Series: The Hellmouth Chronicles
Title: Winter Of Discontent 21/?
Author: Gileswench
Contact: gileswench@yahoo.com
Date: 10/25/02
Spoilers: AU from early S5 of Buffy and end of S1 of Angel
Summary: Xander wigs. Totally. And a surprise guest arrives.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Buffy/Giles, W/T, X/Anya, C/Wes, Joyce/Crystal
Distribution: If you've had my permission in the past, you have it now. All others, ask and ye shall receive.
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. Praise abjectly sought.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc., etc., etc. I just let them have all the fun Joss won't. I own nothing except my twisted mind which you really don't want. Please don't sue.

Buffy watched her husband sleeping. Now that she knew he was going to be okay, she had time to worry about how this had happened. This was the second one of Willow's spells in a row to go seriously off course and hurt someone badly. As unpredictable as the results of Willow's magic might usually be, this was a new record for both frequency and severity of magical mishap.

When Giles woke, she would talk to him about it. But first, he needed his rest - and she felt a definite need for her mother.

She pressed a small kiss to his forehead and slipped out the door, only to run into Xander.

"Hey," she said. "I see you're out of maternity wear. You okay?"

"Yeah," Xander answered a bit distractedly. "How's the big guy?"

"Sleeping like the baby he almost had." She regarded her friend curiously. "Xand, is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" he asked. "What could possibly be wrong? I spent the day getting a little too in touch with the inner female and I discovered that my girlfriend might just be my great-great-God-alone-knows-how- many-grandmother. The world is unrivaled in its spiffiness, Buff."

Buffy's jaw dropped.

"Anya could be your what?! How? What are you babbling about, Xander?"

He grabbed her hand.

"Let's go talk about this in my room, okay? I don't want anyone to walk in on this one."

*****

"So you're really okay with this?" Cordelia searched Wesley's face for any sign of insincerity.

"I'm okay with the possibility that we may not be able to have children. What I'm not okay with is the way you felt you had to hide it from me for so long. Did you really think it would change how I feel?"

The girl sighed and nestled closer to her lover.

"I was so scared," she admitted quietly. "Let's face it, I'm not exactly the dreamgirl I used to be."

"Used to be?"

"I used to have money, and I was way popular," Cordelia explained. "And I had nice clothes and a convertible and I was head of the cheerleading squad, and I just oozed everything that people want. Then I got dragged kicking and screaming into Buffy's life and I started thinking Xander was marginally cool and it all fell apart. And, okay, I can't blame it all on Buffy, or even on Xander. To be fair, neither one of them was the stupid lawyer who thought he could keep the government from finding out my dad wasn't paying his taxes. And neither one of them held a gun to my head to make me fight evil. And I did sort of fall for Xander. And if I'd been paying attention, maybe I would even have seen what was going on with him and Willow before it got to that point. I don't know. But the point is, I lost everything that makes a girl the sort of girl guys want. No money, no fancy clothes, no great car, and probably not even kids. And let's face it, I've never been good at the meek little woman routine. A guy can't even get a good ego stroke off me."

"I suppose you're right," Wesley agreed.

"What?!"

"Yes, clearly I'd be much happier with a shrinking violet like Buffy or Anya." At Cordelia's narrowed eyes and tight lips, Wesley relented. He sighed. "I only meant that I'm not looking for money or fame or even a nice car in my choice of partner. And when you look at it, what have Buffy and Anya to recommend them by the standard you've set? Neither is rich. Neither is particularly popular. In point of fact, both can be quite abrasive...just as you can. And yet, they are both truly loved by men who find them delightful. As are you."

"Delightful? Really?"

Wesley lowered his head and kissed Cordelia softly.

"Delightful and beautiful, and exceptional."

Cordelia beamed with pleasure.

"Tell me more."

Wesley kissed her again.

*****

Xander checked the hallway to make sure nobody was there, then closed the door. He turned to Buffy to see her standing in the middle of the room with her arms folded across her chest.

"Wanna tell me what the wig is about?" she asked.

"When you were with Angel -" Xander began.

