The big table in the centre of the library was stacked with piles of books that were still waiting to be shelved, despite Willow and Mr Giles’ best efforts in the days before school started. Xander had briefly considered offering to help them finish the job, but the charitable thought had never quite translated into concrete action during any of his library visits. He was honest enough to admit to himself that it was less to do with fear of hard work and more with a nagging concern that he might be drawn into Mr Giles’ world by default, before he’d had a chance to think about what he wanted out of this brave new world outside of the routine of the tailor’s shop. He surveyed the table and the cartons of books underneath and consoled himself with the thought that if he finally made the decision to actively engage with Mr Giles’ after school activities, there would be more than enough work still to do. He wasn’t sure whether Willow would agree with his logic, but he hadn’t actually asked for her advice. And if he did, well she knew that his mind didn’t work in straight lines and sharp corners, so he didn’t think her potential disapproval was too much to worry about. And that was another question – Willow – what was he going to tell Willow? Sooner or later she was going to get curious about the whys and wherefores of the last couple of weeks, because more than anyone, she could read him like one of Mr Giles’ books.
“Mr Harris?” The voice came from behind him. Xander turned quickly and Mr Giles was standing at the office door. “Xander,” he said more quietly. “Shouldn’t you be in one of your classes at the moment?” He paused and the hint of a smile played around his lips. “Or are you already playing hooky this early in the term? It is still the first week and I seem to remember from when I was at school, there is an unwritten code that no one tries to bunk off until at least week two. But that was a long time ago, as you are no doubt thinking. Perhaps American schools have different unwritten rules?”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Xander smiled and shook his head. “Nah, the rules are pretty much the same. We all kind of try to get to the second week, although there’s always someone who breaks ranks. This year it looks like it might be Rodney Munson, because Mr Hansen in history is already riding him pretty hard, so you’re not going to get good odds if you want in on the betting action Wendell’s got going on.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure I don’t know anything about that and as a member of staff, I really don’t want to know. So if you don’t mind me asking, if you’re not using the library as a place of refuge, dare I ask why you are here?”
“Would you believe I’m here for a book?” Xander said. “I know it sounds a bit out there, but you remember Willow told me this is where the books live.”
“Mr Harris...” Mr Giles said. There was a hint of steel in his voice and Xander straightened up and took his hands out of his pockets.
“Sorry, Mr Giles. Force of habit, I guess – on school grounds; engage smart mouth.” Mr Giles raised an eyebrow and Xander bit his lip. “Yeah, I know, it’s a really lame excuse. I have a free period and I really am looking for a book, honest. We’ve got a history project to do for the end of the semester. I thought I might do something on the local area. There must be a pile of stuff to choose from, but I’m kind of not sure what to do at the moment.”
Mr Giles leaned against the door jamb. Xander didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone look so relaxed and alert at the same time. “I’m gratified to hear that you’re taking such a proactive approach to your assignment,” he said with a small smile. “The library holds a number of books that might help you refine your thoughts on your subject matter. I dare say that the history of small, or even not so small town America has its own interest, although I would have thought there are other bits of California history that might have attracted you more. Can I ask what made you chose this topic?”
“I guess,” Xander replied. He had the feeling there was a gentle insult somewhere in Mr Giles comment, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where it was. “Umm, you kind of got me thinking about Sunnydale history.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, the night we met near the rail bridge. You might not remember, but you talked about how the history of the town was in the buildings – the derelict ones and the new ones. That it was about the fancy stores going up and the rundown ones closing and why we’ve got some railroad tracks that don’t go anywhere anymore.”
“I remember the conversation,” Mr Giles said. His lips twitched slightly as if he was also acknowledging the circumstances in which the conversation had occurred.
“It hadn’t really occurred to me because you live in a place and you just take it for granted,” Xander replied. “You don’t actually see it. Or at least, I didn’t until you started to talk about it and then it’s kind of difficult not to think about it, you know?”
