number of nefarious scenarios."

"You gotta be shitin' me." She laughed, bringing him up short. "You're a lost cause, ya know it? Bet you don't have a single phone number or address in that thing, outside of B's and mine. Sad. Really sad. Just what do you do for fun, Wes?"

"Fun?" He repeated the word as if hearing it for the first time. Then he tilted his chin even higher and regarded the young woman as if her question was absurd. "Need I remind you, I didn't arrive in Sunnydale with the intention of having "fun"? Giles might have gone in for that sort of thing. But it's my responsibility as your watcher to remain alert and available at any hour, day or night, in case my presence is required by either of my Slayers to assist in the battle between good and evil."

"No dates, huh?" She slowly shook her head.

"Not a bit of one." He mumbled softly and looked away.

"Figured as much."

"Women here in the States are so.... disconcerting." He pulled in his breath and released it slowly. "Besides, as I've said, my purpose here is not to be gallivanting about but to be available 24 hours of a day..."

"Available." She leaned near, her breath burning his cheek. "To...me?"

His blue eyes blinked and he fought to focus on the girl so close to his nose. Too close. He cleared his throat and squeaked out a quiet, "Yes."

She grinned.

He didn't like the gleam in her eyes and he fought to regain the ground he'd unexpectedly lost to his sacred charge. How had he managed to muck things so terribly in such an absurdly short span of time? He forced a calm into his voice that he didn't really feel and responded evenly, "I am your watcher and as such it is my duty to remain prepared at all--"

"I'll be sure to call you next time I need assistance taking out a demon. You can upchuck on the poor bastard. Look out evil!"

Wesley pulled in his breath and could think of nothing to say.

"You never answered my question, Watcher." She tilted her head and lightly bit into her lip, sucking it gently into her mouth. "You got a pair or don't ya?"

"*Faith!*" he sputtered and tried to back away, the shelves biting into his back. "Your comments are most inappropriate. You will cease or...."

"Chill, already. It's not like I'm gonna hurt ya." She slithered near, her eyes trained on his face. "You've got that deer in the headlight look."

"*I shall be forced to inform the council of your misconduct.*" The words tumbled from his lips in a rush, bringing the girl up short and for the briefest of moments he thought he'd scored a victory. He drew a sigh of relief.

The slayer froze then stunned the watcher by bursting into laughter, almost doubling over. "Tell me, Wes," she gasped between snickers, "did your brothers and sisters ever stuff your head down the commode and flush it?"

"Excuse me!? I hardly think--"

"Cause that's what we always did to ratfinks, and I just bet you were the worst little squirt in town when it came to runnin' to momma to rat people out. A good flush wouldn't hurt that slicked hair of yours either."

"I hardly think your comments are relevant to this discussion," he huffed with indignation. "My reporting to the council is an essential element of my duties."

"I'd pay to be a fly on the wall for that report." She laughed.

"I beg your pardon?" He frowned in confusion.

"Just what are you gonna tell those old fuddy-duddies about my -misconduct?'"

He found himself at a loss for words and his heart rose into his throat as she, once more, slinked near, staring intensely into his flushed face.

"Well?" She grinned. "You gonna tell those old stick-up-the-ass Watchers that I did...*this*?" In a flash, her nimble hands seized his shirt, whisked it from his waistband and pushed it up in a single fluid motion that caught him unaware.

The young watcher yelped in surprise and struggled to scamper away. "Really, now! Unhand me, you...you..."

Faith pulled in her breath with a hiss as her eyes passed over the watcher's now exposed stomach. "Damn, Wes....Geez, I...I just wanted to see what damage I did. Don't go fainting on me like some damsel in distress." She stared at the nasty looking bruise that was already beginning to darken against his pale white skin, and winced, then quickly fought to cover her initial response to the injury with a snort of distain. "Didn't know you were so soft. Thought you Watcher types were made of sterner stuff."

Wesley caught his breath, completely unnerved by the young slayer's behavior. "Have you no regard for common decency, woman!" He snatched his shirt from her grasp and shoved it down to cover the angry bruise, then hastily began pushing it back into the waistband of his suit trousers as he struggled to smooth the wrinkles her fists had caused in the pale blue cotton. All the while, fighting to hide the scarlet burn of his cheeks with the fastidiousness of his actions. "Intolerable. Simply intolerable."

