__Passing the Mantle__
By Cathryn and Mary M
Buffy blinked hard and gave herself a little shake. In front of the class,
the professor - an educator right out of "Ferris Bueller" - was droning on
and on about stuff that everyone in that room had (supposedly) learned in
high school.
Glancing at the girl sitting next to her, she thought, < This must be bad.
Even Willow is bored. > Leaning over, she whispered,
"I'll keep you awake if you keep me awake."
Willow smiled sheepishly. "Deal."
Suddenly the door exploded open. A man stumbled in backwards, followed
closely by a well-muscled woman. She attacked him, knocking him back onto
the floor and jumping atop him. He delivered an elbow sharply to her face,
and Buffy winced as her enhanced hearing picked up the sound of the woman's
nose breaking. She stood instantly, but took a moment more to assess the
situation before she decided on the best course of action.
"Oh, well, here now!" the professor stuttered ineffectually up front,
attempting to break into the sudden chaos. Naturally, he was completely
ignored.
"Oh my god!" Willow gasped and grabbed Buffy's arm to get her attention.
"Buffy, is that - ?"
"What?" Then Buffy got a clear look at the man's face. Immediately she was
in motion, running to the front of the room. The woman was straddling her
prey and had a knife clutched tightly in both hands fisted together, prepared
to drive the blade down into his throat. His entire effort was focussed on
gripping her wrists and holding the knife where it was, just a few inches
short of his neck. Buffy tapped the woman on the shoulder.
"'Scuse me. You're interrupting this class, and that's just not kosher with
me."
The woman looked up. The man swiftly took advantage of the distraction to
twist the knife from her hands and slam it into the center of her forehead.
The class barely had time to scream in horror, and Buffy had scarcely
registered the fact that the knife had penetrated the solid bone far too
easily, before the woman disintegrated into a fine black silt.
"Thank you, Buffy." Wesley Wyndham-Price got quickly, if slightly dizzily,
to his feet and turned to the stunned professor, saying graciously,
"My deepest apologies for disrupting your class, sir. Pray continue." Not
waiting for a response, he grabbed Buffy's arm and firmly propelled her to
the side of the room.
There was a reason that Buffy hadn't immediately recognized her former
Watcher. The past three months had changed Wesley, outside and in. Where
before he had favored conservative suits, he now wore black jeans and a
form-fitting black t-shirt - they allowed for quick movement and blended into
the darkness at night. He rarely had the time for personal grooming, and
when he did he restricted himself to a ten minute shower-and-shave regime.
His hair was a couple inches longer now, disorganized, and gel-free. He
sported two days' accumulation of stubble. His glasses were gone, having
been broken weeks before in a similar skirmish.
His movements were no longer mincing, but smooth and agile, perpetually ready
for a fight. His attention at that moment was not only on Buffy, but on the
people and space around them. All traces of his former naive arrogance were
replaced by a subtle but intense sense of urgency. In short, Wesley was a
different man who held very little resemblance to the prissy, uptight creep
that Buffy remembered.
"Where can I find Mr. Giles?" he demanded. His voice was the same, at least
- still clipped and accented.
"He's the new museum curator. Wesley, what's going on?" But Wesley had
already shot out of the room, pausing only to pick up the woman's knife.
Buffy followed him immediately, prompting Willow to give chase. The
professor, usually an observant man, was too busy with his panicking class to
notice the deserting students.
Wesley was waiting right outside the door.
"I thought you two might follow. Now listen to me closely." Here was
revealed another changed facet - as he gave instructions, his voice held true
authority rather than the overblown pomposity that the girls were used to.
He continued in a low, hurried tone.
"As you have probably guessed, that was hardly your standard assassin. You
undoubtedly have questions. They will have to wait. Do not ask them now, do
not speak to me, do not accompany me to the museum. Do nothing that shows
our association until it becomes unavoidable." Instructions finished, he
turned and walked away.
Willow looked at Buffy and observed unenthusiastically,
"We're going to follow him, aren't we?"
"Of course not," Buffy replied. "That would be rude. We're going to take a
different route. C'mon."
**********
It was a simple matter for Wesley to slip into the museum; he merely attached
himself to a large, loud group of people. The harried ticket-taker never
noticed the extra person. It was equally easy to find the curator's office -
a quick look at a detailed map of the museum, and Wesley was standing in
front of the office moments later. He knocked firmly on the door. No
answer. He experienced a sudden flash of fear. Perhaps he was too late.
Perhaps they had already gotten to Giles.
Then he heard a light step behind him and he whipped sharply around,
instinctively reaching for the knife in its makeshift sheath at his waist.
"May I help you?" Giles asked politely, looking somewhat wary, and not
recognizing him. Wesley swiftly drew the knife and leapt toward him,
grabbing him by the shoulder and driving the blade down. He moved so quickly
that Giles, laden with thick manilla folders, was unable to react in time.
Wesley stopped the blade's descent an inch away from Giles's throat. "And
you're dead." He stepped back, watching recognition dawn at the sound of his
voice. "Really, Mr. Giles. I would expect you, of all people, to understand
that danger is no longer reserved for the black of night."
Giles, rapidly recovering from the scare, snapped, "Most people just say
hello here in America, Wesley."
"Most people aren't being tracked by expert assassins, Rupert," Wesley shot
back, resheathing his knife.
Giles stared. "Come again?"
Wesley opened the office door and gestured silently for Giles to go in ahead
of him, stepping inside and quickly closing the door securely as soon as the
older man was safely inside the room. Giles went to his desk and put down
the stack of folders; Wesley, uneasy in the small space, began to pace.
"We will wait for Willow and Buffy," he stated matter-of-factly. "I don't
wish to waste time by repeating myself too often. They should be here soon."
Giles arched an eyebrow, rather put on the defensive by Wesley's orders.
They were orders - Wesley's tone left no room for questioning that. Rather
sharply, he replied,
"What makes you so sure of that?"
Wesley's lips quirked into a small smile. "Because I told them not to."
Giles sighed irritably. "Wesley, what is going on?"
Wesley ignored the question, fixing his gaze alertly on the door at the sound
of running footsteps as his hand unsheathed his knife. There was a knock on
the door.
