Disclaimers:  I own nothing.  Gary, the Cat, the Paper, etc. all belong to CBS and TriStar.  Buffy, the Slayerettes, the vampires, etc. all belong to Joss Whedon (grr, arg).  No infringement is intended, and I promise not to hurt anybody much (more than necessary <g>).  The idea is mine, however, and it would be appreciated (and lawful) if you ask before doing anything with this story.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Papers, Predictions, and Prophecies
by Jayne Leitch
Copyright 1998
Installment 1

Part 1
 

 It started the way these things always did.

 With a meow and a thump.
* * * * *
 Gary Hobson opened the door to his loft and felt the Cat run over his bare toes.  "Yeah, good morning to you too," he told the animal as he bent down to pick up the paper--tomorrow's Paper.  Gary was still hit by the thing that was his life, every morning--this thing that felt, looked, and read like any normal newspaper--except it wasn't.  He still half-expected the Cat that came with tomorrow's news each day to suddenly disappear, leaving him to live his life in peace.  He had the sneaking suspicion that he'd be lost if that happened.  His life wouldn't have a purpose, then...

 Gary shook his head, wryly shoving those thoughts back to wherever they'd come from.  He turned his eyes to the Paper, scanning the front page for a headline to fix.  He blinked.  Then he read it again.  "What the--?"

 The Paper Gary held in his hands was not the Chicago Sun-Times.
* * * * *
 "So what is it?"

 "It's the...the 'Sunnydale Press'.  Why would the Paper send me the Sunnydale Press?"  Gary lifted his coffee to his mouth, casting a baleful glance at the offending paper.  "I don't even know where Sunnydale is."

 "Is it still tomorrow's paper?"  Marissa Clark set her own coffee cup on the bar and raised an eyebrow.  "Maybe your subscription got confused with someone else's."

 Gary gave her a look that, naturally, her sightless eyes couldn't see.  "Yes, it's still tomorrow's paper.  And I don't think subscriptions matter."

 "Well, maybe the Paper wants you to go to Sunnydale," Marissa suggested.  "Was there anything you need to fix?"

 "No, and that's another thing."  Throwing another glare at the Press, Gary explained, "There is nothing in that thing for me to change.  No crimes, no disasters, nothing.  Not even a mugging."  He picked it up and started leafing through it again.  "This place, wherever it is, has either a crime rate of zero or a population of two.  It doesn't make any sense!"

 Marissa blinked, then straightened her shoulders.  "That's it then."

 Gary looked at her.  "That's what?"

 "Gary, you have to go to Sunnydale.  The Paper is giving you the perfect vacation spot."  Sliding off her stool, Marissa gestured at the Press.  "There's nothing for you to do here, since the Paper hasn't sent you *the* paper.  And Chuck and I can take care of the restaurant--it's perfect!"

 Gary shook his head, backing away from the now-resolved Marissa.  "N-No.  I really don't think--"

 "Oh, come on Gary."  Smiling happily, she leaned closer to him.  "You <know> you need a vacation.  And from this paper, it looks like Sunnydale's your best bet.  It's probably some quiet little suburb somewhere warm, with just enough attractions to keep the tourist industry alive.  It'll be peaceful, and calm, and you won't have to save any lives for a while.  You'll love it."

 Gary looked at the Press' masthead.  It was yellow.  "You think so?"

 Marissa's smile turned into a grin, and she reached over to pat his arm.  "I <know> so."
* * * * *
 Buffy Summers lashed out at the vampire with her foot, landing a solid blow to his chest.  The demon staggered backwards, then regained his footing, glaring at her in full game face.  "You're in trouble now, missy," he growled, stalking forward again.

 "And you just don't know when to quit, do you?"  The petite blonde reached for her stake, then held it up, aiming carefully.  "I mean, hey.  Most people die, they say, 'Okay, done with the living thing, I'm checking out.'  Whereas you..."  The vampire leapt forward and she ducked under his arms, driving the stake into place.  "You need a special reminder to hand in your room key."

 The vampire howled in agony, then burst into tiny particles of dust.  Buffy stepped clear of the debris, then watched as a breeze blew it off through the dark cemetary.  Then she checked her Timex(tm).

 "Two-thirty.  I think I'm done."  She nodded, smoothed her hair back, and turned away from the tombstones, heading for the gate.

 *Another average night.*  Folding her arms against a sudden cool breeze, Buffy let her shoulders slump and her feet scuff the ground.  She sighed.  "What am I gonna do?  <Not> fight the demons?  Let the world be dragged off into hell?"  Her tone was one of bitterness, and she suddenly lashed out at a tombstone, spinning on the ball of her foot, putting all her weight behind the kick--then stopping her foot a millimeter before it connected with the smooth marble.

