Comes the Rain
They traveled west ahead of a storm that with its fetid breath contaminated everything with its unbearable mood.
The foul weather persisted in its heavy doldrums until they ran aground in an abandoned seaside village called Rosal
del Virrey.
There, sandwiched between weather-worn ruins, turista cafes and motley novelty shops, Rachel Greenspan and
Rupert Giles finally found the end of their trail.
Their “commandeered” Jeep had stalled in a creek swollen with sludge and debris, and Rachel had spilled the
contents of her backpack trying to climb the slippery bank. That humiliation was the least of her worries. Gary, her
PDA, was thoroughly destroyed. She had been devastated. Mr. Giles seemed to care less.
After what seemed like hours of running, they came to rest beneath the awning of what had once been a flower
shop. The awning was blue, striped, faded and out of place against the flinty stones of village. The flowers had dried
in their plastic buckets, spilling their worthless petals to the sidewalk, which was a cobble of cement and oyster
shells. When the rain fell, the drops played a discordant marimba on the shells, and it made Rachel feel lost and
bereft of hope.
On the contrary, Mr. Giles remained – as always – completely unruffled. He stood beneath the awning casually
smearing raindrops from his glasses and squinting over the rough waters of the Atlantic to the horizon far away.
When Rachel caught her breath, she turned to him.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “Where are they?”
Mr. Giles continued to inspect his lenses as he spoke. “It looks as though the Priestess had great success in this
part of the world.”
“The Priestess? What are you–?”
“Makes sense, of course. It’s a place of tourists and nomads. Predominantly a transient population. This mission was
set up to service them. God, how they must have spread…”
Rachel opened her fists and gave him a hard shove. “Them who?” What the hell are you talking about?”
Mr. Giles stumbled. He regained his balance and dignity like a pro.
“The vampires, Miss Greenspan. I thought you knew.” He replaced his glasses and over their rims shot her a
disapproving glare. “There’s no need violence.”
She turned away, vaguely shamed, but more frightened than anything else. The pelting drops played their music on
the sidewalk of a vacant street.
She knew the estimates, of course. Everyone had heard reports. One third of the world’s population vanished in a
single puff of smoke: History’s most elaborate magic trick. Her part of the world hadn’t felt it. The country club set
of Boston with their secured mansions and private cars lost few to The Cleansing. Her family lost none. But this…
“There’s no one here,” she moaned. “Not a soul.”
“There is someone,” he said. “He would come here. After what we saw in Rapa Nui, I know he’s here.”
Again, she turned to face him. “How can you know? What did you see that I didn’t? There was no message. Just
blood on a wall. And why would he come here? You know nothing. You can’t…”
Mr. Giles gave her a shrewd smile. “Ah, but I do know, Miss Greenspan. He wants to be found.”
“How can you possibly?”
“Because he’s right.”
The voice came from behind her, and it chilled her to her core. She craned her head to find him there – a rain-
soaked man in a thin, green trench, a sodden canvas hat pulled down over his forehead. His eyes danced with a
mischievous light, but they were not concerned with her. She followed the thread his gaze and found it fixedly
attached to Rupert Giles.
“Hello, Ripper,” he said.
Andrew was terrified.
Really, the idea that he and Dawn could run the house, the school and The Watcher’s Council was idiotic. What were
they thinking?
He knew. Save the world, yada yada. Business as usual.
But they were alone!
Andrew gnawed on the tip of the phone’s antennae. He thought, this is what it must feel like to be slowly digested in
the Pit of Sarlaac.
Actually, that thought gave him strength. If Boba Fett could survive that, Andrew knew he could do this. He took a
deep breath to stabilize, then dialed the number for the school in Paris.
Twenty minutes later, Andrew found Dawn in the lounger in the TV room, her knees drawn up to her chin. The TV
was on, but muted so that a flickering parade of images played across her face.
After several calls in which he spoke interchangeably in English, French, Spanish and Italian, Andrew had secured six
Slayers from Paris, including Rita, plus three more from Barcelona and possibly twelve from Rome. The whirlwind of
multi-lingual conversation left him a little lightheaded, but he was ready to tackle the next big obstacle on his list:
finding comfortable accommodations for 21 Slayers and their Watchers. He needed Dawn’s help for that. He figured
they could divide up the host families list, thereby covering twice as much ground.