"Giles?" Buffy's voice called. Wesley relaxed, but didn't put the knife back.
"Yes, Buffy, Willow, come in," Giles called back. Willow opened the door,
asking as she and Buffy walked in,
"Giles, how did you know that I - oh," she finished as she saw Wesley.
Buffy didn't bother with any preliminaries.
"Okay, Wes, storytime. Who was that chick, *what* was she, and why was she
trying to kill you?"
"Because of my association with the Watchers," Wesley replied simply. "Her
kind, whatever it may be, has been systematically eliminating the Watchers'
Network." He paused. "Let me rephrase that. They *have* eliminated the
Network." He paused to gather his thoughts.
"Do you care to elaborate on that?" Giles asked. Wesley once more ignored
his question, speaking only when he had organized what he wanted to say.
"As near as I can tell," he continued a moment later, "they killed the
Council first, then the students and teachers at the Watchers' Academy, or
vice versa, I don't suppose the order much matters. The end result is the
same," he added, sounding distant and detached as he spoke, but his eyes
suddenly darkened with pain. "Then they tracked the active Watchers down. I
hope some of them are simply in hiding, but I expect they're all dead. This
organization, whatever it is, is very thorough."
"Then why are you still alive?" Buffy interrupted bluntly.
"Luck, " Wesley replied flatly, "although it didn't seem terribly lucky at
the time. To make the long, morbid story short and boring: I became a
teacher at the Academy and was fired for reasons that I don't need to waste
time explaining right now. The firing happened a scant few hours before the
slaughter at the Academy. I holed up in a tiny pub for a while - several
hours, at least - before returning to the Academy to gather my things from my
office." Here, his voice broke, and he paused to regain control. His jaw
tightened and his eyes hardened as he began to speak again: "I don't suppose
I need to tell you what I found there. Suffice it to say that the assassins
are violent and brutal and don't clean up after themselves." He shook his
head, pushing the excruciating memories back. "The next couple of days are
blurred in my mind; my next clear memory is of going to the Meeting Place."
"The Meeting Place," Giles echoed to himself, following Wesley's line of
reasoning. "Of course, that makes perfect sense."
"And that sense would be . . . ?" prompted Buffy, somewhat annoyed at the
fact that both men were way ahead of her.
"It's a biological imperative embedded in all slayers," Giles explained. "If
a girl's watcher dies before she does, she feels a powerful compulsion to go
to a small place in England, which we've nicknamed the Meeting Place. There
she is assigned a new watcher. I believe," he added as an afterthought,
"that you were not drawn there after Merrick's death because your
preoccupation with Lothos suppressed the impulse."
"Oh. Then why didn't Faith go when her Watcher died?" Buffy asked.
Wesley had given this some considerable thought and amswered immediately.
"It's not a foolproof system; the impulse works best in a girl whose
personality has been . . . well, suppressed, to perfectly blunt. A slayer is
generally claimed while very young and trained to think of herself as a
slayer, not an individual. At any rate, I would imagine that Faith's
decidedly forceful personality overrode the impulse with little effort." He
waved the discussion away and got back to the more pressing matter at hand.
"Anyhow, I concluded - or I assume I did; as I said, my memory there is
unclear - that there was no reason for the killings to end with the Council
and the Academy. If the active watchers were being killed, then their
slayers would eventually congregate at the Meeting Place, each likely
possessing bits of crucial information." Wesley resumed pacing. "I spent
nearly six weeks there, gathering that information, learning to fight, and
teaching the girls to live without a watcher to guide them." He paused,
remembering each girl's shock and terror as she had learned that, for the
first time in her life, she would have to think for herself, that there was
no longer anyone to tell her what to do. The sudden independence terrified
all of them, but they had been adapting, at various levels of success, when
Wesley had left to find Giles and begin to organize a defense.
"The assassins," he continued briskly, getting his mind back on topic. "They
all have common characteristics. The first and most immediately obvious is
the colors of their eyes - various shades of purple. Furthermore, their
fighting techniques are virtually identical. I have yet to encounter one
with unique tactics. Once you've learned their shared techniques, you can
begin to anticipate their moves.
"They have the same vulnerability. Their skulls are thin but tough, easily
penetrated with a good sharp blade but difficult to crush. The only way to
kill them is to somehow injure their brains."
"How very 'Cemetary Man,'" Buffy remarked.
"Once that happens," Wesley continued, paying her comment no heed, "they
disintegrate into a black powder, as the two of you witnessed.
"Lastly, they are extremely single-minded in their assassinations. In a
crowded room, every other person is absolutely safe, so long as they don't
attempt to interfere. As soon as someone interrupts an assassination, he or
she is a target."
"Oops," muttered Buffy.
"Let me guess," sighed Giles.
Wesley nodded. "The woman caught me off-guard, and I haven't slept in
several days. I fought poorly and she would have killed me if Buffy hadn't
stepped in. Thank you," he added seriously to his former Slayer. Buffy
nodded.
Silence fell. Wesley leaned back against the wall and watched the other
three absorb everything he'd told them. It was clear from their expressions
that Giles was the only one who truly grasped the enormity of the thing.
Willow looked anxious, and Buffy seemed merely concerned, but Giles was
slightly pale and clearly shocked. The girls didn't fully understand the
situation, and Wesley didn't expect them to just yet. But they would
eventually.
After a few minutes, Wesley said quietly,
"We must find out who is doing this and pre-empt their next move. It is my
belief that Mr Giles has evaded attack thus far only because he is no longer
an official Watcher, but if the pattern continues, they will attack the
former watchers next."
"So we find 'em and we stop 'em," Buffy summed up succinctly. It looked
simple enough to her. Stop the bad guy. Just like always, with a few extra
elements to make things interesting.
"Well, yes," Wesley replied slowly, "but because of the . . . atypical nature
of this situation, it may well prove far too complicated for this group to
handle alone. We may need outside assistance."
Giles hazarded a guess. "And may I assume you have someone in mind?"
Wesley hesitated, reluctant. This was the last person he wanted back in his
life in any capacity whatsoever. Was there time to withdraw the idea - ? <
No. This is not the time to consider your own interests, > he told himself
sternly. "He's a former . . . friend . . . of mine. Things ended badly
between us, and I doubt he feels any more loyalty to me than I do to him, but
I think he would help for the right price, provided we can find him."
