InsaneJournal

Temperamental Ass
It had been almost 10 years since Logan last set foot on a college campus, and even though the University of Denver wasn't quite on the scale of an NYU, the nostalgia seemingly made up for that. Only difference was, Logan wasn't a student anymore.

No ... today, Logan was a concerned cousin, the last remaining relative of one Francis Kristofferson. Though the truth was that Francis was a Slayer and Logan was her Watcher, somehow he doubted the University of Denver would accept -- much less believe -- that explanation. The supernatural might've been common knowledge at this point, but the much of the world still had its head in the sand.

According to the message from Dr. Callan Worboys, Francis had missed several classes in recent weeks -- which meant Logan was fighting a case of the "I told you so's", seeing as how he told Francis signing up for an 8:00 a.m. class when her sworn sacred duty involved a lot of night work wasn't such a good idea.

But, stubborn girl she was, Francis did it anyway.

The Watcher sat in one of the plush maroon chairs in the main offices of the Philosophy and Religious Studies department. The secretary sitting behind the main desk was smacking loudly at her gum, reading a Time magazine article on the "Newfound Undead Menace," rolling her eyes every 30 seconds or so and giving Logan the occasional dirty look. It made him uncomfortable; with any luck, he'd be called into Dr. Worboys' office soon.

Professor Worboys didn't like to think of herself as the mother hen sort. She'd been an educator for nearly fifteen years, working at various colleges before settling on Denver to start working on tenure, and she'd never been much for bonding with her students on any level except for how it related to their studies and classwork. She had a doctorate in education, one in foreign languages, and another in religious theory, enough diplomas to merit an entire alphabet soup of initials behind her name, and one day she hoped to run the entire department, provided she could get enough support on the board to do so.

Now, however, she was a professor who'd developed serious concerns about one of her pupils. Francis Kristofferson was a bright young woman who'd been pulling down a solid 3.6 grade point average at the beginning of the semester, but her class attendance and her last essay project left quite a lot to be desired. Dr. Worboys, mother hen or no, suspected some sort of shenanigans behind the scenes, and she didn't like shenanigans. Not when it was interfering with the futures of the people she was teaching.

She'd been keeping Mr. Guevera waiting on purpose, finishing a cup of coffee and making some final notes on her last lecture session, then she closed up the folder she was working on and put it away in a desk drawer to arrange things on her desk to her liking before tapping the intercom button. "Is he still here?" she asked her gum-chewing receptionist, who she'd had to hire because the girl was someone-or-other's niece. She wouldn't put it past Guevera to walk out if she left him cooling his heels too long, but the secretary said, "He's still here, Doc," through a series of crackles from the wad of Wrigley's in her mouth.

Professor Worboys closed her eyes. Doc. As if she were a pediatrician.

"Fine, I'll see him now. And you can go to lunch if you'd like, it's almost noon." Anything to get that bimbo out of the office. 'Niece', her Ivy League-educated behind. When she was running this department, she was going to contract with a temp service, get some people in here who knew how to work in an office environment.

It was all Logan could do not to leave the secretary with some witty insult before walking into the professor's office; she probably wouldn't have understood the joke, even if he had made one. The Watcher let it go, shedding his black leather coat and straightening the glasses sitting on his nose as he walked through the door into Worboys' office, closing the door behind him and extending his right hand for a shake.

Even if this conversation was going to be as tense as he suspected, Logan figured a little civility wasn't out of the question.

"Professor," he greeted with a small, professional smile. Some part of him hoped she would already have an idea of what Slayers were; that way, explaining away whatever classroom difficulties Francis faced would be much easier. Then again, when was being a Watcher ever easy?

"Mr. Guevera."

Dr. Worboys' tone was neither here nor there, and she waved at the chair on the other side of her desk. She had hoped that Francis would be with him, but apparently that wasn't to be. "Glad you could make it, I'm sure you're ... very busy." What did the man do for a living, did she even know? "I had imagined that Ms. Kristofferson would find time to be here, but she must be occupied with whatever's been pulling her out of my class for the past month and a half."

It was an insinuation, and before her visitor could respond, the professor said, "There's coffee if you want a cup. I think we should talk, don't you?"

"No, thank you," Logan replied, taking a seat in the chair offered to him. "I've already had three cups this morning. My job pretty much requires I live off the stuff."

The insinuation didn't go unnoticed, but the Watcher let it slide, both because he didn't want this discussion to become heated and because he realized the professor likely didn't understand how serious Francis' life outside of the University of Denver was. Not only that, but Logan felt as if he understood, on some level, Dr. Worboys' frustration; to spend all that time going over lecture notes and crafting a carefully-thought-out lecture, only to have a student chronically fail to attend ... without the facts, Logan would probably find himself thinking that student didn't care.