He hung on the edge of the chair, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting for her to notice that he was standing
there. When she didn’t, he said, “So… whatcha doin’?”
She looked up at him, her eyes full and luminous in the reflected television glare.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Oh.”
He waited again. And waited… and waited.
“Oh, you mean nothing,” he said at last. He came around the edge of the chair to stand between Dawn and the TV.
“Move out of the way,” she said, her voice dangerously deadpan.
“If you’re giving up, I’m… not gonna let you.”
“Andrew, get out of the way.” He loved the way she over enunciated every word as if he was someone who couldn’t
understand what she was saying.
Andrew folded his arms. “Nope.”
“We’re not them!” Dawn shouted. “I’m not Willow. You’re not Giles. Neither of us are Buffy or Spike. If we had
Maya here, or maybe Xander, that would be something. But we don’t! So I’m waiting right here until they get back.”
“What? No,” Andrew said. “No. No. We can do this. Let’s Scooby up. You and me - Scoobies: TNG. Kickin’ it old style
with the research and the spells, and the very much kicking of ass. Yeah… oh, yeah.”
“You’re delusional. We’re sidekicks!”
“Speak for yourself. I’m an International Man of Mystery,” he said. He flipped his collar to a sprightly angle and gave
her a resolute nod.
Dawn had to admit that with the glow of the TV silhouetting him, combined with his disheveled curls and missing
hand, that he did look suggestably rugged. Even though Lorne hadn’t been overly reassured by their combined
abilities, Andrew was on the handling side of everything.
“Did you… get the Slayers?”
“Twenty-one of ’em,” he said. “Actually, that’s why I need you. I thought you could help me with the planning. You
know, finding places for them to stay, otherwise they’ll all be here, and you know as well as I do that feeding an
army of Slayers will seriously dice our research time. And, on that note, I found this Australian conjuration spell that
might lead to information on that demon tribe Lorne told us about. You know, Misters Bad Ass Unpronounceable.”
Dawn breathed a laugh.
“Plus, also,” Andrew went on, “I still need to give MK a heads up on our game plan. She should be at the school by
now. So if we divide up our list, we could get it all finished in about an hour. Then, we’ll grab some munchage and
finally get some sleep before figuring out what we’re going to do with Spike. After that we’ll deal with that oh-so-
hard-to-spell demon tribe. I should make a list.”
Dawn lifted her head from her knees. “Shouldn’t you notify her Watcher, too?”
“Who-What?” Andrew asked.
“MK, you dolt. Shouldn’t you notify her Watcher?”
“Oh that,” Andrew said. He gave a hesitant grin. He said, “I am her Watcher.”
Dawn sputtered. “You? Since when?”
Andrew fidgeted with his shirttail. “Since when… Mr. Giles left,” he said. He stared down at the floor for a long
moment before sliding his eyes back to meet Dawn’s.
“Well,” Dawn said. She felt inexplicably tingly all over, like she’d just walked into warmth from a bone-chilling rain.
She got up from the chair and found herself eye to eye with Andrew.
That was more proximity than he could bear. Flat-footed, she was an inch taller than him, and if that wasn’t
intimidating enough, he could smell fruity shampoo on her still damp hair, which caused a whole flurry of emotions,
not all of which were pleasant, and brought back to his mind the fact that he could still feel the subtle burn of her
touch on his chest, and he couldn’t deal with it all, so he had to take a step back.
“I was as surprised as you,” he said. “P-probably.”
“Scoobies: TNG? Are you serious?”
“What can I say, Dawnie? I’m a loner. A rebel…”
“Andrew,” she snapped. He shut up.
“C’mon, Dawn. We can do this,” he said in a fervent whisper.
Dawn scrubbed her hands over her face. She was head-spinny from lack of sleep, and numb from overwhelmedness.
“Okay,” Dawn said, nodding to herself. “Okay. We can do this. We can. Give me the list.”
For a long, tense moment, Ethan Rayne stood in the drowning storm before he spoke again.
“Now is not a good time for you to be here, Ripper,” he said.
“You’re right,” Mr. Giles answered. “It’s not a good time for you, Ethan.”
“You misunderstand, old chap,” Ethan said. “We’ve got to get out of here. You see, night is falling and we’re
standing on top of a Hellmouth.”