Growing up attending an all boys' school, then years of unwavering dedication to his studies at University, left Wesley woefully inexperienced in matters pertaining to the opposite sex. He was unprepared for the blatant sexuality of these young females. Their attire, alone, left him breathless and flustered, but combined with their flagrant immodesty, he found himself at a total loss in how to relate. The few young women of Wesley's past, selected as proper acquaintances by his parents, were nothing like these juvenile harlots that left the young Watcher shifting uncomfortably and silently praying that he wouldn't publicly embarrass himself whenever they sauntered by. And now this...this...touching!

"Where the hell did they find you anyway? A monastery?" Faith burst abruptly into his thoughts. "And what's the deal with those council dudes of yours? Don't they pay you poor guys, like real money or anything?"

"Excuse me?" Wesley forced himself to raise his eyes from the exaggerated task of straightening his shirt. He fought to lock eyes with the slayer without flinching, but only managed to look breathless and ill-at-ease. "Whatever do you mean? Of course the council pays my wages."

"Just wondering's all." Faith shrugged. "You're skinny as a plucked chicken under all those designer threads. Thought maybe you couldn't afford to eat. Like maybe you spent all your money on your fancy duds and now have to go hungry just to pay the rent. Been there. Done that. Only I got much better taste in clothing."

Wesley's mouth fell open but no words came out. Now the girl had the audacity to verbally evaluate not only his wardrobe but his unclothed physique, as well. And her observations hit far too close to home for Wesley's comfort. His wardrobe did exceed his budget, though he would die before acknowledging that truth. And he'd always been embarrassingly thin, though having overextended his finances; he was now even more so. He felt the color intensify in his cheeks, and he cursed his pale countenance with a vengeance.

"Hey, Wes, a bit of advice here. You might want to close your mouth. Not a good look for you." She reached out and patted the side of his face. "Kinda makes you look like a fish."

His mouth snapped shut and he glared as a memory washed over him of his father delivering a similar admonishment when he was eight years old. He quickly spoke to cover his discomfort, and found himself reciting another proclamation his father was fond of making. "One can never be too meticulous where one's appearance is concerned. It's a lesson you'd do well to emulate." His eyes passed over her skintight pants and the scanty whisper of a top that barely covered her midriff. Every movement of her toned body revealed more of the tantalizing expanse of her flattened stomach to his eyes than he was comfortable seeing.

Wesley glanced away from the tanned skin, and not for the first time that evening, felt an alarming warmth in the pit of his stomach that jolted downward, prompting an inappropriate stirring in his trousers that caused him to shift awkwardly and stare at the spit-shine polish of his shoes. It was no wonder she'd managed to catch him unaware during their workout and slam her foot into his ribs. He found it impossible to concentrate when the barely clad girl twisted, lunged and jabbed.

"I don't imagine the vamps care how I'm dressed." She interrupted his thoughts, causing him to blink and begin concentrating on a bit of imaginary lint on his tie. "At least, none of them have complained...or lived to, that is."

"Yes...well." He cleared his throat. "I'm sure you'd best be running along if you hope to meet Buffy at that noisy little club where you and your chums hang around. I expect, you'll be missed."

"Buffy's little "chums" couldn't care less if I showed. Xander, maybe, but he just likes to drool and undress me with his eyes. That gets old. He just keeps hoping that I'll take him around the block for another test drive."

Wesley wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, but he used the opportunity to carefully slip past his slayer and move into the center of the library, closer to the conference table where he rested his hand on the back of a chair to support the sudden weakness of his knees. "Well then, do have a splendid evening." Forcing a hint of exaggerated brightness into his tone he gave her a dismissive nod, then dropped his head to pretend to study the title of a discarded book laying on the table. "Now would be as good a time as any. No need to dilly-dally."

"You know, you really should get out more often." She regarded him without expression while making no move to leave. "It wouldn't hurt you to loosen up a bit and pull that stake out of your--"

"Faith!"