But with all due respect to Dr. Worboys, Francis was dealing with a lot more important things than comparative religions.

The phone cals from the professor caught Logan by surprise; his first instinct was to call the Council, see if there was a Watcher by that name. Either there wasn't, or London was hiding her identity for some reason. Logan assumed the former, which would probably make explaining Francis' absences less than fun. In fact, it would've been illegal by federal law for Dr. Worboys to talk to Logan at all regarding Francis if she hadn't given the school expressed written consent to do so.

It just seemed like the thing to do at the time.

"I'd like to offer an explanation for Francis' absences," Logan began, "but I guess at this point, everything would just sound like an excuse."

"It would." Professor Worboys didn't consider herself humorless by any means, although she could be stern in the right mood, but she was beginning to feel jerked around, and without Francis there in person to explain herself she was stuck asking Mr. Guevera her questions as though he were the young woman's proxy. "Are you her boyfriend?" Another insinuation, and it fit since they were almost the same age. "Where is she this morning?"

She opened her desk drawer, the opposite one she'd put her file folder into, pulled out a tabloid she'd found in the lounge that morning. Splashed across the front page was the lurid headline 'The Dead Walk Among Us!', and the paper hit the desk with a muted slapping noise. Beneath the huge print was a grainy picture of what looked like a man with bat ears, and the educator steepled her fingers beneath her slightly blunt chin and eyed Logan warily. She'd read the articles too, read the articles and seen the television programs. And the internet was crawling with stories.

"Understand me when I tell you I'm concerned about her," she said. "At first I thought she was on drugs and coming to class high because her concentration was shot and she couldn't focus on her work. And when I asked her about the bruises on her face, I looked into it to see who she was living with because she clammed up and wouldn't talk. That was how I got your name. I considered calling the police, but I decided to make an attempt to get some answers first. I wouldn't want to be reactionary. I have a feeling you wouldn't like that, either."

The front of being Francis' cousin was a lot easier to uphold when people weren't outright asking him what he was in relation to her. Logan almost said yes, but if Worboys was in fact a member of the Council, doing so would land him in a lot of hot water. Not only did the Council not know he was training a Slayer, but the fact that he was romantically involved with said Slayer would probably make things worse -- maybe even get him fired.

Logan had already quit one job over the past five months; he really didn't feel like losing another.

His eyes glanced at the tabloid on the page. While the illustration on the front was probably a computer-generated fabrication, there was little doubt the actual words inside spoke the truth. Whether people believed those words was another matter entirely -- and one in which the media had no interest. Belief didn't pay the bills; watching and reading did.

"Officially," he spoke, folding his arms, "I'm her cousin. But that's a cover, because I'm not sure telling the truth would do any good -- mostly because I'm not sure you'd believe it. And I wouldn't blame you for that, because it's a bit fantastic, to be quite frank, and ..."

The Watcher paused, glancing over Dr. Worboys' shoulder and out the window overlooking much of the campus. "But I'm not the one giving her those bruises, if that's what you're asking."

She drummed her fingers briefly on the solid wood of the desk, and then she picked up the tabloid to throw it across the desk at Guevera. It smacked him in the left shoulder, then draped over the back of his chair. She rested one knobby elbow on the desk blotter, pointed a finger at the man.

"You're in my office, sir," she said, her tone making it clear she wanted no arguments. "And in my office you look at me when you talk to me, not away like you're seven years old. And someone's beating her up, even if it isn't you. Now ..."

She broke the sentence off for a moment, then gestured at the discarded newspaper. "I do read the news, Mr. Guevera. And while I agree that the press are prone to sensationalism, I also saw the Markowitz interview. It was the talk of the campus for weeks, and a man that age has -- had -- no reason to go to such lengths unless there was more than a little truth to what he was saying. Where is Ms. Kristofferson?"

Catching the tabloid off the back of the chair and folding it, Logan heaved a sigh of resignation. It was an odd sensation to be chewed out for something someone else was doing, but then again, Logan used to be a reporter. If there was one thing he was used to, it was being read the riot act for shit that wasn't his fault. Getting chewed out for something he did do, though ... that was another animal entirely.

"She's in bed," he said. "Nursing a separated shoulder."

