__The Council, The Coven And The Well-Kept Secret__
By Beadtific



Buffy took a deep breath of the faintly lilac-scented air as they drove through the chill spring darkness. “So, why don’t you tell me more about the coven? Willow couldn’t say enough nice things about them, even though they were scared of her. I don’t get how they are both friends of yours and the old council. Seeing how you and the council were kind of unmix-y things, there, at the end.”

Giles had known this conversation was coming, but he still dreaded it. Buffy did know about the some of the more unsavory sides of his past, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable talking about it. With a nervous clearing of his throat, he said, “We were both sent there for much the same reason; black magick addiction.”

“Addiction? When you were in your demon calling phase?” she asked, remembering Eyghon. “I didn’t know it had gotten that bad.”

“It was that bad, Buffy,” he couldn’t help the defensive snap in his voice, “I killed a man by calling a demon who could augment not only my magickal high, but that of my friends. It doesn’t matter if it was an accident; my friend was dead and it was my fault.”

“Hey, easy there, sweetie,” she said soothingly, “You just never quite put it that way.”

“I never wanted you to know any of this.” They both wanted to back away from the pain in his voice.

“I know. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve got it; the coven is a magickal rehab center.”

“Not exactly. The coven has often supported and aided the council, with lore, spell work and augmenting training for those whose talents outstripped council mages. One of the ways they offered support was to help the mystically ill. The council medics focused on patching up the wounded. They council believed cases like mine and Willow’s diverted too many resources to try and patch up the fallen; if they were lucky, the poor sods had their magicks sealed and were turned out of the fold, or tucked away where they could do no harm. The coven was a haven for those of us who were offered a second chance.”

“They wanted to seal Willow.”

“Yes. Before I brought her here, I convinced the council that it was the better solution. Once they examined her, the coven realized the magicks were so intertwined with her essence that sealing would have meant her death.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Buffy could feel his upset like a cold lead ball in her chest. She fought a moment of panic at this tangible reminder of his Grim Watcher of Doom days, and took a few cleansing breaths, trying to ease the tension of it away from her. Giles sighed heavily, knowing what he was putting his lover through, and tried to wall off some of his pain.

“My thought, now, is that they knew what the outcome would be, and the council didn’t really care if the procedure killed her. Given what she’d attempted to do, they’d rather have a dangerously powerful witch killed.

“Do you think they would have sent a team for Willow?” Buffy squeaked as her stomach lurched, remembering the “wetworks” team that had come for Faith. The brunette slayer had engineered a body switch with her nemesis, and the team had taken the wrong woman’s essence in the right body. Buffy just barely escaped with her life. Giles glanced over in her direction and nodded grimly.

“How did you stop them?”

“Oh, it wasn’t me I assure you,” he said, mocking his impotence with the council. “It was Veronica. She reminded them of a similar unsealable case that went on to be a productive member of society: me. It was more her persuasion than my record that saved Willow.”

The hairs on the back of Buffy’s neck rose. “That’s why you don’t like to do magic; you’re afraid it might get away from you. How could you have stayed with the council if they’d wanted to kill you?”

“I thought it a fair price for my life -- off the streets and out of the blackness I’d nearly drowned in. I was welcomed back by people whose trust I had betrayed and bloody lucky. My family had served the council for centuries; and a friend of my grandmother’s fought like a tigress for me to be handed over to the coven.” His whole body loosened as he smiled and shifted gears, “Few people have that sort of chance; I’ve had two.”

Giles took his hand off the gearshift long enough to bring his beloved’s hand to his lips and kiss it. After he released her, she pressed her fingers against his cheek and he leaned his face into her touch. She wiggled over prop her head against his shoulder again. It was really awkward, but she needed to feel his actual warmth, and not just the abstract of the Bond.

For the first time in many minutes, Buffy felt the gradual return of steady, soothing jade pulse of Giles’ Bond, signaling a loving, peaceful state. She gave a shaky little sigh.

“We got through that conversation pretty well,” she said. “Nobody wigged out.”

Giles gave a rueful sigh, “Just so. I could feel you determined not to let your disquiet alarm you, or let my bitterness soak into your mood.”

She gave a discreetly proud wiggle in her seat, which Giles found utterly charming. “So, what does determination feel like?”

Giles furrowed his brow in an effort to describe it, fidgeted a bit with the stick shift and sighed, “Ah, well, the best I can come up with is that edges of your bond are brighter, and it has sort of a…resolve face feeling.” He sounded rather embarrassed.

His lover cracked up. “My Bond gets resolve face?”

Giles chuckled as well, and rubbed his chest. “I can feel it sort of staring at me; very firm. I’m sorry, dearest, it’s the best I can do at the moment.”

Buffy snickered. A long-missed comfortable silence filled the car. Both felt a tiny surge of rose-colored hope. Perhaps, they could learn to live with the doubled emotional load of the Bond, after all.

“I should tell you what to expect; we should be there quite soon,” Giles said, touching his cheek briefly to her hair. “Veronica will meet us. Despite the fact that she’s High Priestess and normally a younger coven member would see to our needs, she’s an old friend.”

“Friends are of the good.”

“Indeed, they are. Veronica’s family and mine were close. Our grandmothers were old friends from school, and on the rare occasions I was able to spend time with my Gran alone, she tried to introduce me to people who were, shall we say, less rigid about our calling than my father.”

“Your grandmother worked with a slayer, am I right? Some field experience might have loosened her up.”

“Oh, Gran’s Francesca was council-trained, and I believe quite sheltered, as wealthy Italian girls often are. I believe the ‘field’ was a revelation to them both.” He chuckled at the thought, then turned wistful, “I wish I could have talked to her about you. I’m afraid at the beginning, there, I was stuffier than a roast goose. Nerves, I’m afraid, and the painful awareness that I did not want to fail, again.”

