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With A Little Help From My Friends

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Summary: Once the Scoobies decided they need some additional help, Xander offers to call some people he knows and see if they're willing to help.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Literature > Sci-Fi > Author: Jim BaenGreywizardFR1523,3412527,52824 Aug 123 Dec 12No

Chapter One

Disclaimer: They all belong to Crack-Head Joss and ME or David Weber. Deal with it. I have.

Category: Crossover with David Weber's Orfressa Series.

Time Frame: Starts following Season Sux Part Deux, Episode Eighteen, 'Dirty Girls,' then goes seriously AU.

Spoilers: None intended, but if you don't know what happened up to this point, why are you reading this story?

Character Bashing: Nope.

Feedback: Of course!

Archiving: Talk to me first, please.

Author's Note 1: Many thanks to Bill Haden and Theo (Starway_Man) for beta-ing this story.

Author's Note 2: As usual, “word” indicates speech, :: word :: indicates mental communication and { word } indicates a character's thoughts.

Author's Note 3: This is also a response to TTH Challenge 4177.

Author's Note 4: This is story #24 for the 2012 August Fic-A-Day Challenge.

~~~

Summers residence
Sunnydale, CA

April 18, 2003
Mid-morning


Following Xander's release from the hospital earlier that morning, against the doctors' medical advice (though it was rather telling that the physician on duty walked into the room with the AMA form already filled out and ready to sign), the group had gathered around the dining room table at 1630 Revello Drive, as was their habit, to discuss their plans for dealing with the First Evil and its minions.

"Just my opinion, but since it's kinda obvious now that we definitely need as much help as we can get against Caleb and the Bringers, why don't you call that number Riley left that you used when Fangless, here, needed to get that chip out of his head?" Xander suggested, as he jabbed his thumb in Spike's direction.

"I don't have it anymore," Buffy admitted with a grimace. "I threw it away, after the Initiative people left.

"And besides, I still don't trust the Army not to stab us in the back the moment we're not looking," the Chosen One added somewhat grumpily, glancing around the kitchen while not meeting anyone's eyes.

"Oohh-kay," Xander nodded, not wanting to point out the shorted-sighted foolishness of Buffy’s actions in front of everyone gathered there. Harris *still* didn’t understand why the military troops had just left after removing the chip from Spike’s head, since he simply couldn’t believe that Buffy would *stupid* enough to tell them all to leave and not play in her sandbox without her permission. But ignoring the potential benefits that Riley’s support could have provided – manpower and supplies – when they were already perilously low on both, was something that could be discussed *after* they'd defeated the First.

Assuming, of course, that they were all still alive, afterwards.

"Well then, since we still need any help we can get, I think I'm gonna call a guy I know and see if he can offer us any," Harris went on, as he reached out for his glass of water and almost knocked it over, the bandages covering the left side of his face plainly interfering with his depth perception.

"Who the bloody hell could you possibly know that'd be of any help, Droopy?" Spike snorted derisively from his position by the basement door, and farthest away from the kitchen window. "We don't need any walls repaired, or windows replaced."

"No, we don't, Spike," Xander agreed in what sounded like an amiable tone of voice, "and, going by your performance over the past several years, even if we did, you wouldn't be any help, with that, anyway.

"You're pretty good at breaking things and destroying what other people create, no question about that, at all," the carpenter and demon hunter said as he focused his remaining eye on the now dechipped vampire.

"But when it comes to cleaning up after the fighting’s over, and fixing things so that people can rebuild and *live* their lives, what, exactly, have you ever done to actually help out?" Harris asked, a hint of a smile on his face as he saw the thoughtful expressions that appeared on some of the Potentials' faces as they listened in.

He also noted the brief frown which crossed Buffy's face as she listened to their not-quite-a-squabble, before she said, "Are you sure you want to call someone you know to help out, Xander? They could get hurt, if they get involved. Seriously hurt, or killed, even."

"Yeah, they could," Xander agreed. "But that's their choice to make, Buffy. You can't make the decision about getting involved in the fight for anyone but yourself.

"Besides, these people know the risks and they know the score; they’re not amateurs."

"Okay," the blonde Chosen One reluctantly nodded her agreement, obviously not pleased with Xander’s reply, but also clearly not wanting to argue with him about it with everyone present. "If you want to call your friend, go ahead. Like you said, that's your decision."

"Yeah, it is," Harris nodded again, giving her a small smile. "Guess I'll go get started, then."

So saying, instead of pulling out his phone as everyone was expecting, Xander turned and walked, somewhat unsteadily, out the kitchen door and into the backyard.

As most of the Potentials watched with interest – as much due to lack of anything else to occupy their time, as for any other reason – Harris spent a few minutes clearing a small area of the yard of leaves and other debris, then dropped to one knee and began speaking in a clear and carrying, but not overly loud, voice. The fact that he was speaking in a language only one of the people watching recognized made a few of the spectators – especially Buffy, Giles, Willow and Dawn – glance at each other with no little bit of surprise.

"Oh, lords of hellfire and damnation!"

Dawn looked over at Anya's exclamation, and was surprised to see the expression of wide-eyed and utterly shocked disbelief on the former vengeance demon's face.

"Uh, Anya?" she said, catching the blonde's attention. "Is there some kind of problem with what Xander's doing?" she asked, glancing out the window to where her one-time crush was still speaking (or possibly chanting, judging by the apparent rhythm of the little bit of what he was saying that she could hear) in that same unfamiliar language.

"He's, he’s speaking Norfressan!" Anya answered in an almost-frantic, disconcerted tone, as though that was all the explanation needed. "I, I don’t – where and when did Xander learn to speak Norfressan?

"And he's not just speaking Norfressan – he's speaking Norfressan with a gods-bedamned Horse Stealer Hrandani accent!!!" the former vengeance demon added, the anxiety and apprehension in her evident to anyone listening.

"Uh, I've got no idea," Dawn answered the blonde shopkeeper's (probably) rhetorical question as honestly as she could.

"And what do you mean, 'he's speaking Norfressan with a gods-bedamned Horse Stealer Hrandani accent'?" the Key followed up with her own question a half-moment later, quoting the older woman's words of a moment earlier.

Unfortunately, any explanation Anya might possibly have offered went unheard as one of the Potentials, Molly, let out a small squeal and pointed out the kitchen window as she loudly demanded, "Oh my God! Who's that?!"

The subject of her question was quite obvious to everyone present as they, too, all stared at the ten foot tall man, dressed in broken-in, but unmistakably well-made, chain mail, with a sword slung on his back and a mace hanging on his belt, who had quite suddenly and unexpectedly appeared in front of Xander Harris.

And who was currently being addressed by that same individual with the words, "Good afternoon, My Lord. We've got a situation here, where we could use a little help."

TBC
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