FIC: Where the Books Are. (B/W) [R] [1 of ?]

[Andrew Stoffel <see2go4me@xxxxxxxxx>]

TITLE: Where the Books Are (1/?)
AUTHOR: -Andy- (see2go4me@xxxxxxxxx)
RATING: R (For possible future violence and adult situations)
STATUS: A WiP.
DISCLAIMER: This is a derivative work. All BtVS characters belong to
Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox Television, and others. Characters
from Highlander belong to Panzer/Davis/etc.
SUMMARY: Even librarians can have adventures. What if Buffy
became a librarian instead of the Slayer? Imagine the possibilities.
SPOILERS: None really. It's an AU for both Buffy and Highlander.
DISTRIBUTION: buffywantswillow, ikoly, and my blog fanfic pages.
Anyone else, e-mail me please.
Word Count: 4,035

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
[1] I have no idea how long it will take me to write this story. My  
other
     AU Buffy fic ( "The Two" ) is likely to be finished first.
[2] Chapter length and content is a function of the plot. It's as long
     as it needs to be.
[3] Feedback welcome/desired. Especially the kind that helps me
write better.
[4] I hope this wraps correctly! If not it's gonna be messy!


- - -

Part I Title: "The Librarian"

- - -

 Buffy glared down at the keyboard for the tenth time that day.  
Someone, may they get lost in the H's in the public library with all  
those annoying vampire books she thought, had spilled something  
crumby or sugary into it while she was out of town and hadn't  
bothered to clean it up. Every time she pressed a key, she winced as  
the crunching sound bounced off the walls in her small corner in the  
museum's research library.

She knew the sound wasn't really that loud but ever since the  
cheerleading accident in high school that had ruined her life, the  
accident that had shown her who her friends really were, her hearing  
had been extremely sensitive. Combined with a dull throbbing that had  
settled behind her eyes after a morning of shading them from the  
flickering of a dying florescent bulb, it was really bugging her  
today. It would have driven her screaming from the room, if she were  
prone to that kind of behavior.

Her doctor still claimed that, ten years after the accident, her  
extremely sensitive senses and her increased strength were her body's  
way of compensating for the damage caused to her spine by falling  
from the top of that pyramid into the cement bleachers. It had been  
amusing at first but, as far as she knew, she wasn't living in some  
sort of comic book and only the medicine she needed to keep the pain  
at bay kept her going back.

She wasn't Spiderman, Daredevil, or anyone like that. She hadn't  
fallen into a bucket of some secret formula to turn her into a  
superhero. She was just Buffy, formerly popular girl, now just  
another loser who lived in books because the real world didn't want  
her. That she was even aware of such things as comic book heroes  
still disturbed her to no end. She blamed her sister reading her  
favorite stories to her when she'd first had her accident.

Buffy scowled back at the message that filled the screen. Someone  
wanted to borrow one of the recently arrived books in the collection  
she so diligently guarded. Those books were full of some very strange  
things. They'd come in as part of the estate of some obscure mystic  
one of the museum curators had purchased at an auction. The annoying  
Dr. Pierson was responsible for the appearance of some of the more  
obscure volumes she was responsible for.

She hadn't had much of a chance to look through them herself, just  
barely getting them shelved in the climate controlled restricted  
section while they waited for the museum's archivist to determine  
where they belonged. She certainly wasn't ready to share them.  
Looking at the message, she wondered if a straightforward 'No' would  
work. The perkiness of the request seemed to bleed out viciously as  
she reread the message. She wondered how they'd even known the books  
were in the museum's possession.

Sometimes she really wondered what she was doing working in a  
library. Especially this one. And then she remembered months of lying  
on her back, hoping for a miracle, as her friends drifted away.  
Remembered discovering that she could escape into books. Books didn't  
judge you based on your future or possible lack of it. Books didn't  
stop visiting you because you made them uncomfortable. They didn't  
gossip about you behind your back or make fun of your devoted little  
sister who stuck with you through every crying fit and temper tantrum.

When she'd finally managed to finish high school, she'd looked for  
something, anything to do with her life that would allow her the  
freedom to live on her own. Something where people would accept her  
as a person and not some tragic figure and let her use the one thing  
she had left, her mind. Not a great student, no matter what the  
stupid SAT had claimed, she'd drifted through college, still looking  
for that something, her plans before her accident for a future in  
fashion seeming so naive and distant.

