Author’s Note: Inspired by “Behold, Little Padawan!” by Liz Marcs
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions, and Warner Brothers. Mr. and Mrs. Smith is the property of Simon Kinberg, New Regency Pictures, and 20th Century Fox. This work is not for profit and no ownership of aforementioned copyrighted material is implied, nor any infringement intended.
* * *
So he was in Bogota. And maybe he hadn’t known that it was a city in Colombia until recently; Africa just hadn’t been his thing. First malaria, then the sleeping sickness, and finally the patron demon of hyenas. OK, so Andrew had been right, who’d a thought? It had been enough. He begged Giles to arrange a transfer to a place where he could at least butcher the language comfortably. And now it was looking very bad, as in ‘no es bueno.’ If he had to guess, someone had tipped the police about a one-eyed gringo inquiring about under-aged girls. And so he turned his good eye towards the commotion at the door of the hotel bar just in time to see her stride in.
* * *
*Fucking wanna-be demonic local strongman.* It just brought back so many memories of childhood that she’d had to do it. Help exorcise her own demons, pun intended. And when the demonic-but-leaves-a-human-looking-corpse bad guy was slain, the authorities started looking for touristas. Young, dangerous-looking touristas seemed particularly high on their list. She figured the word had started to get out about slayers.
She walked in the door of the bar just as one of the Policia Nacional caught up from behind and grabbed her arm. It was all she could do not to elbow him in the sternum hard enough to stop his heart. *Good guy, now,* she reminded herself.
“Senorita, momento. Quien es su nombre?”
“Umm...no habla.” she tried.
The policeman tried again, in very slow and accented English. “What is your name? Who are you with?”
“There.” And she pointed impulsively. “My husband.” As she got a clear look at the only male customer in the bar, Faith’s stomach dropped.
* * *
“Ah, Senor Smith, presume?”
Xander knew there was no right answer. He glanced from the policeman to the slayer. The look in Faith’s eyes told him things were very, very wrong, and apparently his passport didn’t have the right name for today. *Must be Tuesday.* “Yes?”
The man’s smile grew very wide. “I am Sargento Rodriguez, of the Colombian National Police. The president of the Banco de la República was killed a very short while ago. And the assassins are believed to be posing as married couple from America.”
Xander glanced from the sergeant to the two submachinegun-armed policemen who had entered the bar behind him. Xander rubbed his eyepatch and looked at Faith. As she tensed herself to go postal he shook his head minutely. He frowned wearily at the policeman. “Giles is gonna be so disappointed.”
* * *
“...and that is the true story of how our Scooby with the scarred visage and the dark Slayer met for the last time.” Andrew finished recounting the tale of romance and danger to the recently-called slayer who was on the kitchen roster for the evening.
Xander entered the kitchen just in time to hear the conclusion. His face flushed, and he ground out, “Andrew, a word?”
“Yes, Xander.” The smaller man twitched nervously as he followed Xander down to the basement for another one of ‘those talks.’
“Andrew, for fuck’s sake, stop telling the girls about the Colombia trip. You’ll have a bunch of teenaged slayers tearing apart Latin America looking for their ‘one, true love.’”
“If you say so romantic, I am so gonna have Faith kick your ass.”
“But Xander-” Andrew started again.
“On second thought, I’ll just tell Faith you need help in the kitchen. Every day.”
Andrew stood rooted in horror as Xander stomped past him and back up the stairs.
MedusasRage spoofed Angel and Faith as Mr. and Mrs. Smith in this