Title: The Assistant 24/?
Author: Sweetdoggie
Email: (stirling_summer@yahoo.com)
Pairing: B/G
Rating: G
Summary: Buffy goes to college.
Spoilers: Up to 4
Disclaimer: No permission has been granted to use the characters. They are owned by their creator, Joss Whedon, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB, and Mutant Enemy. This story is non-profit and is intended solely as entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended.

The summer passed quickly, too quickly in Buffy’s opinion. She didn’t want to go to college. What was the point to more endless schooling, she argued. She complained so much that Giles finally threatened to put her over his knee if she didn’t stop. Buffy had looked at him speculatively and their conversation had rapidly moved in another direction that left both of them feeling very sated and naughty. The upshot was that she was going to attend college, but only take a selection of classes that interested her to start off with.

Willow talked her into psychology and English literature. For her own pleasure she took fencing and beginning dance. Giles pointed out that she should take something he couldn’t teach her, but she said she wanted something fun to balance the hard and boring stuff that Willow was interested in. Knowing the value of compromise, he settled.

The night before school started, she had been out late Slaying. One largish demon had broken several of her ribs before she literally ripped his head off. She had limped home and Giles had helped her into bed. By morning, she was still slightly stiff but the majority of her wounds were healed, though she was still sporting a nice selection of bruises. Giles fed her breakfast and managed to get her into the car in time to pick Willow up and drop them both off in front of the Student Union before their first class.

Buffy nearly freaked when she saw who was assisting in the psychology class. It was none other than her old nemesis, Riley Finn. She exchanged glances with Willow but carefully didn’t make eye contact with the older boy. “Should I pretend I don’t remember him?” Buffy hissed to her friend.

“No, that would just make you look stupid,” Willow told her. “Just act normal—like you’re meeting an old acquaintance. You don’t have to act friendly or hostile. I think a simple acknowledgement that you know him would be enough till he gives you a clue as to what he’s going to do.”

Buffy nodded. “Makes sense.”

They both sat up as the professor walked into the room. She was a tough-looking blonde in her mid-forties named Maggie Walsh. The rules she set up were strict and there was no joking around, but Buffy thought it might still be interesting. She called roll and raised an interested eyebrow at Buffy’s name on her list.

“Ms. Summers? I trust we won’t have any trouble with you in our class?” Walsh asked her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, professor.” Buffy said blankly.

“See me after class.” The professor remarked and continued down the list of names.

“Damn! My first day and I’m already in trouble,” Buffy whispered to Willow.

Class was interesting despite the pall of gloom hanging over Buffy’s head. She decided that she wasn’t going to take any crap from this teacher. She had paid her money for classes and had a right to a hassle-free education just like any one else. By the time the period ended she had worked herself into a state of righteousness seldom found outside of religious zealots. When the class ended she remained seated at her desk till the professor called her up.

“Well, Buffy. I’m interested to finally meet you. I see you must have gotten over your difficulties with authority long enough to pass out of high school. I run a tight ship in this classroom. Riley told me about your behavior at Sunnydale high and I’ve seen your transcripts. I expect to see excellent work out of you and I won’t tolerate slacking.”

Buffy tipped her head slightly to the side before answering. Any of her friends or family could have told Dr. Walsh that was a danger sign. “I’m here for an education not hassles, professor. I don’t like being singled out in a new class on my first day of school and stigmatized as a troublemaker. If you can’t handle me being in your class and treat me as fairly as you do any other student, I can certainly transfer out with no problem. I will, however, be making a complaint against your behavior to the dean.”

Professor Walsh at first bristled at the girl’s tone then listened with reluctant admiration. “I apologize for my earlier words, Ms. Summers. You’re right, I had no business implying that you would be anything but a model student. Young Riley Finn is a particular favorite of mine and you caused him a very great deal of problems. I’m a bit protective is all.”

“Riley caused his own problems, professor. I told him I wasn’t interested in participating in his program, my family told him, my teacher told him. He not only insisted in overriding their judgment, he made a pass at me after I had told him I was already involved in a stable relationship. He could have backed off at any time without getting into trouble but he wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m not taking the blame for his blindness.”