“You could say that about a lot of things,” Mr Giles said. “But I do know what you mean. I’m happy that my words left such an impression on you.”
“Even if you were using them as an excuse at the time?” It was the first time Xander had referred so blatantly to the events of the previous weeks and he couldn’t decide if he felt giddy or apprehensive. He settled on a combination of the two.
“Even so,” Mr Giles said with a nod of acknowledgement as if he too realised that a bridge had been crossed. “The local history books are in the second row from the far end. Since I have spent some considerable time trying to sort out my predecessor’s lamentably erratic shelving, I can say with some authority that the middle shelves have some general texts that you might want to glance through to give you some ideas. Then we can look for something more specific once you’ve had time to gather your thoughts.”
“Cool,” Xander replied. “I’ll check them out and then come back and annoy you.” Mr Giles folded his arms and raised his chin. “I mean, ask your advice on where to go next,” he amended. “And I’ll get right on that and stop bothering you.”
Before Mr Giles could reply, he turned, took the steps up to the stacks two at a time and headed across the floor towards the furthest lines of shelves. He was almost there when Mr Giles called out. “Xander.”
He paused and leaned on the balustrade. “Yeah?”
Mr Giles had come out of the shelter of the office door and now stood at the table, his hands resting on a teetering pile of text books. “While we are on the subject of taking an area for granted and not seeing what’s under your nose, in the not too distant future we’re going to have a proper conversation about what happened. About your decisions and their implications, yes?”
“Yes sir,” Xander replied. He knew he’d opened the door with his earlier remarks, so he had no-one to blame but himself for Mr Giles’ words. “I guess I should thank you for giving me the time to get my head straight.”
“You’re not the only one who needed to regroup. But as I say-“
“Talk, yeah,” Xander interrupted. “But first I’ve got to get the school work sorted. And those are words I never thought I’d be saying. Willow will be so proud.”
“I’m sure she will,” Mr Giles said. “But don’t underestimate yourself. We both know you have a work ethic. It’s just a case of applying it to your school work instead of in its previous context.” He nodded towards the stacks. “Go find your books and let me get on with my own work, which currently consists of trying to find a logical place for these books and looking for my good fountain pen which I seem to have mislaid. If you come across it, please let me know.”
“Sure.” Xander hesitated before continuing. “Thanks Mr Giles. I mean...”
“Go find your books,” Mr Giles repeated and picked up the first book on the pile at his fingertips.
Xander smiled briefly, then turned and headed into the stacks. After a minute spent orientating himself, he found that just as Mr Giles had said, the second and third shelves had a range of books on local history. There was everything from a hefty tome about the local Chumash and how they had been forced out of their territory and onto reservations, to multiple volumes recording, in brain numbing detail, the minutes of the monthly meetings at City Hall. He skipped over those because he wasn’t sure he wanted to do a project that might include even the remote chance of contact with the mayor.
After browsing and discarding a dozen books, his eye was caught by a slim volume on the history of the local industrial railroad and the Morrison steel mill on the outskirts of town. Sliding down onto the floor, his back resting against the shelves behind him, he started to read and soon the old overgrown railroad ties he’d walked along a thousand times on his way to work morphed in his imagination into large blocks of new wood, carrying heavy metal rails and trains laden with industrial materials and tough men ready for another shift at the mill. In a small part of his brain he was conscious of the rise and fall of voices out beyond the stacks as Mr Giles dealt with questions and problems from anyone who ventured into the library. He turned the pages of the book slowly, pausing to look at the sepia photos of workers laying railroad ties and he traced his finger across a pencil drawing of a train rushing down the tracks, smoke billowing like a cloud from the funnel. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what it would have been like to do such hard physical work and to wait for the shrill whistle of the train on the wind, heralding another load of iron ore, or limestone, or coal. But the words on the page were dry, and the photos and sketches two dimensional, and he couldn’t quite make the leap in his mind to feel what it would have meant to work like that. He wondered if the years of wandering along the tracks as they stood now, with remnants of mouldering wood and broken stretches of rails overgrown with weeds and wild grasses, as he walked to his work at the tailor’s shop had suppressed his ability to imagine what that part of the town had been like when life above the tunnels was just as intense as the life below.