Her junior year in college she'd been forced to pick a major and  
focus. She'd spent so much time in the college library, struggling to  
keep up with all of her classes that becoming a librarian had seemed  
like a natural progression. Her past, as one of the in-crowd, would  
never intrude there. She could easily hide away. And you really  
didn't have to know things or be an expert in much of anything. You  
just had to know how to find buried or obscure information.

And somewhere along the way, she'd found a hidden talent for  
researching the obscure and hidden. She'd become fascinated with  
finding things in books. And she was good at it. What she found  
wasn't that important, and frankly it was often some boring, musty  
fact that excited only the true geeks that haunted libraries and  
museums. But the hunt was everything. The hunt filled some need she  
hadn't been aware of until then. And people who had her research  
skills were paid more than she would have ever expected back when she  
thought spending time in a library was a fate worse than death. Which  
had come in handy when her mother's life insurance had run out just  
as she finished college and she'd had to support her younger sister.

Even if her current employers had insisted that she learn at least  
one new language every year if she wanted to continue working for  
them, she was very proud of the job she did and the people she knew.  
Becoming a part of
the small fraternity of research specialists had in some small part  
given her back that feeling of specialness she'd lost after her  
accident. And if she continued to do well there was always the  
possibility of a job at one of the private museum's two other branches.

She'd long ago given up any real hopes of ever having a social life  
that didn't involve either her sister or the museum. But she still  
dreamed. Buffy had fallen in love with the idea of living in Paris  
the year before while learning French. And when her sister graduated  
from college in the spring she was letting her bosses know that if  
they ever needed her skills in the Paris branch she was ready.

Not surprisingly, she didn't recognize the name of the person making  
the remote book request. If it had been one of her colleagues they  
would have suggested a rather elaborate trading of favors in the  
usual manner for some bit of information, not the whole book. If it  
had been one of the museum staff or someone from the nearby  
university they would have visited her directly. It also wasn't one  
of the museum's extensive cadre of field staff. They would have  
requested her help in researching something only they found valuable  
through proper channels.

Looking up at the clock, she decided to put off answering the request  
until morning. She needed to hurry if she wanted to pick up her  
sister on time for their weekly dinner. Quickly logging out and  
making sure everything was locked up, she grabbed her keys and purse  
out of her desk and wheeled herself out of her small corner towards  
the private elevator that would take her down to the parking garage.

---

Leaning against her rental car, Willow looked down at the piece of  
paper in her hand, looked back up at the imposing edifice in front of  
her, looked at the paper again and frowned. It was not anything like  
what she'd expected. In her experience, libraries, especially those  
containing obscure old books, did not reside in buildings that looked  
like they were some futurist's wet dream. Marble, with ornate Greek  
columns, maybe, or weathered Victorian mansions, but not something  
shaped with at least five stories of glass and steel.

She'd been searching for a copy of the book for almost a year now.  
Until she'd run across a mention of it in a slim volume of writings  
of the late eighteenth century mystic Eckhart Koertig, she'd thought  
its existence was just a myth. It had been over a millennium since  
the Watchers had found a spell that had enabled them wrest control of  
the slayer from the Covens, in defiance of the Goddess.

Willow had been given the task to find a way to break the Council's  
control and release the power of the slayer back into the service of  
the Goddess. She wasn't the first witch the Coven had given this task  
to. She was well aware that they didn't expect her to actually succeed.

It had originally been given to her as a punishment, an impossible  
goal to teach her humility after she'd dared to use the power given  
to her by the Goddess to avenge the death of her lover. But it had  
become something more, an obsession. She couldn't forget what she'd  
done but the search had given her an outlet for her grief. And now  
she thought she might have found something. If she could just get  
past the harpy who seemed intent on denying her access to the book.

The message she'd received the week before from the oddly named  
librarian had been blunt. The book she wanted was in the restricted  
section of the museum's research library, waiting to be evaluated by  
the head archivist. It was not expected to be available for public  
use any time soon. Willow could almost hear the cackles of glee  
coming from some chain smoking, skinny old harridan as she typed up  
her rather officious denial of the request. Who or what was a Buffy  
and why didn't they want her to have her book, she'd wondered.

So she'd packed a bag, arranged for someone to feed the cat, and  
taken the first flight she could find, hoping that by showing up in  
person she could shake the book loose from this Buffy creature.  
Researching the museum itself hadn't given her any insight into how  
to do that. It was privately owned, with its North American branch  
here, in a small town just north of LA, another much larger branch in  
Paris, and the main one in Naples. Although ostensibly open to the  
public, their collections, of both historical artifacts and books,  
seemed very eclectic.

