Growing Pains I

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The lair of the undead: a ruined chapel deep within the earth, stinking of decay, corruption, and death. The cavernous space dimly lit by the deceptive warmth of a hundred candles, flickering flames casting long, eerie shadows dancing upon the crumbling stone walls.

In the center of the lair lay a grotesque pool of blood, thick and crimson.

A little boy, his features hidden by shadow, dropped pebbles into the pool with playful innocence, his actions at odds with the macabre environs. Each stone disturbed the surface, sending ripples across the viscous fluid.

Beside him, reclining in an ornately carved chair that might have been stolen from a king's court, lounged a vampire wrapped in a leather suit. With a smile that was indulgent yet as inherently monstrous as his face, his outstretched hand was filled with stones for the boy's innocent game.

Yet, this was no ordinary boy.

In life, his name had been Collin.

In death, he was transformed.

Now he was the Anointed One, a creature bound in eternal servitude to the vampire who lounged beside him: the Master, lord of the scions of Archaeus, those of the Clan Nosferat — the oldest, most prolific line of vampires that stalked the Earth. Once known by many other names, the Master had been a monster in life, and death had only furthered the depths of his depravity.

Light footsteps echoed through the chamber as another of the undead approached the two. A pretty woman, she wore the guise of innocence well even as a vampire: a fetching face framed by blonde hair. Dressed in the uniform of a private girl's school, she practically skipped through the chamber, even as her eyes remained cold and dead.

She was called Darla, the Master's favorite daughter, and she reveled in his favor, dreaming of the day he would rise from this subterranean squalor to reign over a world overrun with vampires, demons, and unspoken horrors. And, hopefully, there would be someone else to share the glorious moment with her.

Someone with whom she had terrorized Europe.

Someone who tore out the throats of the victims she had held down for him.

His name was on her lips, always.

As she drew closer to the Master and the Anointed One, the Master's voice, strained yet eerily calm, broke the silence. "Zackery didn't return from the hunt last night."

Darla stopped short, a hiss escaping her lips. "The Slayer."

A sigh left the Master's permanently blood-stained lips. "Zackery was strong. Careful. A true hunter. And yet, the Slayer takes him as she has taken so many of my children." His voice hardened, a hint of steel beneath the weariness as he took a deep breath, lifting his chin ever so slightly. "It wears thin."

He turned his gaze to the Anointed One. "Collin, what would you do about it?"

With the simplicity of the eternally young yet unnaturally old, the Anointed One responded, his voice unnatural. "I'd annihilate her."

The Master inhaled with pleasure, a predatory smile on his face. "Out of the mouths of babes…"

Darla stepped forward, eager and ready. "Let me do it, Master. Let me kill her for you."

The Master regarded her with an almost-stern look, his voice dropping lower to a singsong cadence. "You have a personal interest in this."

She pouted like a child denied a sweet. "I never get to have any fun."

Ignoring her sulk, the Master continued in his calm singsong voice, the tone he took when he was at his most dangerous. "I will send the Three."

Darla's eyes sparked with dark delight. "The Three." Her voice was tinged with anticipation.

Pleasure.

Triumph.

It didn't last long.

"And yet there is another," the Master interjected, his tone slicing through her reverie like a knife.

"Another," Darla repeated, blinking. "Another Slayer? Impossible."

"No, not a Slayer," the Master corrected, his fingers steepling in contemplation, casting long, ominous shadows on his weathered face. "A boy, a companion of the Slayer. A Vampire Hunter, a surprisingly crafty one for this age to be so young and survive against so many kindred. I have received word that he has dispatched nearly three-score of our kin, most of them newly turned, but some of notable experience. Even Krellan fell to his hand."

Darla's surprise was evident, her eyes wide. Krellan had been a formidable force, even with his hand removed as penance for displeasing the Master. "But... how? Krellan's killed so many would-be Hunters."