Buffy stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait a minute," she said. "This is your issue. And how over Angel do I need to be before you stop bringing that up?"

"Buffy, you're doing that thing where you're talking instead of listening again. It all comes together, which is what worries me."

"Okay, okay, shutting up now. What's the big?"

The girl made a zipping motion over her mouth and mimed throwing a key over her shoulder. Xander glared at her. She shrugged and sat on the bed. He began to pace.

"I'm just wondering how you dealt with, y'know, the ancestor thing."

When she didn't answer he looked over. Buffy raised her eyebrows and pointed at her mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, you can talk," Xander said. "Sorry."

"What ancestor thing?" Buffy asked.

"Well...y'know...if there were any little Angels before Angel wasn't so angelic anymore."

Buffy stared at her friend.

"You think you and Anya are related? Is that what this is about?"

"Who's to say we aren't?"

"Xander, she turned immortal over a thousand years ago."

"And she told me just now that she had a kid. And that kid had at least four kids. And you can see where I'm going with this."

Buffy stood and began to pace in direct opposition to her friend's pacing. They met up in the middle of the room. Buffy spoke again.

"Okay, so, Anya did have at least one kid, right?"

"Right. A girl. Who had three lovely daughters of her own in classic Brady style. Or possibly four daughters. She didn't exactly tell me what the fourth kid turned out to be."

"Xander, where did Anya live? When she was mortal to begin with?"

"Sweden."

"And your family comes from where?"

Xander shrugged.

"When we were studying the countries of our fair world in fifth grade, I asked my grandfather about the old country."

"What did he say?"

"He said what old country? He was born in New Jersey. Moved to California when he got discharged from the army after the Korean War. Said if he was gonna be a failure, he at least wanted to fail in a warm climate."

"So you don't have any connection to Sweden that you know of?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I don't have a connection to Sweden that I *don't* know of. And who's to say none of Anya's grandkids moved away? Say, to New Jersey? Buffy, I'm in trouble."

"You're not in trouble, Xand." Buffy guided her friend to the bed and sat them both down on the edge of it. "Look, even if there is some...family affair going on here, it's so far back up the family tree it's really not that Oedipus-like. It'd be like how a root and a brand new bitty leaf are part of the same tree, but hey, nobody's gonna think they're the same. Right?"

"You think?"

Buffy nodded decisively.

"I totally think."

"So you don't think it'll be a problem?"

"I think you guys are problem free."

Xander heaved a sigh and smiled at Buffy.

"So...any of your folks come from...I dunno...Ireland?"

Buffy glared back.

"Bite me."

*****

A tall middle-aged woman walked down the street with a determined air. Her graying hair still showed quite a bit of dark brown, and her figure was still trim, though muscular. She wore khaki trousers, hiking boots and an oversized sweater. Occasionally, she consulted a small map in her hand. At last she found the door she sought. She marched up the front stairs and rang the doorbell firmly.

Leo heard the summons and muttered.

"Only relatives and bill collectors ring in that Wagnerian manner."

He felt better immediately. Nothing like a bit of Oscar Wilde to cheer things up. He opened the door.

"Yes? May I help you?"

"Leo, you don't remember me? How quickly they forget."

"How could I possibly forget. It's good to see you Gertie. You look ravishing, as always."

"Flatterer," she accused him good naturedly. "You've got awfully fat, Leo."

"I've gotten awfully old."

"I suppose we both have."

"Nonsense, Gertie," Leo scoffed. "Age has barely touched you."

"Might I come in, Leo? I imagine your neighbors have all trained their binoculars on us by this time, so you don't have to worry I haven't been seen."

Leo moved away from the door and allowed Gertie through. She scanned her surroundings with an expression that registered some amusement and a tinge of something like regret.

"It's a nice house," she said quietly at last. "I always did think so."

"How long are you staying?" Leo inquired. "I only ask because the inn is pretty full up at the moment. Of course, we can always find a place to squeeze you in."

"I don't know. That rather depends on Rupert."

"Please tell me you're not here on Council business."

"Family business," Gertie answered. "I've come to see just how much of a mess my brother has made of things with this marriage of his."

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