Who really owned the museum's collections had been buried so deep and  
skillfully that she'd been unable to find any clues to who they were.  
The only consolation was that it definitely wasn't the Watcher's  
Council. Not only were they very unlikely to allow public access to  
their collection of mystical artifacts, but they were so reliant on  
using magic and money to protect those assets that they seemed  
completely oblivious to the things someone could dig up on them using  
computers and other modern research techniques. Something that had  
delighted the Coven Elders when she'd pointed it out to them years  
ago as a novitiate, before her life had fallen apart.

The town itself had set off all sorts of alarms in her head when  
she'd entered it just after noon. She wasn't sure what it was but  
from the moment she'd seen Sunnydale nestled between the desert and  
ocean she'd felt something old and faintly dark in the background. It  
wasn't something active but when she'd found what she'd come for she  
would have to remember to let the Coven know so they could research  
it and do something about it if necessary.

Stepping into the museum building, Willow stared in amazement at what  
she was seeing. More glass and steel. And floors so shiny she was  
glad she wasn't wearing a dress. It looked more like a small slice of  
corporate America than anything having to do with a museum. Looking  
back at the door in an attempt to make sense of it, she noticed a  
very hi-tech looking metal detector surrounding the doors.  
Surprisingly she hadn't felt anything resembling magic as she entered  
but otherwise their security seemed a bit heavy for a small museum.

Sitting between a bank of elevators and a set of double doors below a  
sign saying 'Museum' was a large receptionist desk, manned by two  
very professional looking young women. The kind she expected to see  
in a spy movie, working for the sexy, but deliciously evil,  
villainess. Wondering what she'd stumbled into, and if they were  
actually armed, Willow strolled over to them with all of the  
confidence she could muster.

"I'm here to see Buffy Summers." she said. "About a book."

"Is she expecting you?" the older of the two asked, picking up a phone.

"No..." Willow shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal. "I was passing  
through and I thought I would visit." It was a flimsy explanation  
but, expecting to be able to just sneak in, she hadn't prepared a  
cover story for her appearance.

"Your name. And ID." the woman asked. "Please."

"Willow Rosenberg." Willow supplied, handing over her driver's  
license to the woman. She watched nervously as she typed something  
into her computer.

"Mitzy will take you to her." the woman told her after a quick phone  
conversation. "Please wear this at all times." She handed Willow a  
'Visitor' badge and returned her license.

"Thanks." Willow mumbled, pinning it to her jacket as she followed  
the other woman towards the elevator.

"She doesn't get many visitors." Mitzy said, leaning back against the  
wall as the elevator took them silently up to the fifth floor, giving  
Willow a brief glimpse of something gun-like under her jacket. "Have  
you known her long?"

"No." Willow kept her answer short, following her out of the elevator  
and down a long hallway to a closed door adorned with just a number.

"Wait here." Mitzy told her, opening the door and slipping through.  
Willow could hear several voices arguing about something but couldn't  
understand what they were saying. "She'll see you." Mitzy told her.  
"Have her buzz us when you're done and someone will see you out."

"Thanks." Willow said, shifting nervously.

"Don't worry." Mitzy told her, giving her a smirk. "She won't bite.  
Unless you ask nicely." Willow stared after her in surprise as she  
walked jauntily back the way they'd come, leaving Willow to enter the  
library on her own.

---

Buffy grumbled to herself in annoyance. After noticing that she  
seemed to ignore even the most benign invitations to socialize by the  
male members of the museum staff, Mitzy, the self-professed token  
museum lesbian, had taken it upon herself to try and find Buffy  
someone of a more feminine nature. No matter how much Buffy had  
protested that she wasn't interested in a relationship with anyone,  
no matter what their gender happened to be, Mitzy simply refused to  
let the idea go.

And now this Rosenberg woman had shown up. To see her. Giving Mitzy  
all sorts of ideas and ammunition. Having someone other than her  
sister actually care about her life outside of the office still  
seemed strange to Buffy. In the ten years since her accident she'd  
never gotten past the idea that no one could possibly want her like  
she was. Who wanted to love someone who couldn't dance or any of the  
other things she assumed couples still did? Who could love someone  
who based their leisure time activities upon whether there was room  
for their wheelchair?