"Sounds like someone we know," Giles observed, exchanging wary looks with
Willow and Buffy. "Who is he?"
Another hesitation, then Wesley spoke quickly, blurting out the name before
he could change his mind and take it back.
***
Inside an Abandoned Factory:
His clan watched as they patiently waited for a signal
from their elder. The faint smell of incense filled
the air as his clan chanted softly, with their heads
touching the ground as they knelt before him.
The old man sat cross-legged in the middle of a circle
made of black and red candles. He sat absolutely
still. His deep lavender eyes glowed as he looked, not
at his clan, but into the flames of the candle before
him. Suddenly, he jerked and the chanting immediately
stopped. The elder rose gracefully, his lavender eyes
never leaving the bowed heads of his clan.
His voice, as soothing as the gentle breeze, never
rose as he spoke to his clan. "Haimi has failed in her
duty to kill the young Watcher. She has returned to
the loving Dhara. We will say a prayer for this brave
Achala that has failed in her duty."
As his clan sang a song of mourning for the young
hunter that failed, the elder lifted a red candle from
the circle and held it before him. Silence once again
filled the room. "Twenty seasons has passed since the
humans killed our beloved Sharna. The one that Dhara
had chosen to protect all life from the night
creatures. She was the protection, our guardian and
they murdered her. She shall soon be avenged and her
spirit will soon be embraced by Dhara. Lift up your
heads, my children."
The clan lifted up their heads as they gazed upon the
elder. Their lavender eyes glowing in the dark. The
elder looked at his people as he lifted the candle
high. "Sharna was chosen to be their Slayer, but they
refused her. Killed her because she belonged to our
clan and not theirs. Killed her as she slept in their
beds, denying her the right to do what all Bhavika
yearn to do...die protecting the life Dhara allowed us
to have. For this insult, we gather the Achala to hunt
those that judged her unworthy. And Sharna will be
avenged."
"Gather all Achala to me, we will begin hunting anew,
"the elder man ordered as he blew out the candle.
**********
Buffy stared at Wesley's red face as he looked at her.
She cleared her throat. "You've got to be kidding.
Ethan Rayne?"
"Oh, bloody hell," Giles muttered as he glared at
Wesley. Willow's jaw simply dropped as strangled
noises came out of her throat. ”We don't want him back
in our lives after the last time.”
Startled, Wesley stared at the faces around him. Of
all reactions he had expected this was not one that he
was expecting. "Do-do you know Ethan?"
Ignoring that question, Buffy glared at Wesley.
"You've got to be kidding, right? Why do we need that
egotistical, warped, manipulative, sadistic and
malicious son of a bitch to help us defeat these
assassins?"
"Well, I can see that you're familiar with him,"
Wesley said dryly. "And yes, we do need his help.
Unfortunately."
"Why?" Buffy demanded as she glared at Wesley. "And
how the hell do you know Ethan Rayne?"
"It's none of your business how I know the man,"
Wesley glared as he crossed his arms. "There is no
need for you to know-"
"I think that we must," Giles interrupted as he glared
at the younger man. "How did you come to associate
yourself with Ethan?"
"Yeah. Did you use drugs, raise demons and do other
stuff with him like Giles did?" Willow demanded. Giles
looked down at the young hacker and glared. Willow
turned red and gave her mentor an embarrassed smile.
"Sorry, Giles."
Aghast, Wesley gaped at Giles. "You were Ethan's
lover, too?"
Giles let out a strangled sound as Buffy and Willow
stared at Giles, to Wesley and back at Giles again.
Buffy finally yelped out. "GILES? YOU'RE GAY?!?"
"Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Giles! You! Ethan!" Willow squeaked
as she stared at Giles. "We never knew-I mean we knew
you hated the man but we never thought that-I mean-"
Her jaw still on the floor, Buffy stared at Giles's
red face. "Does-does Mom know anything about this?"
"Does Mom know anything about what?" a voice said.
Everyone's head swung towards the door. A very chic
Joyce Summers smiled as she entered the small office.
She closed the door, knowing that the three in the
room preferred to keep the door closed whenever they
were together. "Oh my. Any more people in this office
and you'll all be doing something sinful."
Willow made a strangled noise as Buffy squeaked out a
greeting. Joyce looked at her daughter curiously.
"Buffy, is there anything wrong? Why are you out of
classes today? Is there some demon assassin after
you?"
"Now there is," Willow blurted out. Joyce stared at
the girl. Buffy smacked her friend in the arm. Willow
winced. "Ow! Just kidding!"
Joyce shook her head. "I don't think so. What
happened? What's going on?"
"Willow was just kidding, Mom. Really," Buffy smiled
widely as she deflected her mother's hard gaze to
Wesley. "There actually after Wesley there, 'cause
he's a Watcher."
Joyce turned to look at the tall, grubby man dressed
in black who was standing behind the door. She stared
at him for a few seconds. "I never would have
recognized you, Wesley. You're looking a bit...tired."
"Yes, yes I am," Wesley said as he rubbed his neck.
"It has been a horrible time since I left Sunnydale
late July."
"Yeah, must be really hard to sleep and eat, knowing
that there demon assassins are after you and all the
other Watchers," Willow said sympathetically as she
patted his arm.
"What?" Joyce yelped as she stared at the girl. Buffy
glared at Willow as she said 'oops!'. Joyce swung her
head to look at Giles for confirmation. "Rupert! There
are demon assassins after Wesley? And all the other
Watchers? Are they after you and Buffy?"
"Well, ah," Giles coughed as he crossed his fingers
behind his back. "Not exactly. Right now they're after
Wesley."
Joyce took a step forward and glared at him. "But will
they come after you and Buffy? And don't you dare
cross your fingers while you lie to me, Rupert Giles!"
"They'll only come after me if I try and stop them
from killing Wesley, Mom," Buffy said as she told the
half-truth. "So what are you doing here? You're
supposed to be in the gallery today."
Joyce looked at her daughter. "I am. And I'm supposed
to meet Rupert here for a lunch date at his place. I
needed him to show me his sketches. And don't try and
change the subject."