Professor Walsh stepped back arms crossed. “I see. From your perspective, Riley did indeed behave badly. I can only say that he is a very young man with sincere ideals and a will to make things better. If you want to transfer to another psychology class, I’ll facilitate your move, but if you wish to stay, I’ll see that you are treated the same as any other student.”

Buffy thought about the situation. If she transferred, Willow would be in a different class and Buffy was only taking this subject to please her. “That’s all I want,” Buffy told her.

Professor Walsh nodded. “I think we have a deal.”

Buffy smiled and the professor was amazed to see how much her face changed when she was happy. No wonder young Finn had fallen so hard for this tiny little girl, she thought.

Willow was waiting anxiously outside the classroom for her. Buffy explained what had occurred and the redhead seemed somewhat dubious. Do you think she can be fair?”

“She said she would,” Buffy shrugged. “If she isn’t, there are plenty of students who can testify about her picking on me from the first day of class.”

They walked down the hall together and headed off to their next class. English literature was as boring as she had feared it would be. They were going to read the poems of old dead guys to start. Buffy sighed. She was taking this class to please her friend and her husband who had gotten all excited when she told him. He promised to read the stuff out loud to her so she could hear it spoken. He swore it made all the difference in poetic appreciation.

Her next class, fencing, was more interesting. She fenced with Giles all the time, but didn’t have the fine-tuning he had after decades of practice. She relied more on brute strength and accelerated speed to win their bouts and hoped that formal instruction could help with this problem.

Mr. Maxwell, the instructor, told them that since there weren’t that many people who fenced they would have many different skill levels in one class. He asked if anyone had done any fencing before. Buffy and three other students raised their hands. He had them put their protective gear on and he began testing them one at a time, telling the new students to watch.

Buffy was the last to step up for testing. She had wanted to see how good the others were and was pleased when she realized that she was better. Mr. Maxwell called her over and they engaged. He nearly had her several times, but she was able to stave off his thrusts with lightening-like parries of her own. Finally, he signaled for her to withdraw. She backed up and removed her mask. He noted that she wasn’t even panting.

“You have some excellent moves, Ms. Summers. Why do you want to take this class?”

“I need more discipline,” she admitted frankly. “I have strength and speed, but I don’t know the formal stuff very well. You almost had me a couple of times because I didn’t know the proper counter move.”

“You’re practically at Olympic levels right now, as I’m sure you know. I’d be happy to work with you on your form, but I’m frankly not sure how much I can teach you.”

“Whatever you teach me is something I didn’t know before,” she responded. “Besides, I need the practice.”

“Very well then,” he acceded. “We’ll work together to make you the best fencer you can be.”

She grinned and he lost his heart. He barely knew what he was doing for the rest of the class period, going forward only because he had taught the class so many times. “Um, Ms. Summers, what are you doing after this class?”

“I have to go to beginning dance,” she informed him.

“I see. Would you like to go to the student union for coffee about three?” he asked. “We can talk about a program of study and practice to help you perfect your form.”

“Sure. That would be great. I’ll meet you there by the big clock, OK?” She bounced away at his nod.

Dance class consisted of learning some stretches and limbering exercises most of which she already knew. This was going to be an easy grade, she thought. She opted for a shower before meeting Mr. Maxwell for coffee. He was waiting for her under the campus clock right on time.

“Hi!” she said as she approached him. “Sorry if you were kept waiting. I had to shower.”

“That’s perfectly all right,” he told her. “Coffee or soda?”

“Soda’s fine,” she said.

“So tell me about yourself,” he invited. “How on earth did you become such a good fencer without appearing in competition?”

“How do you know I’ve never competed?” she countered.

“Fencing is a sport of very limited appeal to most people. Matches are well publicized in our circles. If you had made a name for yourself on the circuit, I would have heard of you.”

“Well, actually,” she grinned, “you’re right. My husband taught me to fence when I was sixteen.”