 As soon as the outburst began, it was gone, and the petite blonde slumped again, resuming her walk.  "I hate this," she muttered as she turned out of the cemetary and onto the sidewalk.  She steeled herself for getting home, going to bed, and acting normal when she got up to go to school the next day.  *'Cause heaven forbid I don't act normal,* she thought sadly.  *Especially not after...*  Shaking her head, she pushed those thoughts out of her head.

 Too aware of the quiet, empty streets around her, Buffy the Vampire Slayer headed for home.
* * * * *
 Rupert Giles gazed worshipfully at the unopened crate of books that had just been delivered.  They were from a small town in northern Scotland, and the book dealer that had contacted him said that they were at least four hundred years old.  And in some form of original Scotch Gaelic, no less.

 If Giles was the type of man who bounced, he would have.  Books like these were a Watcher's dream.  He pulled out a crowbar and got to work on the lid of the crate, and after much pushing and jamming, there was a loud *crack* and the boards gave way.  Giles set the crowbar aside, peered eagerly into the box--and frowned.  "What have we here?"

 He reached in and pulled out the top layers of paper, staring at them in puzzlement.  "The 'Chicago Sun-Times'?"  He gave the papers a cursory glance, then set them aside and dove back into the crate.  "Perhaps I received the wrong...hang on..."  Giles dug through a few more layers of newspapers, then came to--"Ah, the books."  He realized belatedly that the papers had probably been used to cushion the antiquities on their journey from Scotland to California.

 The Watcher pulled out the first book, immediately forgetting about the odd papers.  He glanced at the title--he didn't know a word of Gaelic--then set it aside, and began unloading the rest.

 So absorbed in his rapture was he that Giles jumped when he heard a voice from behind him.

 "Hey.  New shipment?"

 Giles spun around, clutching one of the tomes tightly.  "Xander!  Willow!  You--ah--startled me."

 "Sorry."  Willow Rosenberg peered anxiously at the crate and the growing stack of books beside it.  "Is this the one from Scotland?"

 "Ah--yes.  Yes, and I--I think..."  Giles had turned his gaze back to the book he held, and he studied the title intensely.  "I don't suppose either of you speak Gaelic?"

 "Speak what?"  Xander Harris shook his head.  "I don't even know where Gale is."

 "Do you mean Celtic?"  Willow raised her eyebrows.  "I don't, but maybe there's a site on the 'net..."

 "Oh, I don't think that's necessary."  Giles was still staring at the book.  "I think there's a Watcher diary somewhere..."  He turned abruptly and headed absently for his office, leaving the two teenagers behind.

 They stared after him.  "Giles and a new book," Xander commented, picking up another tome and paging through it.  "Don't even <try> to interrupt those two lovebirds."

 "What do you think he found?"  Willow took the book from her friend's hands and put it down again.  Xander and old books could not be trusted together.

 "He kinda muttered something about Watcher diaries."  The boy crossed his arms and leaned against the table.  "Maybe he's seen that book before."

 "Very good, Xander."  Giles bustled back out into the main area of the library, still carrying the Gaelic book.  Another, slimmer tome was open in his other hand.  "I have seen it before.  At least, I've seen the title."  Joining the teenagers at the table, he set the larger book down.  "A Watcher in France around the 1670's by the name of Melois mentioned this volume in his diary.  He wasn't able to translate most of it, partly because he wasn't familiar with the language, and partly because he was killed not long after receiving it."

 "Yipes."  Willow cast a wary glance at the thick, leather-bound book.  "Did he find out what's in it?"

 "Or what it's called?"  Xander added.  "I'm a firm believer in judging books by their covers."

 Giles shook his head, then went back to skimming the pages of Melois' diary.  "I, um, won't try to pronounce the Gaelic," he stated, "But Melois translated it to mean, 'The Foresight Papers'.  He wrote that he believed the book to...oh, my...to contain prophesies, as written by Scottish seers."

 "Prophesies!"  Willow's eyes widened, and she tried to read over the taller man's shoulder.  "Are they good prophesies?  Are they Slayer prophesies?  What kind of prophesies?"

 Giles traced his finger along a faded line of French, shaking his head.  "I don't know.  Melois seemed to think one of them had something to do with the Slayer--the 'mortair', I think--but he's not clear..."

 "A prophesy that's not clear.  What else is new?"  Xander slung his backpack over his shoulder as the first period bell rang.  "Well, I'd love to stick around, but..."

 "Oh, no.  Of course, both of you, off to class."  The Watcher-cum-Librarian interrupted his reading long enough to shoo the two of them out the door.  "I translate better in private, anyway."  When he was sure they were gone, he cleared a space on the table and spread out five books:  Melois' Watcher Diary, the Foresight Papers, a tattered notebook of his own, and two dicionaries--one Gaelic, the other French.