Tiredly, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and stretched his back, trying to work out the kinks from sitting on the floor. As he worked his neck from one side to the other he became conscious of a low pitched, intense conversation taking place near the library check-in counter. The word ‘vampire’ made his ears prick up and he rose cautiously, his feet tingling with pins and needles from sitting in one place for too long and, book in hand, tiptoed to the front of the shelves, in time to hear an angry “I’m way sure”.
Peering round the corner, he had the impression of long, dark blondish hair and hunched shoulders as a girl stormed out of the library, leaving the doors swinging wildly in her wake. Mr Giles stood by the library counter, his hand resting on a heavy, leather bound book, staring at the doors as if he’d never seen them before.
Xander left the shelter of the stacks, walked tentatively down the stairs and across to the librarian. “Umm, hi,” he said.
Mr Giles started. “Mr Harris. Xander. I’d quite forgotten you were there. Did you, did you find anything interesting?”
“Maybe. Not sure.” Xander replied, hefting the book in his hand. “It’s a bit dry, but I’m not sure if that's the author or me at the moment. I’ll give it another pass before I get grumpy about it.” He turned and stared at the doors, their movement slowing gradually to a gentle swing, before turning his attention back to Mr Giles. “Talking of grumpy, I don’t mean to be pushy, but I’m going to take a wild guess that was the girl you were waiting for? Either that, or someone was really ticked off that you didn’t have the book they needed.”
“Excuse me?” Mr Giles said.
“The girl,” Xander repeated. “I understand you don’t really want to talk about this in public, but since there isn’t anyone else here.” He looked around quickly. “There isn’t anyone else here, is there?”
Mr Giles shook his head. “Students in the library during school time? Heaven forbid.”
“Glad you’re getting the hang of how this works,” Xander replied. He studied Mr Giles for a second then took a deep mental breath. “You remember when we talked at your place that morning after the Ethan thing? You mentioned the girl you were expecting. I think you called her the Slayer? And you know I still want to make a joke about an 80’s hair band, but I won’t. I’m guessing that was her. Since there probably aren’t too many people you would mention vampires to.” He paused. “There aren’t, are there? Because you know, I quite like being in a pretty exclusive club for once.”
Mr Giles smoothed his hand over the leather cover of the book on the counter top. “No, not many. At least, not here,” he said. “And yes, yes it was. I must ask you to respect her calling and also to be less cavalier in your discussions about vampires.”
“I’m good with secrets, Mr Giles. What with the whole checking there was no one else in the library. And with other stuff.” He paused and bit his lip. “As for the other thing, well I knew about vampires for a long time before you got here, or little miss grumpy, and it’s just...” He trailed off.
“What is it, Mr Harris? I trust you are not about to put conditions on your discretion?”
“No,” Xander shook his head. “Not exactly. But I was thinking earlier about Willow. We’ve been best friends since I can remember, you know. Well her and Jesse, but especially her. I told you the reason I finally went to confront Ethan was because of her. Because he’d seen her with me and I was scared she might get hurt if he decided it would be fun to mess with her. And because you were obviously involved in some way I didn’t understand at the time and she was spending all this time alone with you, helping out here in the run up to school starting. It’s the same as why I told her about the way Sunnydale is. I couldn’t stomach the idea that something might happen to her because she didn’t know.”
“Your loyalty does you credit. I assume you are saying that you reserve the right to tell Miss Rosenberg if need be?”
“There’s a reason you're the smart one, Mr Giles. I know you’d rather I didn’t say anything, but my Wills, you’ve seen how smart she is and there’s the little fact that she already knows about the Sunnydale nightlife.”
“Well yes, that had slipped my mind, these last few days,” Mr Giles said.