She sighed and waited for the door to open. Mitzy's enthusiastic  
description of the 'cute redhead' who wanted to see her hadn't done  
much to endear Willow Rosenberg to her. She would help the woman get  
what she needed and then get rid of her. However long it took. Which,  
considering the book she claimed to be interested in was in some form  
of early Latin that Buffy could just barely understand, might be a  
while.

---

Willow cautiously opened the door and stepped inside the room. The  
faint smell of musty books, overlaid with the unique atmosphere of a  
climate controlled space, filled her nose. And for the first time  
since entering the building, she felt a faint tingling at the back of  
her neck that signaled she was in the presence of something  
supernatural. Mentally reaching out, Willow tried to detect whatever  
it was without disturbing it. Whatever it was, it was just there,  
permeating the room, unaware, almost as if it were asleep.

"Can I help you?" a soft voice asked, catching her attention.

Remembering why she was there, Willow shook her head. Dismissing the  
strange feeling, she headed through the stacks, towards the voice,  
stopping in surprise at the sight that greeted her. Seated at a large  
desk near a corner of the room was a small, delicate woman, possibly  
her own age, her long blonde hair hanging in a single braid draped  
over one shoulder before disappearing below the edge of the desk.

"I'm..." Willow began, speaking to the woman whom she assumed was  
Buffy Summers, momentarily surprised at her appearance, which didn't  
come close to what she'd imagined.

"Willow Rosenberg. Yes, I know." The woman looked at her intently for  
a moment. "You wanted to borrow a book."

"Yes. I'll bring it back as soon as I'm finished with it." Willow  
said hopefully, giving her a warm smile.

"No." the woman said firmly. "It doesn't leave this room."

"Why?" Willow asked, though taking in her surroundings she suspected  
it wasn't anything personal. It seemed to be more lab than library.  
The books here were obviously intended to be used. Surely borrowing  
one wouldn't hurt. Already thinking of the blonde by her first name,  
Willow wondered idly why Buffy seemed so intent on being contrary.  
First her reply to Willow's original request, and now in person, it  
was almost as if Buffy were intentionally standing in her way; an  
idea she dismissed quickly as Buffy continued.

"It hasn't been examined by our archivist yet." Buffy told her.  
"Until it is it isn't officially part of our public collection and  
can't be leant out."

"Can I look at it here?" Willow asked hopefully. If she couldn't take  
it with her it didn't really matter where she read it. It was just  
harder to perform some of the magical tests that would confirm its  
authenticity if she had an audience.

"No food near the books, and we close at six. You can use that desk.  
It'll take me a minute to get it." Buffy told her bluntly, pointing  
towards a desk in clear view of her own. Willow tried to hide her  
surprise as she watched Buffy push back from her desk and silently  
wheel herself to a large door in another part of the room,  
disappearing inside.

"Great." Willow muttered to herself as she arranged her small tablet  
PC and other items on the desk, feeling guilty for her earlier  
unflattering thoughts about Buffy before she'd even met her. "Let's  
try not to embarrass ourselves any further by apologizing for  
staring. You run across beautiful women in wheelchairs every day."

"Here you go." that soft voice interrupted her thoughts. "You'll need  
to wear these."

Turning around to see her holding out a pair of white cotton gloves  
similar to ones she was now wearing herself, Willow wondered why  
Buffy was blushing. "Thanks." she said, quickly putting them on  
before gently taking the book from the librarian.

Her attention focused on her prize, Willow only vaguely noticed that  
Buffy simply nodded in response before returning to her desk.

The book's smooth leather cover felt odd in her hands. Carefully  
laying it down, she silently invoked a spell to reveal any possible  
protective magic on the book. Anxiously holding her breath, she  
waited a minute for the spell to take effect, letting it out as  
noiselessly as possible when nothing happened. Whatever power the  
book held was in its words, not its substance.

---

The sound of a different, younger voice, almost whiney in tone, broke  
Willow's concentration. And for the first time that afternoon, she  
sat back in her chair away from the book. Glancing at her watch in  
surprise, she wondered what had happened to the time. Any minute now  
someone was sure to arrive and chase her out of the library. She  
wasn't even close to finished with the book. She was going to need at  
least a week, she thought in dismay.

A quick glance down at her tablet told her that she'd somehow managed  
to fill it with pages of notes and drawings without realizing it.  
Reaching forward, Willow gently closed the book and shut down her  
tablet. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Willow attempted  
to clear from her mind the oppressive feeling of single-mindedness  
that often consumed her after such intense study.