 "Right.  On to work..."
* * * * *
 Gary slowly woke up in his hotel bed, a warm feeling of peace and rest suffusing his mind.  It was the third day of his Sunnydale vacation--three days since Marissa and Chuck had packed him off on a plane, telling him to have fun and *relax*--and although the Cat still brought a copy of the next day's Sunnydale Press to his door, so far they had been blessedly absent of disasters.

 Gary finally forced his eyes open and rolled over to look at the clock.  Nine fifteen.  "I could get used to this," he commented sleepily.  Then he froze as he heard the telltale "Meow" *thump* of the arriving news.

 He'd received the paper as always every morning.  But he hadn't heard the normal sounds accompanying it...

 Sighing, Gary rolled out of bed and headed for the door.  "Hello, Cat."  The animal stepped daintily off the newsprint and rushed into the room.  Gary ignored him, instead picking up the Press and reading with dread the front page headline.
 "Unexplained Murder at Party
  --Guest found exsanguinated in alley.
 Police were called to a private party thrown at the popular teen hangout the Bronze late last night, only to discover a murdered guest in the alley behind the building.  The guest, whom authorities have asked remain nameless, had not shown up at the party at all that evening, and it was only when hostess Cordelia Chase stepped outside for some air that the body was discovered.  Chief of Police Robert Humphrey would only reveal that the body had been totally drained of blood, and that police have no clues as to the identity of the murderer."

 Gary shook his head, his eyes wide.  A teen party?  At a local hangout?  "Whoever Cordelia Chase is, she must have some cash..."  He tossed the Paper onto the bed; the Cat immediately jumped on top of it and stared up at him as he headed for the bathroom.  "What am I gonna do about this one?" he asked the world in general as he splashed some water on his face and got ready to shave.  He sighed.  "So much for a vacation..."
* * * * *
 It was lunchtime when Gary got out of a taxi in front of Sunnydale High.  He'd spent the morning trying to find the Chase residence, and hadn't had much luck.  "Damn unlisted numbers," he muttered to himself again as he paid the cabbie and strolled across the front lawn.  "People just shouldn't be allowed to do that."

 He found the main office easily enough, and pasted a cheerful smile on his face as he walked up to the receptionist's desk.  "Excuse me.  Um, I was wondering if you could maybe call Cordelia Chase down here, please.  I need to talk with her."

 The secretary--a slight blonde woman with a pinched nose--looked up at him owlishly.  "And you are...?"

 "Oh, I'm...I'm a friend of her father."  The lie slipped simply off his tongue, followed by an effortless, charming grin.  Gary made a mental note to be spooked about his growing manipulative talents later.

 The secretary looked at him for another moment, then smiled back and swivelled her chair around.  She hit a switch, turning on the public address system, then spoke into the tiny microphone.  "Cordelia Chase to the office please, Cordelia Chase to the office."  She then hit the switch again and swivelled back to face Gary.  "She should be here in a minute or so."

 "Thank you very much."  Gary gave her one last smile, then wandered away from the desk to look at the student artwork adorning the walls.  He could wait all day.

 It turned out that he didn't have to wait more than five minutes before the office door swung open and a slightly nasal, obviously annoyed voice announced, "Hello, I'm here."

 Gary turned around quickly and saw a tall, thin girl standing in the doorway, her arms crossed impatiently.  Just behind her in the hall, he caught a glimpse of a shorter, blonde girl and a tall, dark-haired boy watching him curiously.  "Cordelia Chase?"

 The girl in the doorway gave Gary an appraising look, then nodded shortly.  "That's me."

 "Good.  I need to talk to you."  Ignoring the wary look that flashed across her face, Gary took the teenager by the arm and pulled her out into the hall, heading for a spot closer to the front door that was empty of students.

 "Hey!"  Cordelia planted her feet as best she could and pulled her arm free.  "What are you, Abducto-Man?  Who are you?"

 Gary blinked, then realized he hadn't introduced himself.  "Sorry.  I'm Gary.  Gary Hobson.  I need to talk to you about the party you're having tonight."

 The girl gave him a look and crossed her arms.  "Oh, so you drag me away from lunch, away from my friends, so you can ask for an invite?  As if!  Teens only.  Sorry."  With this, she shook her head, disgusted, and moved to walk away.

 Gary blinked again, a little off-guard, then reached out and caught her arm again.  "No, I'm not--that's not it."  Cordelia heaved a massive sigh of boredom and looked back at him pointedly.  "I don't want you to invite me to your party.  I want you to cancel it."  As soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew he should have tried a different approach.