“Well you’ve got a lot going on in there. You and Willow have got that in common, what with the big brains full of stuff. And I love her for being like that, but sometimes it works against you. She’s really good at not asking me stuff, but she’s going to notice that I’m not going to work and eventually she’s going to ask, just like she’s going to wonder what we find to talk about when she’s not here.”
“So your history project is a bit of blind because it gives you a legitimate excuse to be in the library?”
“Maybe a bit,” Xander replied. “Although I did think I’d try the whole learning thing this year and see if it was all it was cracked up to be.”
“I’m overwhelmed by your academic enthusiasm. But to come back to my Slayer, you suspect that Miss Rosenberg may guess that something is different about her?”
“Maybe,” Xander acknowledged. “If there’s one thing Willow hates, it’s a missing bit of a puzzle. I’m kind of worried that she might go looking. If she got hurt I’d never forgive myself.”
“Or me, if I had anything to do with it,” Mr Giles said.
Xander shrugged.
“I’ll take that as a yes. I appreciate your honesty,” Mr Giles continued. “Shall we cross that bridge when we come to it? But I would like to emphasise that it’s vital I have your discretion when we are in public places, yes?”
“Sure, Mr Giles. Do we shake hands now?” Xander put the history book down on the counter top and made a show of wiping his palm on the side of his jeans.
“I don’t think we need to be that formal,” Mr Giles said with a soft laugh. “Consider it a tacit agreement.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Etiquette’s never been my strong point, even if I could spell it. So back to the angry blonde - did you frighten her off, or was she just not ready to take out the girl’s bumper book of vampire slaying?”
“Mr Harris, if you are going to belittle something so important.”
“If you mean make fun of it, I’m not. But I’m guessing this was the first meeting with her and she didn’t sound too happy.”
Mr Giles sighed. “I think it’s fair to say that we might have got off on the wrong foot.”
“Maybe there wasn’t a right foot?” Xander replied. “So what are you going to do now?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. My training didn’t exactly prepare me for a Slayer who doesn't listen to what I had to say and who tells me she isn’t interested in...” Mr Giles pulled off his glasses and grimaced. “How did she put it – that she 'isn’t interested in the whole vampire dealio’.”
“Ouch,” Xander said, but he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing at the disgust on Mr Giles face.
“Indeed.”
“I guess you just have to wait for her to come to you?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, you can’t exactly go stalking her. What with you being the school librarian, it would look kind of creepy and since you don’t teach any classes, you don’t have an excuse to see her every day. I mean, coming to the library is kind of a voluntary thing, so that means she’s got to come to you.” He paused as Mr Giles sighed again and put his glasses back on. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Xander. I’m beginning to realise just how ill-prepared I really am, despite all my training. Librarian seemed like a perfect role but, as you say, it has drawbacks I had never considered.”
“Welcome to wacky world of teenagers, Mr Giles,” Xander said with a smile. “If you thought Sunnydale was a weird place, you ain’t seen nothing like a California high school.”
“Thank you for that bracing warning, Mr Harris.”
“Xander, remember?”
“Xander, yes. And I believe you may call me Giles, since I have a feeling we may be seeing a lot of each other.”
“Giles,” Xander repeated slowly.
“It’s what most people in my circle call me. More informal that Mr Giles, but still formal enough for propriety, you might say.”
“Okay, Giles it is.” Xander nodded and leaned against the counter, his elbows resting on the top and his chin propped up in one palm. “So what about this girl? Your Slayer, I mean.”
“I believe you are right. That I must wait and, if you’ll pardon the jest, I must watch. And be ready for if she has need of me.”
“I think you mean ‘when’, Giles,” Xander said.
“I live in hope,” Giles replied, “Or perhaps I mean in confusion and trepidation.”
Xander said nothing, but he watched as Giles’ hand moved as if under its own volition, smoothing restlessly over the leather cover of the large book on the counter top as he stared at the now stationary library doors.