She grinned, her dark eyes glimmering. "Just sayin'. You should buy yourself a pair of jeans. I'm sure they make them small enough to fit those skinny little hips of yours. Might make you look almost human. And some decent shoes. Shit, it would make a hell of a lot better sense than working out with me in a suit of all the dorky things. What do they teach you guys in Watcher school anyways? You look like you should be perched on top of a wedding cake, not sparring with a genuine slayer."

"Well, if you're quite finished with your evaluation of my attire. I should very much appreciate it if you would leave now. I've a mountain of paperwork to attend to before the Council members arrive next week to review your progress and administer your psych tests. One mustn't fall behind on such things. It wouldn't do to be found wanting." He reached across the conference table to where his briefcase lay and gathered it near, popping the latch.

"It wouldn't hurt you to stick your head into that "little club" where Buffy and her slayeretts hang. It's called the bronze, by the way. And I've seen a few older nerdy types wander in there from time to time, trying to pick up jailbait."

"Why should I wish to -hang out' at the bronze?" He couldn't keep from looking utterly appalled by the concept.

"Oh, in a word...'Cordy.' Remember your little jailbait cheerleader, the one you got the hots for? She struts around in there like the queen of Sheba." She gave him a wink and headed in his direction. "Can't tell me you wouldn't like to shed a few of those stuffy Watcher threads for her."

He blinked in astonishment as she strode into his personal space and looked up at him as he shifted uncomfortably beneath her unwavering stare. "I can assure you." He cleared his throat "My relationship with Miss Chase is of an entirely appropriate nature. There is nothing the least bit.... improper concerning our.... discussions. While it is true that I have endeavored to assist her on more than one occasion with her studies and her selection of a possible future university, you may rest assured that Miss Chase and myself maintain the utmost professionalism in our dealings with one another."

"Do you always ramble like this when you're nervous?"

He snapped his mouth shut.

"Come on, Wes, admit it. Miss Sunny D Homecoming Queen gets you hot." She shamelessly slinked against him and writhed her body into his; causing Wesley's eyes to fly open wide. He gulped for air and fought to form words as she continued in a sultry tone, "I know you're just dying to get your hands on those pom poms of hers. Bet she could teach you a few cheers."

"Cheers?" The word squeaked out and he tried to step free, but her hand seized his wrist in an iron vise grip and he couldn't pull away.

"You're a tall one, aren't ya?" She gazed up at him and cocked her head. "Long, tall and skinny, with emphasis on the -long.' Kinda makes me wonder..." Faith trailed as her eyes passed slowly over his trembling body up then down again in a blatantly suggestive manner.

Wesley tried in vain to loosen the slayer's grip but failed as his hand began to grow numb beneath the crush of her slender fingers. The Watcher was trapped and he knew it, as he raised his eyes to lock with hers, mere inches from his face. He swallowed hard and fought to control the feeling of panic threatening to overcome him.

She grinned. "Funny. Your wrists are kinda delicate for such a tall guy. Bet I could snap this one without even breakin' a sweat."

Wesley shuddered at this turn of events. The young man had been cornered in more than one shower stall in the past, and the memories were harsh. He still had nightmares about some of those encounters when, oddly enough, the smell of disinfectant triggered a repressed thought or feeling lurking in his brain, memories of his arms wrenched behind his back, face crushed painfully against the tile floor, glasses smashed, nose bloodied. The pain of his battered face an almost welcome relief as it gave him something to focus on.... anything to focus on, other than the obvious....

"Well?" She taunted. "Should I? Or shouldn't I?

Wesley hated being cornered. It caused him to panic and he loathed the humiliation of surrendering to blind terror, as he had in the face of the demon Balthazar only weeks before, but the young man had experienced far too much pain in his life to treat any threat casually. Wesley was tired of pain, and the people who enjoyed subjecting him to it. He learned long ago that if he couldn't hide or make himself small, it was always best to run. But fleeing was no longer an option. This time, he would be forced to stand his ground or risk the loss of everything he spent his life striving for.

"You're a skittish thing, aren't ya?" She eyed him closely then breathed, "You can't tell me you've never thought about it. You know. You. Me. Horizontal on a training mat."