"You're meeting him for lunch to have sex with him?"
Buffy yelped as she looked at her mother in horror.
Ever since her Mom and Giles started seeing each
other, she was constantly filled with mixed feelings.
She was glad that her mom was dating and that Giles
found someone, but did it have to be with each other?
And now, they were up to the sex part of their
relationship? That was…”Ew! Mom! You can't be having
sex with Giles! It's too-ick!”
“Why can't I have sex with Rupert?” asked Joyce as she
rolled her eyes at her daughter. ”Honey, sex with
Rupert is not 'ick'. It's actually quite-“
“I don't want to hear it!” Buffy yelped as she covered
her ears. “It's too ew!”
"Because he's a gay!" Willow yelped at the same time.
Giles groaned as he buried his face into his hands.
Joyce stared at the two girls as if they had two
heads.
"No, Rupert is not gay," Joyce said slowly to the
girls. "He's bisexual. And as much as I'd like to have
sex with him as soon as possible, I really am going
over to his place to have lunch and to see the
sketches he made for the new display he had in mind
for the gallery and museum joint art venture."
Willow goggled at the first two sentences. ”You knew
that he wasn't gay and was a bisexual?”
“In this day and age don't you think it would be
stupid if I didn't?” Joyce countered. When Giles made
a strangled sound, Joyce went over to his side and
patted him on the shoulder.
"Oh," Buffy said in a small voice. She looked at Giles
warily. His face was red and he looked like he wanted
the Hellmouth to open up and swallow him whole. ”Sorry
about that Giles, but you and Mom and sex in the same
sentence is still-ick.”
"But if we're going to have sex on the menu, I
wouldn't say no to that either," Joyce continued
impishly. Willow let out a squeak as Wesley stared at
her, then at Giles.
"Again, Mom. Way too much info, Mom. Way too much
info," Buffy glared at her mother as she covered her
ears. Joyce smiled sweetly at her daughter, then gave
Giles a come-hither smile. ”And stop looking at Giles
like that. You're scrambling his brains.”
Heat shooting through him, Giles forced himself to
look away from her and cleared his throat. Ignoring
Joyce's muffled giggle, Giles cleared his throat
again. ”Yes, well. Perhaps later. Now about these
assassins Wesley, why are they after the Watchers? And
why do we need Ethan?”
“I don't know why they are after the Watchers,” Wesley
said as he ran his fingers through his hair tiredly.
“I tried to research them, but wasn't able to. They
are not like any of the demons that we studied in the
Academy, and to be quite frank, I don't know where to
start looking.”
“So then how did you know how to kill them?” Willow
demanded. ”You were the one that told us that their
skulls were soft and that you could kill them that
way.”
Wesley nodded as he looked at the young Wiccan. ”Yes,
but only because I managed to kill one by accident.”
“But why do we need Ethan Rayne?” Buffy demanded in
frustration. ”Granted, I really don't want him back in
town after all the trouble he did the last time he was
here, and the fact that he was Giles and Wesley's
lover is really giving me the wiggins, I really don't
see why we should have him back.”
Everyone stared at Wesley as he let out a frustrated
noise. “We need him because Ethan was once trained to
be a Watcher before he was kicked out of the Network..
And because he might have an idea on who these
assassins are.”
Joyce stared at Wesley, then at Rupert. Buffy stared
at Wesley then at Giles. Staring at Giles, Willow
yelped. ”Ethan Rayne was a baby Watcher?"
***
Wesley raised an eyebrow in amusement at Willow's phrasing. "Baby Watcher":
wouldn't Ethan have loved that? This afternoon had proved to be one of the
most entertaining he'd ever had, though he did tend to agree with Buffy's
assessment of her mother's excessive frankness - "TMI!" as one of the girls
at the Meeting Place, Chloe, would have grumbled. Wesley, as he always did,
softened a little at the thought of Chloe. They had forged an instant bond
when she had arrived at the Meeting Place nearly two weeks after Wesley, and
it had become clear within a matter of hours that, had Travers resisted the
urge to muddle things up, Wesley would have been destined to be the Watcher
who guided Chloe.
But now was not the time to be thinking of that - Wesley turned his attention
back to Giles, who was saying,
". . . Council has been known to make mistakes regarding their selections for
training. Ethan was one of those mistakes, though it was realized almost too
late. He came dangerously close to tearing the Council apart by setting them
at each other's metaphorical throats."
Buffy blinked and looked at Wesley. "And
Mr-Let's-Do-What-The-Council-Says-At-All-Costs went *out* with him?"
"It was before I entered the Academy," Wesley replied defensively. "I had no
idea what he'd almost done." < Although, > he confessed to himself, < it
probably wouldn't have changed anything. > "Now can we please get back to
the matter at hand?"
A brief silence, then Giles said, rather grudgingly,
"Wesley may be right about Ethan. He has always had a way of knowing things,
even back then."
"How long ago was it?" Buffy asked.
"About - twenty years ago, I believe," Giles answered thoughtfully. "He was
fifteen or sixteen. Remarkably young for a new trainee. Most aren't chosen
until after they've graduated."
"That's a long time ago," Willow said doubtfully. "You think he'll really
remember anything helpful?" Buffy nodded in agreement.
Abruptly, Joyce laughed.
"Out of the mouths of babes," she remarked. "Twenty years isn't that long
when you're as ancient as we are."
"Now we're left with only the difficulty of tracking him down," Wesley
sighed, frantically trying to calculate how much time they could afford to
spare for that task.
"No problem," Buffy answered confidently. "He teaches at UC Sunnydale."
"Demonology 101," Willow added. "It's actually *called* that."
This was clearly news to Giles, unless his gaping jaw merely indicated a
desire to catch flies.
"Why didn't you tell me this?" he demanded, managing to glare at both girls
simultaneously.
"Umm . . ." The girls exchanged frantic, we're-in-for-it-now looks.
"We - didn't want to bother you with it," Willow offered weakly. "I mean,
you're still getting used to your new job, and he's acting like a regular
teacher who doesn't have any weird plans, and this made a lot more sense when
we were talking about it last week." She blushed and looked down at the
floor.
Giles reddened slightly, looking ready to explode with rage. Wesley hastily
intervened.