“Honk, honk.”

“Yes, thank you so much for that ringing endorsement.”

“You know I’m teasing.”

“I do,” he said with a bit of a growl in his voice, “but it’s still fun to spar.”

Buffy wiggled again, this time with an answering, feminine growl of agreement, sending a stab of desire racing down his belly. Giles pushed the car along a bit faster. No sense dawdling, really.

“I love you, dearest,” the joy of it filled his voice. “Now what the devil was I talking about?”

“Love you, too, Conversation-Losing Man. Your childhood buddy, Veronica.”

“Well, I only met her a few times as a child; we became friends during my stay at the coven. I knew her grandmother somewhat better, and when I was ready for help, that’s who I turned to. Gran was already gone, and Mrs. Harkness had said at the memorial service that I should call on her if I needed anything. I think she knew trouble between my father and I was brewing.”

A sudden wiggle of alarm shot through Buffy, “Am I going to meet your family?” she squeaked. “Not that it’s a bad thing.”

“No, love,” he said soothingly. “They are all gone. Mother died when I was in school, and Father in the council explosion. There are a few cousins, here and there. I’ve no siblings left.”

“I feel awful that I’ve never asked about any of this before.” Buffy was appalled at herself. “No siblings left?”

“I’d have hated to tell you anyway, dearest.” He was silent a long moment. Buffy turned in her seat and put a comforting hand on his thigh. She could see a little half-smile of thanks cross his face.

“Mother and my sister Penelope were visiting Gran when Francesca came for them. Mother and Penny had been in London, for a shopping holiday, and they just popped by for tea on their way home with no idea of what was going on. Francesca had been missing for days and presumed dead. Gran was waiting at home, hoping that Francesca would prove that presumption wrong and contact her. Unfortunately, her housekeeper sent her sister slip to into the kitchen and prepare tea. The poor fool invited Francesca in, who did come back, though unfortunately dead.

“Mother surprised her in the middle of feeding. Luckily, Gran hadn’t been turned yet, just nearly drained. Mother and Penny tried to stake her, but Francesca got them both. And then she nearly broke Gran’s house apart in fury when she discovered Gran had died during the fight.”

Buffy breathed a few moments, steadying herself. It wasn’t the Bond; this was just good, old-fashioned, all-by-herself horror. “All those years you left the door open for me.”

“Yes.” It sounded like he’d never considered anything else.

“Even when I disappeared, a-after Angel?”

“Yes.” An admission of longing and love.

“Why?”

“If you were alive, I wanted you to know you were always welcome. If not, well, we’d both find out rather quickly that you weren’t.”

She gave a shaky little laugh, “Pretty risky move, Rupert, sweetie. Your mom and your sister got turned with a little mistake in a similar plan.”

“Oh, no. Just Penny. Francesca broke Mother’s neck and put her with Gran in Gran’s bed.” Giles cleared his throat again and when he resumed speaking, there was a bit of a husky pitch to his voice. “It was one of the only pieces of furniture she left whole. Father found them like that. Francesca left them with a thank you note for a lovely tea party.”

Buffy put her head between her knees and struggled to keep her composure. Giles let her take as long as she liked. He could feel how much his tale was disturbing her, and was grateful she was able to shield as much as she did. He was certainly trying to relate the facts and remain as detached as possible; he had no wish to relive any of this. He prayed she’d let the discussion of his state of mind the summer she ran away drop. He hoped she’d never know.

She popped back up with a grimace. Cow manure proved to be a great smelling salt. “Please don’t tell me you had to stake your little sister.”

“Not so little: fourteen. When she rose, she went straight to Father. I was at school. He staked her, and cremated Mother and Gran to be on the safe side. He called me at Oxford to inform me when their ashes were scattered. I didn’t get to say goodbye to any of them. Luckily, the council hosted a memorial service for Gran. I had been taking the odd training course there, so I elected to sit with my friends among the trainees.”

“That must have been awful.”

“Rather,” he replied, making the understatement of his life.

Giles shifted in his seat and shook his head as if to cast off the pall of their conversation. “And that rather brings us full circle. Mrs. Hastings offered help when I was most vulnerable, and least likely to forget a friendly gesture. Father and I later had a dreadful row, in front of most of the senior council and my friends. I stormed out of the council house and gathering a few things, turned my back on Oxford, the council, my life, and my calling. I dove headfirst into the studies of the occult I’d just been dabbling with before. The end of that path led me to the coven.”

Buffy decided she really didn’t want to know about the details of a fight that sent Giles running on a path of dark magicks right this minute. Having heard Willow’s litany of self-loathing that led her down her particular road to hell, she had a pretty good idea of the destructive tendencies of a 21-year old with low self-esteem, no family support and huge amounts of intelligence and talent.

“So, Rupert, sweetie, when were you going to tell me about your family if this Bond thing hadn’t speeded us up?”

“You know,” he pointed out, “you call me ‘Rupert, sweetie’ when you’re irritated with me.”

“Rupert, sweetie,” she purred. Giles snorted.

“I suppose, once you loved me enough not to be totally terrified of my family history?”

“Oh, well, any old time, then.”

Giles’ grin was full of mischief. “Any old time? I shall have to take you up on that.”

“I get the feeling you mean something completely different by that.”

The car screeched to a halt, and Giles roughly pulled her into a toe-curling kiss. Sparing an extra moment for a quick leer, he turned and sped the car closer to their destination.

“Right,” Buffy said, a little breathless.

* * *