 "Cancel it?"  Cordelia looked at him as if he'd sprouted wings.  "What are you, crazy?  This party is my last chance at regaining my popularity.  See that guy over there?"  She pointed back at the dark-haired boy Gary had seen earlier, who was now watching them warily.  "That is my boyfriend.  Do you have any idea how far down I've gone in the public eye since I started dating him?"  Gary shook his head, stunned but fascinated, as she continued, "Obviously not.  Otherwise, you wouldn't even <mention> cancelling the party."  Slowly, she straightened up to her full height, then asked, "Why should I cancel it, anyway?  I've had the Bronze booked for weeks."

 It took Gary a moment, but finally he shook his head and answered quietly, "If you have the party, one of your guests will die."

 This elicited a snort of laughter from the girl.  "Right!  What-ever!  What, is somebody gonna eat a cockroach, or something?  We've <had> the fumigation party."

 "No, you don't understand, someone--"  Just then Gary caught up to the conversation.  "<Fumigation party>?!"

 Cordelia shook her head, waving her hands in defeat.  "Look, I have to get back to lunch.  I still have last minute decorating ideas to go over.  And I don't care what you say, I'm having my party."  She turned to walk away, then stiffened and turned back.  "And if somebody <does> die, I'll be sure to send a nice bouquet to the funeral."  Finished now, she stalked back over to where her friends waited.

 Gary watched, incredulous, as the trio walked away.  "I don't believe this."  He pulled out the Paper, hoping that the article had somehow changed, but shoved it back into his pocket, frustrated, when the same headline stayed serenely in place.  "Wonderful."  Casting one last look in the departed teenager's direction, Gary marched out the door and went to hail a taxi.  "On to Plan B."
* * * * *
 Giles looked up from his translations as the door to the library swung open and Buffy, Xander, and Cordelia walked in.  Cordelia was finishing up a story:

 "...So I'm like, as *if* somebody's gonna die at my party!  People die all the time, right?  So why should I cancel?  Somebody stops ticking, everybody else's lives go on, right?"

 Xander looked pained as he flopped down into a chair.  "Right.  Way to care for your fellow men and ladies, Cordelia."

 Giles stood up, alarmed at what he'd heard.  "Who's going to die?" he asked sharply, glancing from face to face.

 Buffy shook her head, looking as if she was trying not to take the conversation seriously.  "Cordelia was called down to the office by a mystery man who told her someone's going to die if she has her party tonight."

 "Good heavens."  The Watcher cast a quick glance at the Foresight Papers and asked, "Did he tell you his name?"

 "Yeah.  Gary...something or other."  The dark-haired girl shrugged.  "It was really fifties-sounding."

 Giles frowned and sank back down into his chair.  "This might not be good..."

 "Hang on."  Xander furrowed his brow.  "Are we taking Mister Fifties seriously?"

 "Perhaps."  Giles looked up, saw the three students giving him looks, and continued somewhat defensively, "We are on a Hellmouth, as I'm sure none of you need reminding.  And in light of these prophesies--or what I've been able to make of them, anyway..."

 Buffy jumped, suddenly all-business.  "Prophesies?"

 "Ah--yes."  Nudging the Gaelic book closer to the Slayer, Giles explained, "I received some new tomes, and have been working all morning to decipher them.  It seems..."  he took his glasses off and began polishing them deliberately on some cloth, "It seems that...one of the prophesies, at least, revolves around the Slayer.  Around you, Buffy."

 The petite blonde gave the volume a mistrustful glare, asking, "Is it like last time?  Is there death involved?  'Cause I'd rather not do that again."

 Sighing, Giles replaced his glasses and answered, "I'm not sure.  The translation I have is extremely sketchy--quite vague, in fact.  But the Slayer is mentioned."

 "But not in a starring role, I hope."  Xander leaned forward, trying to read the scribbled translations upside down.

 "No.  Not...exactly."  Pulling his notebook closer, the Watcher read a few lines.  "'The Slayer and the Slain shall find'--or is that 'be found by--one who...is both...'"  He stopped, shaking his head.  "It is incredibly difficult to decipher.  But one idea is clear, later on--someone 'falls'.  I'm...not sure who."  Finished, he glanced apologetically at Buffy.

 "Right."  The Slayer took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  "If you had help, could you translate it faster?"

 Giles sighed again, nodding slowly.  "Perhaps.  It's Melois' French I'm having problems with, not the Gaelic..."

 "Then I suggest you call Willow out of English,"  Xander spoke up, dumping his bag on the floor and reaching into a pocket for a pencil.  "'Cause if anyone can find out what this thing says, she can."

 Nodding, Giles headed for the intercom.  "Excellent idea, Xander.  Now, you and Cordelia look through those dictionaries, and Buffy..."

 The research had begun.
* * * * *
 "Oh, this is interesting.  This is *very* interesting."

 Spike spun his chair around at the sound of Angelus' voice behind him.  "And what might 'this' be, mate?"  he asked, automatically toning down the snideness and impatience in his tone.