Feeling slightly more centered, she turned around in her seat and  
noticed a tall, statuesque brunette leaning against Buffy's desk,  
gazing at her curiously. Keeping her expression blank, Willow nodded  
in silent greeting before sliding out of her chair. Picking up the  
book, she walked the five meters to Buffy, laying the book silently  
down on her desk.

"All done?" Buffy asked her, as Willow removed the cotton gloves and  
placed them beside the book.

"No." Willow shrugged. "I'll need several more days. Unless you can  
let me take it now?"

"Still no." Buffy told her firmly. "I'll let the front desk know  
you'll be back. Just check in with them in the morning."

"Thanks." Willow smiled at her before returning to her desk and  
packing away her things. Nodding towards the two women who were  
watching her with eerily similar expressions, Willow slipped out of  
the library and headed towards the elevator. She wasn't in a great  
hurry but she still needed to find a hotel somewhere nearby. And dinner.

---

"Who was that?" her sister asked, after Willow left the library.

"She wanted to read a book." Buffy said, returning to her desk after  
putting the book away..

"Well... duh!" Dawn huffed. "What do you know about her?"

"Nothing. Other than she drove here when I wouldn't send her the  
book." Buffy said. "Why?"

"Just curious. She seems kind of young to be hanging out in a library."

"Hey!" Buffy grumbled, taking a swing at her sister. "I hang out in a  
library!"

"Exactly my point." Dawn smirk, dodging Buffy's hand. "Did she just  
wander in off the street?"

"Mitzy brought her up here." Buffy said. "They don't allow anyone in  
this part of the building  without checking them out."

"Mitzy?" Dawn shook her head. "She would let any cute young thing  
with tits in. The more femme the better."

"Dawn!" Buffy gasped in mock shock. "Where did you learn to talk like  
that?"

"Umm..." Dawn gave her sister her best 'I'm innocent' look, Something  
she'd perfected years ago that Buffy liked to think she was now  
immune to. "All the kids talk that way now-a-days?"

"I don't think so!" Buffy frowned at her sister while grabbing her  
purse, sure she was trying to pull a fast one. "Do they?"

"I'll never tell." Dawn told her, laughing.

"We can always skip the movie." Buffy told her repressively.

"Buffy!" Dawn whined. "I've been waiting for weeks for this. I need  
my Miyazaki fix!"

"Race ya!" Buffy blurted out mischievously, putting her chair in  
motion before Dawn could react.

"Damn it! Buffy!" Dawn said, reaching her side as she rolled into the  
elevator. "You cheated."

"Moi?" Buffy batted her eyelashes at her sister. "Cheat? You accuse  
the girl with wheels for legs of cheating?"

"Yes'm." Dawn scowled at her smirking sister.

"What if I'd gotten another flat?" Buffy wondered aloud.

"Triple-A?" Dawn suggested with a straight face. "They cover chair  
flats, don't they?"

Buffy shook her head with a laugh. "Come on." She waved Dawn ahead of  
her into the parking garage and towards her car. "You win. For now."

"Yes!" Dawn screeched, dancing up and down excitedly like a little  
kid before climbing into the car, Buffy watching her with a fond  
smile. She really didn't know what she was going to do when Dawn  
finished college and inevitably moved away she thought as she went  
through the complicated process of getting into the car herself.

TBC in Part II - "The Witch"

- - -
-
- http://radio.weblogs.com/0104508/
-





------------------------ Yahoo! Groups Sponsor --------------------~--> 
Everything you need is one click away.  Make Yahoo! your home page now.
http://us.click.yahoo.com/AHchtC/4FxNAA/yQLSAA/RoMolB/TM
--------------------------------------------------------------------~-> 

Willow: "It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
Buffy:  "I kinda love you."
                     'Choices'

Community email addresses:
     Post message: buffywantswillow@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
     Subscribe:    buffywantswillow-subscribe@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
     Unsubscribe:  buffywantswillow-unsubscribe@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
     List owner:   buffywantswillow-owner@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shortcut URL to this page:
     http://groups.yahoo.com/group/buffywantswillow

Official archive for the list:
     http://www.ikoly.com/fanfic

Other links to Buffy/Willow fics:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/buffywantswillow/links  
Yahoo! Groups Links

<*> To visit your group on the web, go to:
   http://groups.yahoo.com/group/buffywantswillow/

<*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
   buffywantswillow-unsubscribe@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

<*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to:
   http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/