They traveled west ahead of a storm that with its fetid breath contaminated everything with its unbearable mood.
The foul weather persisted in its heavy doldrums until they ran aground in an abandoned seaside village called Rosal
del Virrey.
There, sandwiched between weather-worn ruins, turista cafes and motley novelty shops, Rachel Greenspan and
Rupert Giles finally found the end of their trail.
Their “commandeered” Jeep had stalled in a creek swollen with sludge and debris, and Rachel had spilled the
contents of her backpack trying to climb the slippery bank. That humiliation was the least of her worries. Gary, her
PDA, was thoroughly destroyed. She had been devastated. Mr. Giles seemed to care less.
After what seemed like hours of running, they came to rest beneath the awning of what had once been a flower
shop. The awning was blue, striped, faded and out of place against the flinty stones of village. The flowers had dried
in their plastic buckets, spilling their worthless petals to the sidewalk, which was a cobble of cement and oyster
shells. When the rain fell, the drops played a discordant marimba on the shells, and it made Rachel feel lost and
bereft of hope.
On the contrary, Mr. Giles remained – as always – completely unruffled. He stood beneath the awning casually
smearing raindrops from his glasses and squinting over the rough waters of the Atlantic to the horizon far away.
When Rachel caught her breath, she turned to him.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “Where are they?”
Mr. Giles continued to inspect his lenses as he spoke. “It looks as though the Priestess had great success in this
part of the world.”
“The Priestess? What are you–?”
“Makes sense, of course. It’s a place of tourists and nomads. Predominantly a transient population. This mission was
set up to service them. God, how they must have spread…”
Rachel opened her fists and gave him a hard shove. “Them who?” What the hell are you talking about?”
Mr. Giles stumbled. He regained his balance and dignity like a pro.
“The vampires, Miss Greenspan. I thought you knew.” He replaced his glasses and over their rims shot her a
disapproving glare. “There’s no need violence.”
She turned away, vaguely shamed, but more frightened than anything else. The pelting drops played their music on
the sidewalk of a vacant street.
She knew the estimates, of course. Everyone had heard reports. One third of the world’s population vanished in a
single puff of smoke: History’s most elaborate magic trick. Her part of the world hadn’t felt it. The country club set
of Boston with their secured mansions and private cars lost few to The Cleansing. Her family lost none. But this…
“There’s no one here,” she moaned. “Not a soul.”
“There is someone,” he said. “He would come here. After what we saw in Rapa Nui, I know he’s here.”
Again, she turned to face him. “How can you know? What did you see that I didn’t? There was no message. Just
blood on a wall. And why would he come here? You know nothing. You can’t…”
Mr. Giles gave her a shrewd smile. “Ah, but I do know, Miss Greenspan. He wants to be found.”
“How can you possibly?”
“Because he’s right.”
The voice came from behind her, and it chilled her to her core. She craned her head to find him there – a rain-
soaked man in a thin, green trench, a sodden canvas hat pulled down over his forehead. His eyes danced with a
mischievous light, but they were not concerned with her. She followed the thread his gaze and found it fixedly
attached to Rupert Giles.
“Hello, Ripper,” he said.
Andrew was terrified.
Really, the idea that he and Dawn could run the house, the school and The Watcher’s Council was idiotic. What were
they thinking?
He knew. Save the world, yada yada. Business as usual.
But they were alone!
Andrew gnawed on the tip of the phone’s antennae. He thought, this is what it must feel like to be slowly digested in
the Pit of Sarlaac.
Actually, that thought gave him strength. If Boba Fett could survive that, Andrew knew he could do this. He took a
deep breath to stabilize, then dialed the number for the school in Paris.
Twenty minutes later, Andrew found Dawn in the lounger in the TV room, her knees drawn up to her chin. The TV
was on, but muted so that a flickering parade of images played across her face.
After several calls in which he spoke interchangeably in English, French, Spanish and Italian, Andrew had secured six
Slayers from Paris, including Rita, plus three more from Barcelona and possibly twelve from Rome. The whirlwind of
multi-lingual conversation left him a little lightheaded, but he was ready to tackle the next big obstacle on his list:
finding comfortable accommodations for 21 Slayers and their Watchers. He needed Dawn’s help for that. He figured
they could divide up the host families list, thereby covering twice as much ground.