The Watcher placed the tabloid back on Dr. Worboys' desk, feeling this odd twinge build in his gut. It was almost as if he was getting nervous over the whole thing, trying to explain to someone out of the loop just what a Slayer was. With Francis, he'd lucked out, as she already knew what she was. This was going to be a brand new experience for Logan, and he wasn't so sure he'd like it.

"Francis is," he paused, "a Vampire Slayer. She's spent nearly every night for the last month and a half patrolling through cemeteries and alleys trying to track down a particularly dangerous vampire. I've suggested more than once she simply postpone school to focus better on her calling, but Francis is ... well, she's stubborn. She thinks she can balance both."

Professor Worboys' narrow-lipped mouth tightened down even further, and she looked at the tabloid before swiping it up off of her desk and throwing it into the trash can. Where it belonged. It would be too ridiculous if the cleaning woman found such garbage in her office. She let the silence hang heavy and expectant between herself and Logan for a long minute, then nodded gravely.

"All right. Vampires," she said, and it was the tone of a woman who had had conversations about the merits of school and the merits of anything else a thousand times over the years. That she believed what Logan was saying might very possibly be in question; that this was familiar territory was not. There was another silence, a more expectant one.

"From what I understand, which isn't very much, those girls don't live long," she told Logan. "Does that make you her ..." She almost said 'minder', bit back the word at the last second. There was no point in being antagonistic, not after she'd done a version of the eraser-throwing act she used in class to get her students' attention. "Watcher?"

"Yes," he answered. "I'm her Watcher."

Part of Logan was relieved to hear Dr. Worboys use the terminology; it meant she had at least some knowledge, no matter how basic. Maybe that would lead to her being more understanding of why Francis was hardly ever in class anymore, and why when she was, the Slayer was less-than-attentive. Again, the Watcher thought that this probably would be an issue if the class were taught at, say, noon, but he wouldn't hold the class time against the professor.

Comparative Religions sounded like a fascinating enough course, maybe similar to some of the classes Logan had to take when he was in the Academy. It wouldn't have surprised Logan if some of those courses became part of actual collegiate curricula over the next couple years -- especially since he'd heard rumblings from London that the Council wanted to start Watcher training partnerships with select universities throughout the world.

"I don't know if you have an attendance policy," the Watcher added. "And I'm not about to argue if you're going to fail Francis. You have a class to run and to make exceptions for any student, regardless of circumstance would be unfair."

"Understand me." She used that phrase a lot, mainly when she was talking with those colleagues of hers she found herself sharing hors d'oeuvres with at social occasions. They found her pedantic and humorless, she was aware of that, and among the younger professors there was the suggestion that what she needed to lighten up was some masculine attention. But she'd learned to ignore most of that, writing them off as sore losers because she'd already published twice since arriving here and was working on her third paper. She was going places.

"Francis is a damned fine student," she continued, looking at Logan across the desk. "And when she first enrolled in this class I was impressed by her abilities, to not just absorb the material, but to look deeper and find actual meaning in it. Maybe that's because of this other matter, I don't know, but whatever the reason, I'd be less than pleased to see her go. The fact that you're apparently encouraging her to put school aside in favor of skulking in the shadows all night is something that worries me. Who's this vampire she's been tracking?"

For a moment, it sounded as if the professor was blaming Logan for the fact that Francis was a Slayer. That was overly simplistic, and more than likely not the true meaning of what Dr. Worboys meant, so the Watcher had no reason to lash out -- which had been his initial urge. Instead, Logan folded his arms and gave the professor an emotionless stare. Part of him was tempted to give her a lecture about how a Slayer couldn't simply ignore her duty and live life as it were normal. Once the calling came, that took precedence over everything else in a Slayer's life -- even with the world overflowing with Slayers now.

"His name's Diego," Logan answered. Sired in Mexico about 60 years ago, he's killed three Slayers in the last two years -- including the Rivera girl they talked about on the news three months ago. He's only chosen untested Slayers with no formal training at this point; the girls he's killed might not have even known they were Slayers. He doesn't kill to feed -- he takes pleasure in what he does.

"Francis has taken it upon herself to track him down and make sure he can't kill any more Slayers."

The professor was actually making notes while Logan talked, a habit ingrained by long years of study and teaching, and she set the ballpoint aside when the Watcher stopped to regard him with her customary skepticism. That it sounded like a death sentence was quite possibly not the best thing she could throw into the conversation, but her expression said as much without words.

"If I can suggest," she said instead, "I think you're pulling her in the wrong direction. I'm sure she's very dedicated to her new ... calling, but aren't there hundreds of these girls out there? Like I said earlier, I don't know much, but I've been paying attention since certain facts were revealed. Is back-up not a word you're familiar with, Mr. Guevera?"