"*Never,*" The word gushed from the depths of his lungs and he took a faltering step back, eyes wide, shaking his head. "I never. You're my slayer! Such thoughts....*never.*"

Wesley stared at the young woman gripping his wrist and shuddered. He was trapped. This unbalanced girl proved the instability of her nature when she caused the death of the Deputy Mayor and blamed it on the other slayer. Wesley could still feel the painful impact of her fist against his jaw effortlessly knocking him senseless when he attempted to bring her to justice. Slayer strength was not to be underestimated. One could never take the threat too lightly. Her deceptively sleek, feminine form belied muscles of steel and a grip that even now was threatening his circulation.

Wesley never dreamed his Slayer might be capable of producing fear in him. It wasn't a scenario he anticipated. *This* wasn't a scenario he anticipated. He drew a deep breath and steadied his thoughts then found his voice. "Faith, this really isn't something you should wish to be doing." His words sounded surprisingly calm to his ears. "You're impeding my circulation. If you would be so kind as to release me..." His eyes dropped to her hand and to his surprise her fingers unfurled and his blood resumed its flow as the girl took a single step back, barely allowing him room to breathe.

"Oh give me a break. You're human...more or less." Her eyes passed slowly over his tall, lean frame, then back up to search his face. "You can't tell me you're not fightin' a boner, even now."

"Faith...no. Such things..." He felt his cheeks blaze. "...they're simply not done. Nor even contemplated. I'm your Watcher; I've taken a sacred oath to protect you. I would never, *ever* violate that oath, nor the trust the Council has placed in me to respect you as my charge."

"Would you just listen to yourself? -Sacred oath.' Could that be any cornier? Like you're my white knight or somethin'. You guys really take an oath about stuff like that?" She rested her fists on her hips and leaned near to whisper, "I could take you to the mat for a real -training session.' Make those eyes of yours pop right out of your skull."

A tremor swept through him as her words cut down his spine. Wesley drew a deep breath and steadied his nerves, fighting to remind himself that despite her flagrant behavior, this was still an impressionable young girl. "You've been entrusted to my care. I shan't violate that trust. Ever."

"I could force you." She grinned and advanced, sliding her hands up to rest against his chest. "Then you wouldn't have to feel guilty about it."

"*Faith!*" he gasped and tired to step away but found himself trapped.

"Relax, Stuffy." Her hands began to roam.

"Oh my...oh my lord...you mustn't." He squirmed away, shifting to avoid the invasion of her hands in places he never imagined she would dare to touch. Smoothly evading his defense, she slipped her hand to the front of his trousers and pressed her palm against the growing erection he was trying in vain to conceal beneath the folds of his jacket. Startled, he jerked and tried to pull free, finding himself slammed against the table. A moan escaped his throat and he fought the urge to press himself into the embrace of the invading hand. "You mustn't... *I* mustn't... NO!!"

The word resounded through the air of the library, bringing the slayer up short.

"I said NO," he repeated firmly, fighting to catch his breath. "Have you no respect for yourself?"

Her eyes widened in shock, then her brightly painted lips twisted into a frown and she scowled. "Respect?" She dropped her hands and took a step back. "Who said I've got no fuckin' respect for myself? The way I see it, you live hard, fast and die young. At least, that's the way the book's written out for slayers. Shit, I'll be lucky to see my 21st birthday. I've got no time for valentines and roses. I see. I want. I take. I respect myself just fine."

"Faith?" Confusion clouded the blue of his eyes as he fought to control the reaction of his body to her nearness while solemnly considering the harshness of her reasoning. His voice fell to a whisper. "The ephemeral nature of your unique existence is no excuse to place any less value on your life than that of any other young lady's. As the Slayer, you are chosen, your life is precious and should be regarded as such."

"Precious?" A shadow passed over the Slayer's face.

"Yes, Faith. *You*...are precious."

She drew a slight breath and something moved in the depths of her eyes as she took a step back. "Yeah...well...anyway." She made a gentle motion with her hand and looked aside. "How's your gut? I put a wicked ugly bruise on you there. Guess it's still pretty tender."

"Oh, yes." He glanced down, reminded of the dull ache still radiating across his stomach, but thankful for the diversion. "It'll heal."

"It really was...an accident, you know." She shrugged. "I turned at just the wrong minute and suddenly, you know...just suddenly..." She trailed and her face took on a far away look as her voice fell to a whisper. "It was an accident. I didn't see him.... You." She gasped then quickly added, "I mean *you.* I didn't see you."