"In that case, it should be simple enough to find him." He pointed at Giles
and Joyce. "There is no reason for you two not to carry out your plans, if
either of you were considering cancelling," he said sternly. Giles blinked
at him, amazed by the effective authority in Wesley's tone. Willow and
Buffy, having been in the same position barely an hour ago, stifled giggles.
Wesley paused, taking a deep breath to stave off a feeling of sudden
light-headedness. "The assassins," he continued, "will need, at minimum, a
day to regroup. The next twenty-four hours should be safe enough. You girls
go back to class. I will find Ethan and . . ." He was cut off by an intense
wave of dizziness, blurring his vision and making him grasp at the desk for
support as the past few days of no real sleep, very little food, and a
constant adrenaline high caught up with him all at once.
Giles moved quickly, gripping Wesley's shoulders to steady him. Wesley
clutched his arm, closing his eyes. He recovered after a moment and Giles
released him, saying firmly,
"You will do no such thing. I will take you back to my home and you will
take those twenty-four hours to rest." He was aware now that Wesley, in all
likelihood, had taken very little time over the summer to see to his own
well-being.
Wesley nodded in weary agreement. He could afford to take the time now; he
had spent the last six weeks fighting off assassins and getting to Sunnydale,
reluctant to waste time on sleep or putting together decent meals. He didn't
dare fly and risk the lives of dozens of passengers - a fight could very well
end up in the cockpit and break vital instruments. Instead, his travel had
consisted of stowing away aboard a ship to America, which had ended up
docking in Maine, then walking and hitchhiking across the country. Now that
he was finally here, though, he had the luxury of a little time, enough to
get some rest and eat something nourishing, perhaps even take a lengthy
shower. The prospect was wonderfully appealing.
"Good," Giles nodded approvingly.
< Look, > Wesley thought dazedly, < I've finally done something good enough
for him. > He shook the thought away as quickly as it had come, dismissing
it as a last remaining vestige of his old resentment toward Giles for
undermining him at every step. It was completely unimportant to him now -
anger that seemed years old.
"Willow, Buffy, there is no reason for you not to return to class," Giles
said. "Joyce and I -"
"No," Joyce interrupted. "Rupert, go talk to Ethan. This is much more
important. The sketches will keep. Plus," she added somewhat sheepishly, "I
have a lot of paperwork that I should be doing."
Giles looked at her gratefully, thankful for the fact that she was expertly
hiding any disappointment she might have felt; her tone held not a trace a
self-sacrifice. She was, he reflected for the hundredth time, a wonderful
woman.
"Thank you, Joyce," he answered, leaning over to kiss her. Buffy clutched at
her throat and mimed violent dry heaves. Joyce gave her a mock glare.
"*Go*!" Looking somewhat cowed, the girls said their goodbyes and left
quickly.
Joyce and Giles kissed lingeringly, murmuring their goodbyes. Wesley watched
them for a moment, slightly envious at the sight of them so completely
involved in each other, to the point of closing out the rest of the world for
a moment. He'd had that before, just once. With Ethan. Now he was going to
see him again, soon, and -
Wesley jerked himself sharply away from that train of thought, setting it
aside as something to think about later. He cleared his throat quietly to
remind the couple of his presence. Giles and Joyce broke apart, Giles rather
embarrassed, Joyce merely amused.
"Right," she smiled. "Goodbye, Rupert." She touched his cheek lightly, then
turned to Wesley. "Goodbye, Wesley. Rest well."
"Thank you, I will," Wesley replied. "Goodbye, Mrs. Summers."
Joyce waved goodbye with a smile and left.
**********
The drive to Giles's house was a short one, and Wesley was getting out of the
car a scant fifteen minutes after Joyce's departure. He scanned the area
reflexively for danger signs. Finding none, he paused and leaned in through
the open car door.
"I would appreciate it," he said quietly, "if you wouldn't mention my
presence in town to Ethan just yet."
Giles nodded. "I understand. He won't hear it from me."
"Thank you," Wesley answered with a relieved smile. "Good luck," he added
wryly.
"Indeed," Giles muttered, a spark of dry humor in his eyes. Wesley chuckled
and slammed the Citroen's door shut.
Giles lingered for a moment, watching Wesley enter his house and listening to
the old car's little engine putter away as he braced himself for a
confrontation with Ethan. Then, reluctantly, he pulled back onto the road
and headed for the university.
***
As the water pelted over his soaped skin, Wesley let the last memories of
Ethan run over him...
"This is it then, Wesley? You're running off to America?" Ethan demanded as
he glared at him. His brown eyes turning black with fury."You're letting that
blasted Council run your life?"
Wesley turned to face Ethan."You knew that I was a Watcher when you first met
me, Ethan. I must go where the Council orders me to go, even if it is
America."
"Why should they send you to America? And to do what? Send you for more
schooling? Research more demons? Watch over the Slayer?" Ethan demanded
sarcastically. "Can't be the last. Slayer's already has a Watcher."
Wesley cleared his throat. ''Actually, it is the last, Ethan. I am to be the
Watcher for the Slayers. Both of them.''
''I thought the Slayer already has a Watcher,'' Ethan interrupted. "Why the
bloody hell is the Council sending her another Watcher? Is he dead?"
Startled, Wesley blinked. "No, no. Not that I know of. But he might as well
be, considering. Rupert Giles defied the rules of the Tento de Cruciamentium.
He betrayed the Council by telling the Slayer of the test, and so he was
relieved of his duty to the Slayer. Actually, both of them."
"And so the Council decided to replace Rupert Giles with you," Ethan said
with a shake of his head. "And who was the bloody Council lack-witted dolt
that suggested that you be the one to go to America?"
Wesley stood up, affronted. "Travers is not an idiot -"
"Quentin Travers is the fool that suggested that you go to America and become
the Watcher over the
> Slayer?" Ethan demanded angrily. "It was Travers that brought your name up?'