The Master dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. "The manner of his success is irrelevant. He obstructs our path, and for that, he must be eliminated. Isn't that right, Collin?"

"Exactly."

The Master gave the vampire child a red-stained smile. "That's my boy."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

God, I love the Bronze. That wasn't a statement that Xander was used to making, at least not before the last month or so. Something about having so much energy at night made the loud music and the cramped dance floor just so much more… exciting.

Although, it could be the hot girls, he thought with a smirk, Xander pumping his arms, promoting his night fever routine as one glanced his way. The pretty brown-haired girl who wasn't really catching a tune so much as flowing with it smiled at him as he neared her with a growing grin on his own lips. Wait, I know her… "Hey, Annie!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, a rather large burly figure who looked more like a neanderthal in a letterman jacket proudly bearing the colors of Ronald McDonald turned around to shoot a glare at him. Xander's eyes widened slightly as he recognized the mountain of a teenager that looked all of thirty years old. Oh right, she has a boyfriend. What was his name again? Vito? Vito!

"Vito!" Xander greeted cheerfully, already dancing backwards to put some distance between himself and the glowering football player. "Just leaving!"

Unfortunately, dancing back in another direction had him collide with someone else and he didn't even need to turn around to tell who. The familiar scent of expensive perfume and the feeling of smooth, bare skin against his arm told him everything he needed to know.

"Ouch!" Cordelia cried, her voice dripping with disdain. She was wearing some kind of low-cut lizard-girl dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and her hair was down, dark and very straight. "Please keep your extreme oafishness off my two-hundred-dollar shoes."

Shoot me, Xander thought, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he plastered on his best apologetic smile and said, "Hey, Cordy, sorry about that. I was just—"

"Getting off the floor before Annie Vega's boyfriend squashes you like a bug?" Cordelia cut him off with practiced ease, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised in a look that was more disdain than amusement.

Xander grinned proudly, a hint of something darker flickering across his face for a moment before it was gone. "I think I could handle myself."

"I'm sure," Cordelia drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Xander winked at the pretty popular girl, undeterred by her attitude. "Your confidence means the world to me."

She flashed him her trademark bitchy evil-eye at full force. "And you have as much of it as I can offer."

"And honestly, I don't agree with what everyone said tonight," he added in an overly friendly tone, unable to resist needling her just a little more. Then he lobbed the classic grenade. "That outfit doesn't make you look like a hooker at all."

"What?" Cordelia's eyes widened, her voice rising a full octave.

"Yeah," Xander grinned, already backing away. "Highly paid escort, at least." Parting gift.

He left the floor while he was maybe ahead, at the very least before Cordelia could try to claw his eyes out, and walked off the dance floor to catch up with his two main gals, Buffy and Willow, sitting by the bar.

His eyes trailed over Buffy's hot, black, crocheted top that showed off her toned arms and just a hint of cleavage, her blonde hair loose in those wispy bang-things he'd seen Willow attempt so many times before. The Rosenberg in question sat beside the former cheerleader looking cute as a button in a brown sweater and a nice skirt that showed off her legs. Despite their good looks, they both looked like they were having as much fun as corpses could — the not-undead kind, anyways.

"Boy, that Cordelia's a regular breath of vile air," Xander said as he approached, clicking his tongue as he slid onto the stool next to Willow. When they didn't respond, he cocked his head and said, "What are you vixens up to?"

Willow sighed, resting her chin on her hand. "Just sitting here watching our barren lives pass us by. Oh, look, a cockroach." She pointed at a spot on the floor, and Xander followed her gaze just in time to see her foot come down on the unfortunate insect with a crunch.

The little bastard didn't have a chance. Xander was about to congratulate her on her technique when he saw not a flicker of predatory satisfaction on her face. If anything, she looked even more morose than before. Buffy looked even worse, the girl outright wearing an upside down smile that made Xander's heart clench.

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"Whoa, stop this crazy whirligig of fun," he drawled. "I'm dizzy."