 Angel walked past him, carrying one of the old, foreign books from Spike's stash in his hands.  Spike recognized it as one of Drusilla's volumes, one she'd insisted on bringing with her when they left her home town, shortly after she'd been turned.  "It's one of Miss Edith's storybooks," she'd purred into his ear as they stepped over what was left of that old spinster's body.  "We musn't leave it behind."  The thing had been centuries old already, and the duo carried it with them for centuries more, based on Dru's insistent claims that, "We shouldn't throw it away.  We'll need it someday."

 Now Angel was reading it, and seemed to be getting something out of it.  "I really need to thank Dru for taking such good care of this.  It's perfect!"

 "What is?"  Now the anger came through; Spike wished fervently that he would heal already so he could get up out of the damn wheelchair and look at the thing for himself.  "You're not actually <reading> that gobbledigook."

 Angel looked up sharply, then smirked and drawled, "Of course.  After all, this--" he gestured at the Gaelic words open before him, "*gobbledigook* is my native tongue."  Still wearing the self-satisfied grin, he looked back down and read, "'Beo-mairb gabh an bho cuir Traogh, agus Mortair gean cha stad iam.'"

 Slowly, sarcastically, Spike clapped his hands together.  "*Well* done, mate.  Care to clarify?"

 "Anything I can do to enable those brainwaves, Chair-Boy.  It's a prophesy."  Angel flipped the book closed and held it out for Spike to see.  "The Foresight Papers.  This one's a copy, naturally, but well done.  Even if it is Scotch Gaelic."

 "You're from Ireland," Spike noted absently, taking the book and flipping through its pages.

 Angel sighed.  "Yeah, I know.  So the translation isn't <exact>.  It's close enough, even if I do only use Irish Gaelic to read it.  As I said, close enough."

 "Fine by me if you use pig Latin to decipher it, mate."  Spike looked up at the darker vampire, irritated.  "What does the damned thing <say>?"

 Scooping the tome back into his hands, Angel clucked his tongue.  "We're impatient today, aren't we?  Fine.  Translated, what I just said is as follows."  The vampire opened the book and struck a dramatic pose.  "'The living dead take their place from the Fallen, and the Slayer will not stop them.'"

 Spike waited; when Angel remained silent he raised his eyebrows.  "That's it?  That's what's got you so bloody chipper?"

 Angel dropped his pose and replied defensively,  "That's it so far.  But the Slayer's mentioned at least once more, as well as something about someone who 'falls'."  Reasserting his cocky grin, he tilted his head and held out his hands.  "Promising, no?"

 Spike shook his head.  Angelus had a new toy to play with, and when he was like this it was best not to be too down about it.  "Whatever.  Keep reading."  The disabled vampire spun his chair around and wheeled off shaking his head, leaving the smugly smiling Angel behind.
* * * * *
 Buffy was late, and it was all her mom's fault.  She'd come home from school late, having stayed to help Giles and Willow with the translation efforts, since Xander and Cordelia had run off to do God knew what about the party--well, they'd said it was about the party, but with those two's hormonal urges, Buffy had silently decided that any preparing they'd be doing would somehow involve the broom closet down the hall from the library.  So, Buffy had stayed as late as she could, then raced home, where her mother was waiting with dinner.

 "I apologized, I explained, and she *still* made me do the dishes!"  Buffy sighed dramatically as she approached the Bronze, where the throbbing sounds of a damn good party echoed down the street.  "I guess I'm lucky she didn't make me clean my room while I was at it."  Smiling a little, she pulled out her invitation and headed for the stairs--then stopped cold.

 She'd heard someone in the alley.  She fought back a wave of sickeningly hopeful dread, and stuffed her invitation back into her pocket.  Reaching over her shoulder, she pulled a miniature stake out of her hair, completely ignoring the fact that by doing so, she was destroying her 'do.  She held the stake at the ready and crept to the mouth of the alley, then carefully edged around the corner and into the shadows.

 Straining her eyes, she caught a glimpse of a figure standing warily in a corner near the end of the alley.  *It's not him.*  The thought was in her head in a moment, making her want to sag against the wall with relief.  Unfortunately, she still had a job to do, and she hoped it wouldn't take long.  The figure looked vaguely familiar, but she didn't think she'd fought him before.  *Oh well.* The Slayer slowly took in a deep breath, then launched herself toward the lurker...

 ...Who, hearing the rapid footsteps, spun around, saw the tiny teenager hurtling at him, yelped in surprise, and almost tripped over his own feet trying to run backwards.  He crashed into a trashcan then fell against the wall, eyes wide in fright.

 Buffy slowed to a stop, trying not to laugh out loud.  "Gee, aren't you guys normally more sure-footed?"  She looked closer, and blinked in surprise.  She'd seen this one before, all right--in full daylight.  "It's you!"

