Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters are the property of their original owners.
Author’s Note: The below AU takes place in the present day (if you somehow manage to miss this) of the New Council ten years on, while completely ignoring the comics and books.
“Any luck so far, Giles?” hopefully asked Xander Harris whose desperate expression was also shared by two other members of their quartet sitting together at the staff breakfast nook table.
A most unwelcome pessimistic shrug was made by a former high school librarian. Seeing how the faces of Dawn, Willow, and Xander fell in unison at this sign of failure, Rupert Giles was forced to further add, “I’ll keep at it, but so far in all the prophecies I’ve been searching through, there’s not the least forewarning of any potential apocalypses about to take place in Tierra del Fuego; Nome, Alaska; the Gobi Desert; or Pitcairn Island.”
“Wonderful, we can‘t even escape there during the next couple of weeks!” moaned Dawn, who then glowered at Xander appearing equally miserable as the rest of them in the small room overlooking the back yard of the Cleveland Slayers House. Ignoring how the fall foliage of the mature trees in this area were approaching their peak glory in the middle of October, Dawn snarled at the one-eyed man across the table, “You just had
to talk my sister into painting her face blue for the last couple of pennant games!”
Willow rushed to her friend’s defense, “It wasn’t that hard, Dawn! You remember, she already went into a total Dodgers obsession, down to bringing along a radio when we watched in the rec room, just so she could listen to Vin Scully at the same time!”
Giles repressively cleared his throat. This was helped along by his best-ever Ripper glare directed at them all while the older Englishman icily sniffed, “Right now, my inclination is to leave you lot to deal with it all by yourselves! Baseball isn’t even my bloody national sport in the first place, but you simply had to drag me into this! Why the devil do I need to be the one for Buffy to cry on my shoulder about her hometown team being eliminated?”
Xander tried to make peace among them all. “Listen, can we get back to the more important stuff? Even if the absolutely worse disaster ain’t gonna happen -- well, at least this
time -- something’s got to be done or we’ll have a senior Slayer smackdown for the ages! There’s no other choice, guys, not unless everybody really wants this place being torn apart to tiny pieces. So, here’s the plan: Giles, keep going through those dusty books for anything to distract Buffy and Faith. Wils, have your maximum mojo ready. Dawnie, the first chance you get, take your big sis aside and do your best to convince her that for L.A., there’s always next year.”
Hearing this last, Dawn skeptically glanced at Xander, before snorting, “Well, fine, but what are you
gonna do about your big-mouth girlfriend, now that Faith’s worked out her issues with Robin and hooked up with you again?”
Just when Xander with a hunted look in his remaining eye opened his mouth, whatever he might’ve said was interrupted by a loud, familiar voice caroling from the outer corridor leading to the breakfast nook:
“Nine and oh, nine and oh, nine and oh, B! The way yer sorry-ass team blew it, my
guys woulda done it in four straight ’gainst ’em! Yeah, Sox forever! Boston rules! Those West Coast wimps--"Whack!
That sound of flesh striking onto flesh was immediately followed by a deeper Thud!
coming from the wall separating the corridor and the breakfast nook. The foursome in this room simultaneously grabbed onto the table to keep from being shaken out of their chairs as the whole room rocked like an earthquake had just struck.
Directly after things settled down, the ensuing quiet was broken by Faith’s jeering voice, “Hell, B, I been punched harder by fledgling vamp grandmas. Ya wanna show team spirit, I s’pose doin’ it like yer Dodgers did it at ’bout every at-bat is one way-- Whooooo!
C’mon, see if ya can catch me!”
The thunderous sound of two pairs of stomping feet departing at Slayer speed eventually died away in the breakfast nook. Xander tore his appalled gaze away from where the shape of a female body outlined in the room’s wall plaster was displayed, to then look around at the others sharing the table. Every hair at the back of his neck rose at the malevolent smiles he was getting from Willow, Giles, and Dawn. It was the latter woman who then evilly crooned to him, “Looks like you’re up, big fella. No pressure, though. It’s not like it’s now two outs in the ninth inning, the count’s three and two, score’s tied, and it’s the seventh game of the Wuuuuurrrrrrllllllddddd
Shoulders slumping, Xander Harris fixed his gaze with utmost loathing at his so-called friends, and intoned to them, “I hate you all.”