Buffy activated with a sigh, her shoulders slumping as she pushed herself off the stool. "All right, now I'm infecting those near and dear to me. I'll see you guys tomorrow." She prepared for liftoff, gathering her things as she gave them both a tired look.

Willow's eyes widened, and she reached out a hand to rest on Buffy's arm. "Oh, don't go," she pleaded, voice clearly disappointed.

Xander piped up, "Yeah, it's early! We could, um, dance." He broke into his standard disco routine, complete with finger guns and hip thrusts, doing his best to turn her frown upside down.

"Rain check," Buffy said, pushing away from the table. She did give them a smile as she stepped away.

A sad one, though.

Xander couldn't help but notice the weariness in her eyes, the slight droop of her shoulders.

To both Slayerettes, she said, " 'Night."

And like that… she left.

Willow sighed and showed Xander the carcass of her kill, attractively glued to her shoe with its cockroachy guts, and said, "Want a free drink?"

Xander shot her a devilish grin, wide and mouthy. "I'd love one, Wills." Glancing to his left, he noticed a brown-haired girl staring forlornly at a muffin that was probably stale by now. "What about you, Marcie? Want a drink to wash down that hard pastry?"

The girl blinked, as if surprised that Xander was talking to her. She looked up at him with wide, uncertain eyes, her mouth opening as if to respond.

"Who are you talking to, Xander?"

Xander raised an eyebrow, turning back to face his friend as he pointed back in Marcie's direction. "Marcie? You know, the girl who sits behind us in English?"

At Willow's continued confused expression, he glanced back at where the girl had been sitting, only to see an empty seat… the muffin gone, as well.

What the hell? He could have sworn she was just there a second ago. The young devil sniffed the air, catching an odd smell like fading aerosol on the wind.

"Huh… weird," he muttered, shaking his head.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The next day, in what doubled as Slayage World Headquarters—the Sunnydale High School library— Xander listened with raised eyebrows as Buffy told him, Willow and Giles what had happened the night before.

"He spent the night? In your room? In your bed?" Xander asked, laughing so loud he couldn't help but slap his knee. "Jesus, Buffy, when's the wedding?"

Buffy flushed as his chuckles failed to stop, her cheeks fully pink. "Not in my bed. By my bed."

"That is so romantic," Willow said dreamily, resting her chin in her palms. No laughter from her. A little envy, maybe, but no laughter. Xander couldn't really say the same as he didn't bother keeping it in. "Wow. Did you, uh, I mean did he, uh—"

"Perfect gentleman," Buffy said proudly, cutting off Willow's stammering with a firm nod.

"One question," Xander interrupted, pausing his laughter for a moment as he held up a finger. "Can I be a bridesmaid or are you full up already?" He batted his eyelashes at her, clasping his hands together in a pleading gesture.

Buffy shot him a pointed look, eyes narrowed. "Xander."

"What?" the boy in the black denim shorts cackled again. "I'm sorry that it's funny. I mean, obviously he's playing you, but I gotta admit he's running a great game. I just wonder what it is."

"Um, No," Buffy shot back at him, an affronted look on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. "What game is he playing by saving my life? Getting slashed in the ribs?"

Xander shook his head, clicking his tongue like a disappointed teacher. "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy, you don't get it, do you? Guys'll do anything to impress a girl." He puffed out his chest as he leaned back in his chair. "I once drank an entire gallon of Gatorade without taking a breath."

Willow nodded, backing him up. "It was pretty impressive." Then she made a little face, scrunching up her nose as the memory came back to her. "Although later there was an ick factor.…"

Xander waved her off. "We, we, we don't need to talk about that." The last thing he needed was for more people to know about the... aftermath of his little stunt. There are some things that a guy's gotta keep to himself, y'know?

Giles approached, carrying a huge black leather-bound book that looked like it belonged in some kind of medieval torture chamber. "Can we steer this riveting conversation back to the events that took place earlier in the evening?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You left the Bronze and were set upon by three unusually virile vampires …"

"Virile, he says," Xander gasped, clutching at imaginary pearls. "My word, in front of two young ladies."