"Believe me, I wish we had back-up," Logan replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Since the Rivera girl died, though, Francis is the only Slayer in all of Colorado."

Logan had thought of calling for reinforcements, but with all the activity in Cleveland and the other centers of mystical convergence throughout the world, he wasn't sure if there were any spare Slayers to send. Not only that, but doing so might've tipped the Council off to the fact that he was training a Slayer on his own. The Watcher wasn't quite sure how he felt about the Council, and he couldn't even think of why he was keeping Francis a secret from Rupert and everyone else in London. His romantic relationship with her probably had a lot to do with that, but after Nevada, Logan was dead-set on doing things his way.

Taking orders in the Samantha Blanchard case didn't sit well with him, and that situation unfolded into an irreparable disaster. Because of Logan's lack of involvement, a Slayer was corrupted to the point of death and a six-year-old boy wound up in foster care before inexplicably disappearing. For the Watcher, that was the Council's legacy.

"I respect your opinions, Professor," he continued. "And I appreciate that you've taken such an interest in Francis. While we might disagree on what path is best for her, I can tell we have her best interests in mind -- so what would you like me to do?"

"Well, we'll start with not getting her killed and work our way around to less serious matters, how about that?"

She didn't mean to be hostile, but Francis had a bright future ahead of her, provided she didn't end up as the latest victim of this 'Diego', and it seemed like Guevera was putting her right in the line of fire by suggesting that she drop school instead of cutting back on the more dangerous pursuit. She wondered if there was information available on this vampire out there. A check might be helpful.

"I don't usually do this," she continued, waving at the surroundings of her office. "Take as much of a personal interest in my students. But now that I know what I know, I'm very concerned. I'm going to speak to her later, if she ever shows her face in class again. I hope you understand."

"I do," Logan said matter-of-factly, unfolding his arms before leaning forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his thighs. "Just as I hope you understand that as a Watcher, my primary concern is of Francs the Slayer."

The Watcher stood and meandered toward the bookshelf to his right, examining the five shelves stuffed with volumes. The hardbound texts were copies of some books housed at the Council, and while the paperback tomes were slightly more modern, their subject matter was undoubtedly fascinating. Logan found himself particularly interested in a volume that apparently detailed Mexican pagan rituals designed to ward off evil spirits.

Somehow, that seemed appropriate.

"Don't mistake me, I care for her well-being," he added. There was no anger in his voice, because there was no need for it. Dr. Worboys had her own interests in mind when it came to Francis, as well she should've. But Logan had interests of his own, and as much as he appreciated the value of a good education, there were certain things that, sometimes, were more important. For Slayers and Watchers, almost anything involving vampires qualified.

"I was working on a Masters degree at NYU before the Council recruited me," Logan explained. "I wanted desperately to do both, you know? Get my degree in newspaper writing and learn how to be a Watcher. But at some point, I had a choice to make, and once your destiny unfolds before you in this way -- when you find out you're meant to fight in the never-ending war against the demons and the vampires -- you can't ignore it.

"Francis wants to be in your class. I want her to be in your class. I never suggested she drop out of school; all I wanted her to do was better fit her academic schedule to her hours and lifestyle as a Slayer. If my Slayer is guilty of anything, it's being overzealous and trying to squeeze three days' worth of work into one. No one can do that ... not even a superpowered demon killer."

"Is that all you see her as? A ... superpowered demon killer?"

The question was mildly put, but Dr. Worboys was looking at Logan as though he were a new form of mammal she'd never seen before. One she didn't particularly care for, at that. She sat back in her ergonomic desk chair, settled her elbows on the padded arms of it, continued to study the man across the desk from her. No, maybe she didn't care for him at all. Regardless, once more into the breach.

"I've never met someone quite as bright as Francis," she said, still settled back in the chair. "She's inquisitive and curious, a cut above the drones I usually get saddled with because they think this course will amount to an easy A, something to keep their GPA up without putting any effort into it. I have a fairly high drop rate, and after they sit in my classroom for a semester they walk out of here calling me a ballbuster because I actually expect them to work. I can't do anything about that, and it's a large possibility that I don't even want to. The fact that she has stuck with this course despite her current issues says that maybe she wants something beyond what you've got planned for her."

The chair made a noise as she sat forward, and she overrode anything her visitor might have said by continuing with, "I'm not trying to insult you, Mr. Guevera. If I wanted to do that, you'd know it because I do not hold back. But have you asked Francis what she wants to do with her life other than chase after vampires? You should try it, you might be surprised. There's a person in there. You should look for her."