He hung on the edge of the chair, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting for her to notice that he was standing
there. When she didn’t, he said, “So… whatcha doin’?”
She looked up at him, her eyes full and luminous in the reflected television glare.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Oh.”
He waited again. And waited… and waited.
“Oh, you mean nothing,” he said at last. He came around the edge of the chair to stand between Dawn and the TV.
“Move out of the way,” she said, her voice dangerously deadpan.
“If you’re giving up, I’m… not gonna let you.”
“Andrew, get out of the way.” He loved the way she over enunciated every word as if he was someone who couldn’t
understand what she was saying.
Andrew folded his arms. “Nope.”
“We’re not them!” Dawn shouted. “I’m not Willow. You’re not Giles. Neither of us are Buffy or Spike. If we had
Maya here, or maybe Xander, that would be something. But we don’t! So I’m waiting right here until they get back.”
“What? No,” Andrew said. “No. No. We can do this. Let’s Scooby up. You and me - Scoobies: TNG. Kickin’ it old style
with the research and the spells, and the very much kicking of ass. Yeah… oh, yeah.”
“You’re delusional. We’re sidekicks!”
“Speak for yourself. I’m an International Man of Mystery,” he said. He flipped his collar to a sprightly angle and gave
her a resolute nod.
Dawn had to admit that with the glow of the TV silhouetting him, combined with his disheveled curls and missing
hand, that he did look suggestably rugged. Even though Lorne hadn’t been overly reassured by their combined
abilities, Andrew was on the handling side of everything.
“Did you… get the Slayers?”
“Twenty-one of ’em,” he said. “Actually, that’s why I need you. I thought you could help me with the planning. You
know, finding places for them to stay, otherwise they’ll all be here, and you know as well as I do that feeding an
army of Slayers will seriously dice our research time. And, on that note, I found this Australian conjuration spell that
might lead to information on that demon tribe Lorne told us about. You know, Misters Bad Ass Unpronounceable.”
Dawn breathed a laugh.
“Plus, also,” Andrew went on, “I still need to give MK a heads up on our game plan. She should be at the school by
now. So if we divide up our list, we could get it all finished in about an hour. Then, we’ll grab some munchage and
finally get some sleep before figuring out what we’re going to do with Spike. After that we’ll deal with that oh-so-
hard-to-spell demon tribe. I should make a list.”
Dawn lifted her head from her knees. “Shouldn’t you notify her Watcher, too?”
“Who-What?” Andrew asked.
“MK, you dolt. Shouldn’t you notify her Watcher?”
“Oh that,” Andrew said. He gave a hesitant grin. He said, “I am her Watcher.”
Dawn sputtered. “You? Since when?”
Andrew fidgeted with his shirttail. “Since when… Mr. Giles left,” he said. He stared down at the floor for a long
moment before sliding his eyes back to meet Dawn’s.
“Well,” Dawn said. She felt inexplicably tingly all over, like she’d just walked into warmth from a bone-chilling rain.
She got up from the chair and found herself eye to eye with Andrew.
That was more proximity than he could bear. Flat-footed, she was an inch taller than him, and if that wasn’t
intimidating enough, he could smell fruity shampoo on her still damp hair, which caused a whole flurry of emotions,
not all of which were pleasant, and brought back to his mind the fact that he could still feel the subtle burn of her
touch on his chest, and he couldn’t deal with it all, so he had to take a step back.
“I was as surprised as you,” he said. “P-probably.”
“Scoobies: TNG? Are you serious?”
“What can I say, Dawnie? I’m a loner. A rebel…”
“Andrew,” she snapped. He shut up.
“C’mon, Dawn. We can do this,” he said in a fervent whisper.
Dawn scrubbed her hands over her face. She was head-spinny from lack of sleep, and numb from overwhelmedness.
“Okay,” Dawn said, nodding to herself. “Okay. We can do this. We can. Give me the list.”
For a long, tense moment, Ethan Rayne stood in the drowning storm before he spoke again.
“Now is not a good time for you to be here, Ripper,” he said.
“You’re right,” Mr. Giles answered. “It’s not a good time for you, Ethan.”
“You misunderstand, old chap,” Ethan said. “We’ve got to get out of here. You see, night is falling and we’re
standing on top of a Hellmouth.”
 |
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.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call