"Yes, he said that I was the most promising of his students -"
"Oh, bloody hell. Pet, open your eyes! Can't you see that your former
mentor's using you for his own political agenda?" Ethan said through gritted
teeth. "He wants to be the Head of Council. And to fill the Council with his
cronies and by getting rid of you and the rest of the old Council -"
"And you're imagining things! He would never do anything like that! The
Council is beyond all that!" Wesley said angrily. "Grandfather and Travers
were right. You're only trying to hold me back - trying to use me -"
"So then Travers and your Grandfather are up to this. I'm the reason why they
want to ship you off to the bloody Colonies, aren't I?" Ethan growled at him.
Wesley was about to say something, but Ethan cut him off. "And you're letting
them rule your life, Tiger."
Wesley shook his head as he tried desperately to make Ethan understand. "No,
no. They're not trying to rule my life. They're giving me a chance, Ethan. A
chance to prove myself worthy of their training. A chance to become what I
always wanted to do, become The Watcher of the Generation."
"Then far be it from me to make you refuse Travers and Council given chances.
In fact, I think that I wish you all the best," Ethan sneered at Wesley.
"If you're going where that Slayer is, you'll need it. More if you're to have
two of them."
Startled, Wesley stared at him, his mouth agape. "You know the Slayers and
their Watcher? How do you know them? What do you know about them?
"I know of the Slayer and her Watcher, Rupert Giles. But I know more about
that Hellmouth they live on," Ethan said to him curtly. "I know that town's
reputation and its inhabitants very well, Tiger."
Ethan never noticed that Wesley saw that flash of tenderness in his eyes.
***********
< I should have pressed Ethan more about Sunnydale and its protectors, >
thought Wesley as he hung up the towel then looked at himself in the mirror.
Dark circles and fading bruises decorated his face. His face disappeared from
the mirror as he saw Ethan's face...
***********
Ethan's jaw tightened as he smiled sardonically. "And now you'll know them,
too. A last few words of advice, pet. Ones that you should heed. From all the
things that I heard about that town and the people there, especially the
Slayer and her Watcher...If you try and get between Buffy and Giles, you'll
regret it. Rumour is that she made a deal with a vampire to rescue her
Watcher while her boyfriend was trying to send the world into Hell..."
Wesley was about to say something when Ethan continued ruthlessly on, "If
that's true, then you're a fool if you think she'll accept you just on the
Council's say so. Even more, it seems she's not like the other girls, the
Destined. She has a mind of her own. And she's more than just the Slayer.
She's Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer."
"Well, of course she is," Wesley said, exasperated and confused, as he looked
at Ethan. "The Slayer is Buffy Summers -"
"No, you still don't understand," Ethan said with a shake of his head. "But
you will when you meet her. Take whatever's yours, tiger. Or leave whatever
you want. I'll move out soon -"
Wesley shook his head. "But this is your flat - and I won't be back for some
-"
"You'll be back before you know it, pet. And you'll need a place to stay when
you come back with your head barely attached and sticking out of your bloody
arse. Compliments of Buffy," Ethan said tiredly. "Be seeing you around, pet."
With that, Ethan left the flat...
***********
Wesley stepped away from the mirror and slowly put down the hair dryer then
he made his way to the guest room. < Ethan was right. I should have listened
to him. She did send me packing, Ethan. >
Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, Wesley fought sleep as thoughts
ran through his head. < And she and Giles taught me what you tried so hard to
teach me. That the Council was not infallible. And Council decisions were not
what the world revolves around. >
***********
Sighing, Joyce approached her gallery. < Well, that certainly was a
productive lunch hour. No lunch, no sketches, and no sex. And probably no sex
for some time. Down girl. Since when did you turn into a sex maniac? >
< Since you fell hard for a certain gentlemanly English Watcher that looks
great in a pair of tight jeans, > teased an inner voice in her head. < And as
soon as he lays those hazel eyes at you, all you can think of is having his
arms around you. Then shoving him on top of the nearest car and having your
way with him.> "Hey, people! I'm back! Did the new shipment arrive?"
A brunette popped out from behind a sculpture. She grinned at her boss slyly.
"Hey, Joyce! Back from lunch already? What happened? You didn't get a chance
to look at the sketches he made? Or did you make too many designs on him?"
"Maddy! You shouldn't speak to me like that!" Joyce said with a mock frown.
Her good friend and assistant, Maddy, merely grinned at her. "If you must
know, lunch was cancelled due to an unexpected shipment that Rupert had to
catalog."
"Oh, damn. That means that I can't hit you up for that raise and those extra
vacation days that I wanted,"Maddy sighed dramatically."Now I have to wait
until he makes you more pliable to my will later."
"Maddy!" Joyce gasped as she tried to control a gurgle of laughter. "He does
not make me pliable!"
Maddy winked at her. "You've never seen you after you've come back from lunch
with him. I swear, I think that I should bottle the stuff that Mr. Stoodgy
Stud-muffin has and sell it. And on that note, here's the inventory of the
East Asian Art shipment that just arrived."
"Hmm, are you trying to impress me with your diligent worker act now that
you've let me know how I act after I have lunch with Rupert?" Joyce asked
with a laugh as she took the keyboard.
"I am always a diligent worker," Maddy said with a sniff."Hi! Can I help you?"
Joyce laughed as she turned to look at the man walking towards them. Her
laughter died as she studied the middle aged man coming towards her and her
friend. The man was carrying a large briefcase as he approached slowly.
"Yes, I am here looking for Joyce Summers."
"I am Joyce Summers," Joyce said as she put on a polite smile. There was
something about the man that was giving her, what Buffy called, 'the
wiggins'. He looked normal enough, nicely dressed. His sleek, black hair cut
stylishly, his deep purple eyes framed with crows feet. But for some reason,
he distressed her. < Maybe it's because you're still a mite upset to find out
that there are demon assassins after Wesley. And pretty soon after your
daughter and lover. > Joyce shook herself. "Can I help you?"
The man didn't answer her, and Joyce grew more distressed. She might not be
a fighting member of the Sunnydale Demon Fighting Team, but she was an
active member of the Research and Anti-Bait Team. If this man was a threat,
there was no way in hell he was going to use her to get to Buffy and Rupert.
Nonchalantly putting herself between the man and thesculpture that Maddy
popped out from behind, Joyce repeated her question. "Can I help you, sir?"
The man smiled as he approached her. He put down his briefcase and took out
something bundled up in cloth. "Yes, I am Adam Achala, and my employer
heard of your expertise and reputation in estimating Asian artifacts and he
would like you to estimate a certain artifact for him before he sells it."