"And you might be surprised there are those who actually don't mind being Slayers."

Dr. Worboys could say she wasn't trying to insult Logan until she was blue in the face, but she had. The Watcher narrowed his gaze, wishing he'd talked Francis into coming along before leaving; maybe if the Slayer had been here, things wouldn't have seemed so volatile. At the very least, she'd be able to defend herself. As it was, Logan was doing all the talking for their side, and he was sure it all sounded like bullshit on the other side of that desk.

Even in his anger, Logan was jealous. To be so single-minded in one's endeavors, to have the luxury of ignoring everything on the outside ... the Watcher wondered what that was like. He supposed there was the option of making Francis choose one and focus solely on that, but she didn't want that, and he didn't really want that for her, either. To only be a student would ignore her calling, and to just be a Slayer would, over time, strip Francis of her humanity. Frustrating as it was at times -- like now -- that balance was necessary.

Thankfully, Francis seemed to understand that.

"Francis wants the same thing I do," he added. "She wants to be a Slayer, and she wants to have a life -- one that, near as I can tell, includes a college degree. To make her choose between the two would be unfair to her."

A temperamental ass. And really thin skinned. Lovely combination.

"You're speaking at cross-purposes," Professor Worboys said, hanging onto her patience because there had to be at least one adult in the room. "In one breath you're telling me you want her to have a life, and in the next that she should concentrate more on her calling than on her education. Which is it, Mr. Guevera?"

She should have insisted that she also speak to Francis, that the young woman make an appearance this afternoon. Her mistake had been to agree to meet solely with Guevera, who was getting on her admittedly easy-to-find bad side. "I'm going to speak with Francis," she said for the second time. "If I have to visit her at home, I'll do that. Without you there, because I think that this meeting was not my best plan."

"She's coming onto campus later this afternoon for a research project," the Watcher said. "I'll make sure she stops by beforehand."

Continuing to state his case wasn't doing any good, that much was certain. If anything, it was probably just confusing the professor and making matters worse. It was easy for him to forget this world wasn't second nature to everyone else like it was for him; even if it was common knowledge now, Logan had a hard time remembering the rest of the world had to adjust to the fact.

It wasn't a simple case of Oh, there are vampires and demons. Okay, what's for dinner?

"It's a balancing act," he added, slipping his coat over his arms and giving the professor a level gaze. "We can't all be so single-minded as to focus on just one thing in our lives. Francis doesn't slay vampires because I tell her to ... she slays vampires because she wants to and she understands how important it is."

And I know she's a person -- probably more so than you think I do.

Logan kept that part to himself, because he knew any insinuation of a romantic connection with his Slayer would make an already contentious conversation worse. For all Logan knew, Dr. Worboys might've been an undercover Council operative, and the minute he walked out of the office, she'd get on the phone to London and the whole thing would get blown all to hell.

Paranoid? Sure, but considering the eternal wisdom of the Council when it came to Samantha Blanchard, Logan wasn't ready to put that sort of thing past them.

Putz. Hypocrite. I wonder if he even knows he's talking out of both sides of his mouth. Dr. Worboys watched Guevera put on his jacket, wondered if a second attempt with Francis would even be worthwhile. She'd done a bit of reading on this Slayer thing, knew it was supposedly a sacred calling. Then again, some cults also had sacred callings.

If she could stop Francis from becoming the next blood sacrifice of this particular cult, she should make every possible effort.

"Good day, Mr. Guevera. I'm sorry we've failed to reach an accord."

"Hm."

Logan nearly said something before walking out the door, but bit his tongue out of respect for his Slayer. Before her calling forced her to miss so much of Dr. Worboys' class, Francis had spoken highly of the professor, enjoying both her passion and knowledge for the material. From what the Watcher could see, those were her only attributes; then again, it was possible this was just a misunderstanding.

Glaring at the secretary, Logan passed by the desk and rolled his eyes. These monsters weren't Brad Pitt, and they didn't sit in their crypts all night lamenting about how much their unlives sucked and trying to bed any and every woman in the world.

But if the blonde wanted to harbor that delusion while she smacked on her Doublemint, it was her hide.

Dr. Worboys had her interests to look out for; Logan could understand and respect that. But the professor didn't deal with life and death on a nightly basis, so there was no way she could possibly understand why one of her prized students wasn't showing up. If the Watcher didn't know any better, he could've sworn the doctor was taking Francis' absence personally.

Which was Worboys' problem, not Logan's.