 Gary sighed loudly, trying to control the jackhammer pace of his heart.  He couldn't remember the last time someone had been able to sneak up on him so quietly.  He took a closer look at the girl's face, and blinked when he recognized her as the blonde friend of Cordelia's.  "Yeah, it's me.  You ought to be more careful.  You could kill someone, sneaking up on them like that!"

 The girl gave him an amused smile and muttered something that sounded like, "That's usually the idea."  Raising her voice and offering him a hand up, she admonished him, "You should really think twice about lurking in alleys around here.  It's just not safe."

 "I can see that."  Gary brushed himself off and looked down at the obviously ready-to-party girl.  "So what's your excuse?"

 Was it just his imagination, or did her smile dim a little as she answered, "I thought you were someone else."

 "Oh."  Remembering his manners, Gary leaned down a little, feeling like he was dwarfing the tiny teen, and said, "Gary Hobson."

 "Buffy Summers."  The blonde tapped what looked like a wooden tent stake against her leg and asked, "So what are you doing here?  And why did you tell Cordelia that someone would die if she had her party?"

 Gary started as he remembered the article.  He looked at Buffy again, realizing that she was probably the victim mentioned.  "Well, uh, I was--I was concerned.  I'd heard someone talking about killing someone if they, uh, didn't get an invitation."  It sounded lame to his own ears; he tried to ignore Buffy's incredulous expression.  "I thought I'd just--um--try to warn Cordelia.  But she obviously didn't listen, because the party's started.  Speaking of which, shouldn't you be in there now?"  Gary gave the teenager a look, hoping desperately that she bought his cover...

 No such luck.  "First, I want to know the real reason you're here."  The blonde folded her arms and arched her eyebrows.  "And I want the Cliffnotes version.  I don't feel like spending the whole night in a dark alley with a strange man."

 Gary sighed, looking down at the girl anxiously.  He was a little surprised at her business-like attitude, and the way she coolly shot off questions while watching him, carefully weighing his answers for their truth.  He was sure now that she would've been killed if he hadn't been there, and he desperately wanted to check the Paper to see if the article had changed or not.  Unfortunately, Buffy was staring at him, patiently waiting for his explanation.  So, he stalled.  "The...real reason?"

 "Yeah."  Buffy backed off a little, and Gary could see the beginnings of doubt showing in her face.  "Look, you showed up here at an...interesting time.  And, well...you were lurking, so I kinda thought..."  Trailing off, she sighed, watching Gary carefully.  After a moment, she straightened her shoulders and asked outright, "Do you have something to do with the Foresight Papers?"

 Gary jumped, shocked.  His mouth opened, then closed, and he stepped backwards, instinctively denying everything.  "What?  I--no, no, what--the Foresight Papers?"

 Buffy apparently had the answer she needed.  She smiled a little.  "Relax.  Your secret's safe with me."

 Completely bewildered, Gary shook his head, still trying to deny everything.  "No, you don't--you don't understand, I came here for a vacation--"

 "Hey.  It's okay."  Buffy put her hand on his arm, her smile turning to one of bemusement.  "If you <do> have something to do with the papers, I'll be seeing you around."  With that somewhat cryptic message, she turned and started walking to the mouth of the alley.

 Gary stared after her, puzzlement and shock warring for control of his mind.  Finally, he realized what had just happened and scrabbled in his coat for the Paper.  He pulled it out, unfolded it--and sighed, relieved.  The headline had changed, and now read, "School Reforms Needed, Says Principal".

 Relaxing, Gary went to fold the newsprint again--then jumped at a voice from behind him.

 "The Foresight Papers, huh?"

 The voice was smooth and self-satisfied, and when Gary turned around he saw a pale, dark-haired man dressed all in black leaning against the wall.  The man raised his eyebrows, asking, "What do you know about them?"

 "Um, I--nothing.  I don't know anything about any papers, okay?"  The Press rested heavily against his chest under his jacket, and Gary stood up straighter.  Something about the man made him nervous.  He started edging backwards, slowly.

 "Oh, come on."  The man matched him, step for step.  The space between them never narrowed, but somehow seemed to get smaller as the stranger stalked forward.  "I heard you talking to Buffy.  What did you tell her?"

 Gary started to tremble, just a little.  The man's voice wasn't confident any longer; now it had a cold, calculating edge.  "Why do you want to know?"

 The man stopped walking and smiled.  "Oh," he drawled, steepling his fingers under his chin, "Let's just say...I have an interest."

 As soon as he stopped speaking he was behind Gary, twisting his arm behind him and pulling him close.  Forcing the terrified vacationer to his knees, he leaned down and hissed in his ear, "Now, are you gonna tell me--or am I gonna kill you?"

 Somehow, Gary found enough bravado to answer, "I was kinda hoping it'd be neither."