Joyce gasped as the cloth unraveled and revealed an delicate porcelain statue
of a woman. She heard Maddy squeak as the man moved to give it to her. "It's
beautiful. Maddy, look at this intricate design on the base! Look at this
detail on her sari! And these jewels in her eyes! Definitely amethysts. This
has to be a religious icon."
"Actually, my employer is not really sure,"Adam admitted with a cough."It was
found in the area between India and Tibet. The local villages said that she
is supposedly the goddess Dhara, a local and benign version of Kali. A sect
of worshippers that were huge in the 1400's, but now are no more."
"I see,"Joyce said as she turned the statue around her hands. The woman
smiled at her as her jeweled eyes winked in the sun. The pose was that of a
woman reaching out to embrace someone. A loved one. And yet, despite the
beauty of the statue, Joyce felt herself grow cold. She had not heard of a
recent archeological expedition to India or Tibet."And your employer is?"
"I cannot say. He wishes to be anonymous," Adam replied. Bells started
ringing in Joyce's head as well as a faint wave of relief. This man wasn't a
threat to he daughter and Rupert, but he was a different kind of threat. One
that she didn't like, but could handle. "Can you give me an estimate of the
statue's worth? I can leave it with you for-"
"Where was this statute found? Between India and Tibet, you said?" Joyce
demanded as her hands held on to the statue. Adam nodded."And how did your
employer get this beautiful statue? Because I hadn't heard of a recent
expedition there -"
"It was a privately funded expedition, Ms. Summers. Due to security reasons,"
Adam Achala said smoothly as he looked at her. He never noticed that she
stiffened slightly. "I would rather not say where the exact expedition was,
and my employer wishes it not to be known. But I can assure you that it was
not stolen in any way."
"Forgive me if I have a problem with that, sir," Joyce said as she gave the
man back her statue. "In my experience, the only people that require an
estimate for a statue are the ones gained it illegally or the ones that
already have background information on it and need a second evaluation.
Please leave. Special Creations does not deal with questionable material."
Adam Acathla glared at her."I can provide you with the appropriate
documentation if you so desire, madam."
"Too late, sir," Joyce said coolly. "If you knew my reputation, the you would
have brought the proper documentation with you in the first place. Good day."
The man glared at her, then walked stiffly away. Maddy looked at his
retreating back, then at Joyce."You really think he stole that gorgeous
piece?"
"I have no clue, but better to be safe than sorry," Joyce sighed. "I want no
part in estimating an object of questionable background. And I definitely
don't want to find out that the statue was possibly a precious artifact
stolen from a dig, temple or a grave. And now on a different note, I think
that we should go and inventory that new shipment we just got."
Maddy made a huge sigh."So when is your next date with the Stoodgy
Stud-muffin, boss?"
***********
Adam Achala spoke angrily into his cell phone."The woman did not take it. She
thinks that it is stolen goods. I know that, Elder. I know that it is
necessary for it to be placed within her home for it to spy upon her child.
But she refuses to take it."
Adam listened, then barked out a harsh laugh. "By Dhara, what a problem. The
time that we need need an unethical art dealer, we can't get one. What should
be done now?"
************
It had been a bloody lousy day. His students were idiot savants and his peers
were annoying imbeciles. < As bad as those fools back in the Watcher's
Network, > thought Ethan as entered his office at UC Sunnydale. < What a hell
of a day. What could make it go any worse? >
He strode over to the small window his office had and looked at the peaceful
scene of the campus. All the students milling about like busy little bees,
not wondering or knowing that they're all living on top of a Hellmouth. Then
his eyes caught the sight of a small bird flying through the air...
************
"Ethan! Look! Bird! Flying!" giggled a voice. Ethanlooked at the little
sparrow flying through the air, then at the girl next to him. She was
beautiful, her purple eyes shining as they took in the sights of London. The
wind blew her dark brown hair around her face. "Small bird!"
Ethan squeezed her hand. "Yeah, Sharna. A small bird. Pretty isn't it?"
Sharna smiled back at him. "No small bird at home. Small pretty bird is nice."
"Yeah, a small pretty bird is nice to look at," Ethan said. "Now come on,
we've got twenty minutes to see the Tower before His Royal Highness of the
Pain in the Arse, Wilson, wants you back for your English lesson."
"Must hurry," Sharna said as she grabbed Ethan's hand. "You teach me too?
More bad words?"
Remembering the ear blistering speech that Wilson gave him for teaching
Sharna how to curse in English, Ethan shook his head. "Not today, Sharna.
I've got the blasted demon defense class to take. Come on, I'll race you to
the curb."
*****************
A horn of a passing car honked through the air, the bird flew away and Ethan
was brought back to the present. He shook his head. < Sharna...it's been
years since I remembered that day in London. They still haven't paid for what
they did to you and Wilson. You never deserved it... >
Ethan turned to look at the pile of unmarked papers on his desk. The perfect
ending of a miserable day. Nothing could make it worse, could it? As he sat
down, he heard a knock on the door. "If you have a soul, come in."
Ethan dropped his pen. His question was just answered. "Ripper."
***
"Ethan," Giles replied tightly, closing the office door firmly behind him.
< I should have known better, > Ethan thought in disgust. < "Nothing could
make it worse," indeed. > Outwardly, he remained casual, speaking lightly.
"I wondered when you'd be around for a visit. Do let's get the requisite
beating out of the way so we can chat." He stood up, continuing, "But please
don't get any blood on the papers, I don't know what I would tell my
students."
"Much as I would enjoy hitting you till you bled -" Giles paused; where had
he heard that before? "- I'm afraid I'm here for a different purpose." He
crossed the room to Ethan's desk and leaned forward, bracing his hands
against the top. "We need your help," he said bluntly.
Ethan arched an eyebrow. "*My* help? Rupert, I'm touched."
Yes, Giles wanted to say, but your sanity isn't the subject at hand.
Instead, he swallowed it and replied,
"Don't be. It wasn't my idea." As briefly as he could, Giles told Ethan
about the assassins and how they had systematically destroyed the entire
Watchers' Network. Upon finishing, he waited for one of Ethan's smart ass
comments. Ethan, however, remained uncharacteristically silent.