"Faith?" Something in her tone caught his attention and he reached out to touch her arm then pulled up short and froze, his hand in mid-air.

Wesley was strictly admonished by the council not to make the mistakes of his predecessor whose emotional attachment to his Slayer clouded his judgment. Wesley paused in misstep, hesitated when he saw the light in her eyes, then pulled back into himself and squared his shoulders. "A cautious Slayer is a far more effective adversary than a Slayer ruled by the whims of her emotions." He heard himself announce. "You'd do well to remember that."

Faith blinked and for a moment her face was blank, then her eyes hardened to a glare and she hissed, "Precious? Let me stamp an expiration date on your ass and see how precious you feel. I have no future. It's either now or never, get it?"

Wesley frowned as the impact of her words washed over him and he took a step back. It was true. Though his instructors seldom addressed the issue, avoided it, in fact, the Slayer's life was bitter, lonely and brief. It was something he never considered before, since it was a necessary fact one accepted with the stoicism required of one's position as Watcher. *-To succumb to sentimentality is the epitome of weakness. A precursor to certain failure.'* His father's edict echoed through his mind.

But facing the actual living, breathing girl before him, Wesley was struck by the cold reality of the brevity of her existence and an unexpected heaviness settled into his chest.

Precious?

"Like I said," She snapped. "I see. I want. I take. Everyone feels that way, Wes, I'm just honest enough to admit it. The way I see it, the rest of you ass-wipes are nothin' but hypocrites. You stand there all stuffy and proper, almost busting the seams of your britches just to get at me, all the while you're too prissy to do anything but deny that you would ever dare to have such "improper" thoughts."

"Thoughts and actions are two separate things, Faith. Or they should be. Simply because one is compelled by a desire does not mean that one must act on that desire." He pulled trembling breaths into his lungs and swallowed hard, forcing firmness into his tone as he told her, "Your actions were, indeed, "improper," as you say, and henceforth and without exception, you are never, under any circumstance to touch me in such a manner *ever* again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Whoa, Wes." Her eyes widened, and the air gushed from her lungs in a rush. "You *do* have a pair. I'm impressed." Then she shrugged and rolled up onto the balls of her feet, leaning into his face. "Well, maybe not impressed, really, but mildly stunned."

"Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?"

"Don't push it Watcher. I get your drift." Her expression again hardened. "Don't go into full Watcher mode on me or I'll be forced to snap you like a twig."

Wesley's mind was a whirlwind of confusion as he desperately fought to control the conflicting emotions surging through him. He was failing miserably with both of his slayers. Now this! All his years of study to assume the coveted position of Watcher to an active slayer seemed utterly useless now, as none of his studies even remotely prepared him for this insolence, nor the suggestive manner in which his young charge addressed him. Her firm and toned body vibrated with energy as she invaded his space, mere inches away, the heat radiating from her in waves. His body still tingled with the memory of her hands caressing places seldom touched by attractive young women.

She caught his expression and grinned, causing him to look away.

He tightly clasped his hands in an attempt to hide their trembling, and managed to meet her stare without flinching. He couldn't allow this behavior to continue unchallenged. His training dictated the best approach was the direct approach. So he drew a deep breath and assumed his most authoritative tone. "As your Watcher, I am ordering you to--"

"*Ordering?*"

The word cut the room like ice, sending a sudden unexpected chill down Wesley's spine. He didn't expect the drain of all emotion from the girl's face, nor his own reaction to the pitch of her eyes as they locked with his. "Yes...of course. I order you to--"

"And just who do you think you are, anyway? Fuckin' General Patton?"

"Excuse me?"

"No one, and I mean no one, gives me *orders,* mister."

"It is incomprehensible to me how Mr. Giles maintained any semblance of structure or control of you girls without the issuance of commands. It's little wonder he failed." The words flew from his lips in a rush of exasperation. All his instructors insisted Slayer's craved structure. "Next, you'll be demanding *cookies* for the completion of each assignment."

"Giles is not a pompous uptight dork, who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Just where do you get off knocking him?" The slayer advanced, her face dark with anger, her hands balled into fists.