 "Oh."  His attacker actually sounded disappointed for a moment--then his grip tightened and Gary winced as a new, hot pain stabbed through his arm.  "I guess I'll have to kill you then."

 Gary tried to pull away, but every movement caused him more pain.  He could feel the man adjusting his grip--probably going for a weapon--and then, suddenly, he froze.  Gary heard a low, snarling chuckle, then was swung around to face the end of the alley--where Buffy Summers stood.

 "Let him go, Angel."  She stood ramrod straight, and Gary saw again the matter-of-fact determination as she pulled out a wooden stake.

 "And why should I do that, lover?"  The smug, cocky tone was back, and again the man's--Angel's?--grip changed.

 "Because if you don't, I'll make sure your next permanent address is Ashtray Lane."

 Again, the low chuckle, but this time it was right next to Gary's ear.  "But I'm *hungry*."

 Gary didn't know what happened next--all he could feel was a stabbing pain in his neck to match the throbbing of his arm.  He heard Buffy yell something, and then he was on the ground, his world slowly being covered with gray spots.  He rolled onto his back, panting heavily, and brought the hand that wasn't tingling to the pain in his throat.

 It came away covered in blood.

 A heartbeat later and Buffy was beside him, helping him stand.  "Are you okay?"

 Gary shook his head, slowly clearing it.  "I...um...I think so..."  A flash of sensation hit him, and he looked down at the girl supporting his weight.  "He--he bit me!  He bit my neck--didn't he!"

 Buffy sighed, angling her head to get a better look at the wound.  "Yeah, he did.  But you'll be fine."

 "I'll be--I'll be <fine>?!?"  Gary pushed her away, incredulous--then reached out and planted his hand against the wall, closing his eyes tightly and hoping fervently that that would make the world stop spinning.  "How am I gonna be fine?  That guy almost broke my arm, and he--he <bit> me--"

 "You're not dead, are you?  You'll be fine."  Buffy looked at him again, frowning.  "But are you okay <now>...?"

 "I don't know."  It was the truth--his head was still spinning, his arm throbbed painfully, and he could feel a trickle of blood from his neck making its way down to his collar.  He opened his eyes slowly, and watched Buffy glance anxiously around at the shadows, her hands fiddling with the stake.

 The <stake>.  Suddenly, the few remaining clouds in Gary's head disappeared, and he pointed a wavering finger at it.  "You were--you were gonna stake him, weren't you.  You were gonna stake <me>!"  Not quite believeing what he was saying, he asked softly, "Is he a...a vampire?"

 Buffy jolted to attention as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  "Vampire?"

 "Yeah, vampire."  Narrowing his eyes, Gary asked again deliberately, "Was he one?"

 The girl laughed nervously, the same way he had when she'd mentioned the papers.  "Why would you think he's a--"

 "Because he bit my neck open, that's why.  And because you have--have that thing."  He pointed at the stake again, still not believing that he was saying those things.

 Buffy's shoulders slumped, and she made a face.  "Oh.  Well, those are good points, I guess."  She was silent for a moment while she watched him carefully, thinking.  Finally she came to a decision.  "Look, I've known you for a total of about five minutes, but since you look like you know something everybody else doesn't, I'm going to trust you."

 Gary looked away from her frank gaze, holding his arm.  He was all too aware of the Press, resting just inside his zipped up coat.  "Trust me with what?"  he asked warily.

 Buffy opened her mouth to answer, then closed it when a small group of teens exited the Bronze just a few feet away.  She gave Gary a look, then answered, "Later.  Come to the school library tomorrow, and we'll sort things out for you."

 Gary nodded, then blinked.  "Hold on.  Tomorrow's Saturday.  Why will you be at the--"

 Buffy held up her hand, stopping him.  "Just show up.  We'll talk there."  Having satisfied herself that Gary had learned all that he was going to that evening, she turned and headed into the Bronze.

 Gary stood at the mouth of the alley, thoroughly perplexed.  "The <school library>?..."  He shook his head, puzzled, then headed for his hotel.
* * * * *
 

 "What happened?"

 Buffy smiled a little, drawing her knees up under the covers and listening to Giles' sleepy voice on the phone.  "Nothing really <happened>, Giles.  You need to stop being Paranoid-Man."

 "Well if nothing <happened>, then why have you rung me up at five after midnight?"  There was a tinge of grumpiness to his voice, and Buffy felt a little bad for waking him up.

 "I'm calling now because I just got back from Cordelia's party.  The 'someone's going to die' thing didn't happen," she rushed to assure her Watcher, "But I did meet up with Cordy's mystery man from this afternoon.  Actually, I kinda almost staked him."

 "You <what>!"

 "He was lurking!  It wasn't my fault.  Anyway," Buffy relaxed against her pillow, twining the phone cord around her fingers, "I didn't, and instead I asked him if he knew anything about that book you found."