Purposefully ignoring Xander's antics, Giles laid down the book and pointed to an engraving that looked like it belonged on some kind of heavy metal album cover. "Did they look like this?"

Xander raised his head to look, eyes widening just a bit as he took in the image on the page. They do look like the bloodsucking amigos Buff described.

Buffy nodded, leaning in closer to get a better look. "Yeah. What's with the uniforms?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought vampires were more into the whole 'creature of the night' aesthetic, not... whatever this is."

Giles looked like a man who'd just won a bet but wasn't happy about the prize. That happened whenever he was right about some ravening monster intent upon either sucking Buffy's liver out through her nose or causing the basic end of the world as it was known and loved. "It seems you encountered the Three—warrior vampires, very proud and strong."

Willow blinked, impressed. "How is it you always know this stuff? You always know what's going on. I never know what's going on."

Giles waved a hand at the piles of dusty books as he sipped from a coffee cup that looked like it had seen better days. "Well, you weren't here from midnight to six researching it." Apparently, Buffy had called him right before he was about to hit the hay, and the poor guy had been up all night trying to figure out what was going on.

Sheepishly Willow agreed, her cheeks turning pink. "No, I was sleeping."

"I was also sleeping," Xander chimed in, lying as easily as he breathed. He had been hunting vampires as he usually did, staying clear of the Buffster's usual hunting spots while doing so.

Giles turned to Buffy, expression serious. "Obviously, you're hurting the Master. He wouldn't send the Three for just anyone." He thought for a moment, cleaning his glasses with the edge of his tweed jacket. "We must step up our training with weapons."

Xander added, "Buffy, you'd better stay at Willow's place until these samurai guys are history."

Buffy shot him a look like he wasn't quite sure she'd heard him right. "What?"

"This Angel guy's hiding something, obviously," he continued, scratching his chin. "I just don't want you to be in arms reach when he springs his trap."

Giles shook his head, the man putting his glasses back on with a sigh. "No, Xander, Angel and Buffy are not in immediate jeopardy." He clasped his hands together on top of the book, looking for all the world like a professor about to deliver a lecture. "Eventually the Master will send someone else, but in the meantime, the Three, having failed, will offer up their own lives as penance."

Xander threw his hands up in defeat, looking mock-offended. "Alright, nobody listens to me. I see how it is."

Buffy tilted her head to look at him carefully, Xander glancing back in confusion for a moment before shooting the blonde a grin. "Something on my face?"

"No, I just…" Buffy trailed off, the blonde biting her lip.

"Just what?" Willow asked.

"Nothing, I just…" Buffy threw her hands up in a manner more dramatically than Xander had and sighed again. "It would make more sense if you were jealous or something, but you're just … just not."

"Me?" Xander blinked, index jabbing at his red shirt. "Jealous? I mean, I get it, but we're clearly not each other's type."

"Excuse me?" Buffy rose to her feet, all five feet of her glaring at the seated Xander, her hands on her hips.

"Let's be real, you, like most teenage girls with a pulse, clearly like 'em tall, dark, and broody," Xander winked. "I'm more tall, bright, and goofy. Right, Wills?"

"I mean…" Willow tilted her head.

Xander grinned at a pouting Buffy. "See?"

The entire time he sat there, he did his best to pretend that Giles' eyes weren't constantly focused on him, the man staring above his glasses.

The last time the man had directly spoken to him had been inside this library, a discussion that nearly broke the line of heat that separated a simple talk from an argument.

One that ended when Xander simply threw up his hands in faked frustration and left the library. He knew the old librarian hadn't let it go, but the man hadn't brought it up with Buffy yet, so he clearly wasn't sure.

Still, he definitely suspected something.

Look all you want, G-Man, Xander thought, smiling at Willow and Buffy, like I said, I'm still normal.