The rapid turn of events left Wesley's head spinning. One minute the volatile young woman was molesting him, the next, murder gleamed in her eyes. He swallowed hard and took a hesitant step back until he found himself pushed against the conference table, a livid Faith staring him down. "Your fondness for Buffy's ex-watcher is understandable," he hastened to add. "Commendable, actually. I rather think, given the impressionable nature of youth, it's understandable that your loyalties would be torn. Nonetheless, the council found Mr. Giles' techniques to be wanting and felt it best that someone with a greater understanding of Slayer training and discipline should be sent to assume the field in his stead."

"That doesn't explain why they sent you." The slayer showed no signs of backing down. "If they wanted someone with greater understanding and training."

"I assure you, my credentials are impeccable," he sputtered, offended by her obvious slight. He devoted his entire life to the pursuit of being found worthy of this noble cause. To aid and assist his Slayer in the destruction of evil in all its myriad forms wherever that sacred duty might lead him. But he found no trust or respect when he looked into the livid dark eyes locked on his face. "Miss Faith, I...."

"Screw this, I'm out of here." She abruptly spun on her heel and stepped away.

The sudden distance between them gave Wesley a welcome chance to draw a much-needed breath into his lungs. He hadn't been aware of the fact that he'd been holding his breath until that moment, but the sudden return of oxygen to his brain made his head spin. What just happened? How could things have gone so terribly wrong? Was there no possible way to connect to his Slayers of which the council would approve?

He came to Sunnydale with such high hopes never losing sight of his goal even after the initial uncomfortable first meeting with the girls. The next few weeks were disheartening, but later as he watched them sparring with one another during training, he was struck with awe at the majesty of just what these remarkable creatures were capable of. Theory was one thing. Experience was quite another. These girls were incredible. His chest actually swelled with pride at the sight.

His slayers....

The leather-clad girl gave him a final, disdainful glare before heading for the door.

*Damn.*

He bumbled yet another encounter with her. There had to be someway to reach these girls. In sudden desperation, Wesley stepped away from the table and started after her. "Faith. Once you've completed your patrol, you and Buffy might wish to stop by the library. I'll still be here doing research....Please." He added the last word softly.

A hand slipped to her slim hips and the slayer paused before the double swinging doors but didn't turn to face him. "And why the hell would I want to do that?"

"Cookies?" His voice held a plaintive tone and echoed in the sudden silence of the room.
Faith turned, a look of incredulity on her face, her vivid red lips slightly parted in surprise and stared at the young watcher, suddenly speechless.

"My mum taught me to bake the most scrumptious tea cookies..." He trailed into silence at the look of total shock on the girl's face, then continued softly, "Ginger lemon creams?"

A smile tempted the corners of her full lips and Faith cocked her head, considering the suggestion as she quietly asked, "Homemade?"

"Simply delicious, I assure you." He continued. "It oughtn't take an hour or so. I'll pop over to my flat, whip up a batch and meet you both here later this evening."

"Cookies?" she repeated softly then pursed her lips and shrugged. "Cool. I can dig that. Cookies are cool." With that, she spun on her heel and dashed through the doors, leaving them swinging wildly in her wake.

Wesley stood frozen in the sudden silence of the library, with only the pounding of his heart rushing in his ears. What just happened? Slowly he staggered to the conference table, pulled out a chair and sank down into the seat, the events of the last twenty minutes swimming through his brain. So, cookies were cool? He drew a deep breath and held it. Now that he thought about it, his mum's cookies *were* pretty cool. Smashing, in fact. A welcome taste of home in this inhospitable place....

Well, he'd best get on it.

Wesley pulled himself to his feet.

It was ironic that with five generations of Watchers on his father's side, countless years of indoctrination beneath that man's steely glare, and incalculable nights spent relegated to studying beneath the stairs, that it was his mum's lemon crème cookies, the very same ones she used to slip to him to soothe the loneliness of his seclusion during the tenure of his penitence beneath the stairs, those cookies, and not his father's many proclamations, that provided the answer he so desperately sought.

His first tentative connection to the girls.

A smile touched his lips and Wesley headed for the library doors, even as he quietly concluded to himself. His mum's lemon cookies....

No. It wasn't so ironic, after all.

The End