“You’re married?” he felt disappointment swoop down onto him.

“Yeah. Over a year now.”

“Oh, I see. Who is your husband?”

“He’s British. His name is Rupert Giles.”

He frowned briefly. “That name rings a bell, but for the life of me, I can’t think why.” He thought for a few minutes, then snapped his fingers. “There was a Rupert Giles who successfully defended England’s place in the finals about fifteen or twenty years ago. But surely that man would be much too old to be your husband.”

“No, Rupert’s thirty-nine, so that would make the timing right. I’ll ask him later.”

They chatted for another half an hour while he questioned her closely on her form and abilities. “I don’t understand why Mr. Giles isn’t training you on this,” he finally told her.

“He is, but I need other opponents. I know him backwards and forwards and he very seldom surprises me anymore. I can read his body moves like a book. I need to try out other people.”

Cardiff Maxwell nodded. “I understand that, but the best way to get opponents is to compete.”

“How many of these competitions are held in Sunnydale?” she asked him.

“Well, none. You’d have to travel.”

“I can’t. I have obligations here that have to be met regularly and I will never leave this town.” She didn’t offer any further explanation and he was hesitant to press her for more information when she seemed so adamant.

“Well, then I suppose joining a class is your best bet for finding fencing partners. I’ll make it a point to pair up with you myself. That way, you’ll at least have one skilled person to practice with.”

“Thanks, that will be great.” Buffy bid him goodbye and gathered her stuff to leave the cafeteria. She heard a voice calling her name from across the room. It was one she recognized and she closed her eyes hoping this encounter wasn’t going to be as awful as she thought.

“Buffy!” Riley Finn ran up beside her. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you since I saw you in class this morning.”

“Hi, Riley,” she said, keeping Willow’s advice in mind.

“Can I buy you a soda?” He asked her.

“No, I was just here with my professor from fencing class. We just finished drinking sodas. Thanks anyway.” She continued walking toward the exit.

“I want to apologize for my behavior last time we met,” he told her contritely.

“Uh, that’s OK.” She looked around desperately for a distraction.

“No, it’s really not OK. I just liked you so much, I didn’t understand why you would be with that old guy, uh, I mean, Mr. Giles.” He skipped around so that he was in front of her walking backwards as he talked to her. “Are you, are you still with him?”

“Yes, I’m still with my husband whom I love very much, thank you.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply, uh, anything. I was just wondering.”

“Well, do you greet every married person you know by asking them if they’re still married?” She sounded as cross as an angry kitten.

“No, of course not. I seem to have put my foot in my mouth again and I apologize.” He looked sort of hangdog and Buffy abruptly felt sorry for him.

“No, I shouldn’t be so jumpy,” Buffy told him with a smile. “I just got off to kind of a bad start with Professor Walsh and I let that affect me. My turn to apologize.”

“How, how are all your friends doing then?” he asked her, desperate to find a safe topic.

“Well, Willow and I are attending classes together here, Xander is apprenticed as a carpenter and Faith is in a coma in a hospital down in LA. Wes moved down there to be with her. My mom and Merrick got married and are expecting a baby in a month. Uh, let’s see, they moved to England to take care of a young relative of John’s. They’ll bring her back here when she’s a little less shell-shocked. Her folks were killed in a car wreck and she’s pretty upset.”

“Gosh, that’s a lot of change in just a little time.” They walked along for a few minutes. “Are you happy?”

“Yes. Surprisingly, I am,” she told him. “I miss my mom and Merrick and it’s hard not to have Faith and Wes around but I have my husband and this is giving us a little time alone.”

“I, I guess I’ll see you in class then,” he told her.

“Yes,” she paused. “Look, Riley. I’d like to be friends with you if you can not act so, well, weird. No obsessing about me or stalking me, OK? Can we just be friends?”

“Thank you, Buffy,” he said. “If you can’t love me, then I’d be very grateful to be your friend.”

“Cool.” She saw Willow coming across campus. “Well, see you in class then.”

“Sure, see you.” He turned around and loped off.

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