 "The Foresight Papers?"  Giles sounded confused.  "Why?"

 "Well, he showed up the same day as the book."  Buffy chewed on her lip, thinking.  "And he kinda seemed to think he knew what was going to happen in the future.  I don't know."  She sighed, then admitted her real reason.  "I have this feeling about him.  A...Slayer feeling."

 "I see."  Now Giles sounded completely awake.  "What, exactly, was his response to your question?"

 Relieved that Giles was taking her feeling seriously, Buffy smiled into the receiver.  "He knows something.  He just doesn't want to admit it."  Her smile faded, and she told him the rest.  "Also, he didn't get a chance to admit anything.  Angel attacked him."

 "Good Lord!"  Giles whispered into the phone, and Buffy winced.  "Was he--and you--"

 "We're both fine.  Angel had Gary in an arm lock when I showed up, and then he bit him.  Just to get at me," she hurried on, concealing the fact that the tactic had worked.  "He didn't drink, or anything.  Gary's okay."

 "Good."  The relief was plain in Giles' voice, and he sighed.  "I suppose something should be done about this fellow..."

 "Already taken care of.  I invited him to the library."  Buffy chose her straightforward tone carefully, hoping that it would keep her Watcher from becoming annoyed.

 It worked.  "Right, then.  I'll be there early."  Giles sounded, if anything, resigned to her plan.  "I'll bring my translations as well."

 "'Kay.  See you later."

 The phone call ended, and both parties went to bed.
* * * * *
 *Ring*  *Ring*  *Ring*...

 Gary reached up and touched the bandage on the holes in his neck gingerly.  They'd stopped bleeding by the time he'd returned to the hotel, but just to be safe, he'd pulled out the First Aid Kit and fixed himself up.  It still hurt, though.  Almost as much as his arm, which was resting on the bed, covered in ice, throbbing hotly.  To round off his list of injuries, Gary could feel a bruise beginning to show itself on his forehead, probably from when he'd been thrown forward when the...vampire...let him go.

 *Ring*  *Ring*  *Ring*...

 "Come on, where are you, Chuck?"  Gary muttered into the receiver as it rung a few more times.  If it had been a busy night, Chuck would just be closing up.  "I gotta tell <somebody> about this..."

 "McGinty's, we're open from eleven to one."

 Gary started at Chuck's voice.  "Chuck!"

 "Gar?"  The boredom fled, and Gary could picture Chuck's expression.  "Hey buddy, how ya doing?  How's the vacation?"  A milisecond-long pause, then, "What <time> is it over there?"

 Gary smiled, then grimaced as he jostled his arm.  "Just past midnight."

 Chuck whistled.  "You're having fun, then."

 "Well, I wouldn't call it fun, exactly..."

 "Yeah?  So what went wrong?"  Chuck sounded skeptical.  "Don't tell me the Paper rescinded its offer of rest and relaxation in beautiful downtown Sunnydale."

 "Well--"  Suddenly, Gary realized what he was about to say.  To Chuck.

 *What <can> I tell him?* he thought, glancing down at the Paper.  *That it's the morning of the fourth day of 'vacation', and I'm laying in bed with a twisted arm and bite marks in my neck?  That Sunnydale's the perfect holiday resort--if you don't mind being attacked by the occasional undead every now and again?*  He made a face.  *Or maybe that a teenage girl I've never seen before in my life knows about the Paper, and oh, by the way, she walks around <prepared> to kill things...*

 Chuck was getting impatient as Gary stayed silent.  "Gary?  What's up?"

 "What--?"  Sighing, Gary resigned himself to keeping the story to himself, and away from his too-practical friend.  "Oh, I'm just calling to say the vacation's going well.  Sunnydale's an--interesting place."

 "There you go."  Chuck sounded too pleased with himself.  "Didn't I tell you you'd have fun?"

 "Well, actually, I think that was Marissa who--"

 "Sure I did.  So, uh, when you coming home?"  It sounded like Chuck was trying not to sound too interested, and Gary immediately got nervous.

 "Why?"

 "Oh, no reason."  Gary could practically see his friend shrugging and picking imaginary lint off his sweater.  "Things are going great here.  Marissa's fine, Cat hasn't been around, bar's fine..."

 "Chuck, what happened at the bar?"

 "...So you'll be coming home in a while then, huh?"  Chuck continued talking as if Gary hadn't spoken.  "Okay then, I guess I'll see you soon, buddy.  And try not to have <too> much fun!"

 "Chuck, now wait a minute--"  The phone went dead, and Gary held the receiver in front of him, looking at it.  He sighed.  "Maybe I'll just stay here with the vampires for a few extra days..."
 

Continued in Installment 2
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Email the author:  Jayne Leitch
 
 

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