A painful sinking sensation in his stomach, Ethan cast about for something to
say. A way to find out if Wesley had somehow survived, without letting Giles
see the cold fear that always gripped him at the thought of Wesley dying
because of his profession. ...but, perhaps, somehow - no. Hope, Ethan had
learned long ago, was a treacherous creature, and he wouldn't let it take
hold of him now. Wesley knew nothing about fighting. He could never escape
a hired assassin. Couldn't possibly survive the assault.
And yet, the first sentence that came from his mouth was foolish, hopeful
drivel, delivered in a faintly pleading tone that his fifteen-year-old self
at the Academy had used.
"Are they all dead?"
**********
"Where's Sharna?" young Ethan demanded, voice shaking, as he caught up to a
man he recognized as a Council Member. "Where *is* she??"
"Calm down, young man." Quentin Travers, on his way to an important meeting
with a superior - one of the very few people left in the Council who ranked
above him - turned sharply and glared. Ethan obeyed, but only in hopes of
getting a straight answer about Sharna's whereabouts.
"Sharna -" Travers spoke her name with the subtle inflection of distaste used
by most Council members when referring to the Bhavikan Slayer "- was killed
last night, during patrol." The lie came to him easily, as did every lie he
told.
Ethan gaped at him in shock. Travers, not for the first time, found himself
suppressing an urge to slap the boy. There was something about him that set
the Watcher's teeth on edge. Glancing at his watch, he said impatiently,
"I have somewhere to be, and I believe that you have a class to attend. I
want you there in five minutes." Without waiting for a reply, Travers turned
and strode away. It was a shame, really - there was no denying the Rayne boy
had potential, but it had been all but destroyed by that disgusting family of
his. Here, he realized, was a hidden benefit to Sharna's death: with her
gone, maybe the boy would settle down and focus his attention to where it
should be.
Ethan stood still, watching him walk away. Most boys his age would have gone
into a terrified rage of denial, storming after Travers to demand that he say
what they wanted to hear. Ethan, however, stayed where he was, thinking
carefully.
Something was very wrong. Where the hell was Wilson? If Sharna had been
killed on patrol, he would have told Ethan about it before he even informed
the Council, simply to keep him from finding out from someone like Travers,
who didn't give a damn about him or Sharna. Despite all his blustering,
Wilson was grateful to Ethan for accepting Sharna and forging a relationship
with her when all the others had scorned her. He would have felt that he
owed it to Ethan to break the news gently. So where *was* he? Watchers
didn't just disappear when their Slayers died.
And Ethan did believe that Sharna was dead. He'd already known it; Travers
had merely confirmed it. He hadn't been able to find her in any of the
places she should have been. He knew that she wouldn't have been elsewhere -
repeating the same routine as long as possible was a deeply ingrained
cultural trait of her race. And, dammit, either she or Wilson would have
told him if they had been assigned to another part of the world. For that
matter, Travers would have told him just now if they had been. She was dead.
And it hurt so deeply . . . but there was no time for that. He had to
*think*.
Where was Wilson? Why had Travers lied to him? What had happened to Sharna?
Or maybe . . . a chill shot through him. Maybe the question should be, What
had they done to Sharna?
**********
Giles blinked at his once best friend, taken aback by the slight tremor in
his voice and the apprehension in his eyes as he waited for Giles's answer.
He had never seen Ethan vulnerable before and he began to wonder - could it
be that he might be worried about Wesley? Giles had assumed that Wesley had
just been another one of Ethan's conquests. *Could* it have been more? Was
Ethan even capable of more?
"No," he said finally, looking directly into Ethan's eyes. "No, there are a
few left." He wanted to reassure Ethan and get rid of that disturbing
vulnerability - at least he knew how to deal with that arrogant Ethan. But
he had promised Wesley . . .
There was something in Giles's tone as he spoke that made Ethan wonder if
maybe he knew about Wesley. < Hell, for all I know, they sat around and
compared notes about me, > he thought.
But there was a chance that Wesley was alive. It was a slim chance. Maybe
it only existed in his mind, but it was enough to make him sit down and say,
"Tell me more about these assassins."
**********
Wesley was in a vague, gray half-sleep when the doorbell rang. He snapped
awake, instantly and fully alert. Then he remembered - very little time had
passed since the most recent attack, and the assassins didn't really bother
with doorbells, anyway.
Nonetheless, he went downstairs warily, keeping his body tense and ready to
fight as he opened the door.
The visitor was an older man, around sixty or sixty-five. The right sleeve
of his nondescript black jacket dangled limply from the elbow down - the rest
of his arm was gone. His voice, when he spoke, carried a light British
accent.
"Well. I was looking for Rupert Giles, but you, Mr. Wyndham-Price, will do
just as well." He offered his left hand to shake. "My name is Lucius
Wilson."
***
Manners ingrained in him since he was a boy, Wesley
took the older man's hand and shook it, but he did not
let him in. “Who are you that you know my name?”
“I am not an assassin, if that is what you are
asking,” Lucius Wilson said dryly. “If I were, you'd
either be already dead or I would. I was-a Watcher.”
Wesley's eye quirked at that last sentence. The man
spat it out as if he had swallowed something
distasteful. He looked at the man for a moment and
allowed the man to enter. “If you have a soul, you may
come in.”
“A good thing to have, though I doubt that most humans
have it,” Wilson said cryptically as he entered the
apartment. He looked around briefly. “So, where is
Rupert Giles? I had expected for him to be here, or
his Slayer. It is mandatory that I speak with him as
well.”
“He went out for the moment,” Wesley replied as he
watched the older man seat himself on Giles's couch.
“And the Slayer is at her classes and will return
shortly, sir.”
Wilson nodded as he looked at the younger man. “Very
good, I suppose that I should-“
“Sir?” Wesley asked cautiously as the older man
trailed off. Wesley turned to look at what he was
staring at. He was looking at the fireplace? “Mr.
Wilson?”
***********
“Sir? That now?” Sharna asked as she sat obediently
before him, pointing at his books above his fireplace.
“Read more? Please?”
Lucius Wilson turned to look at his pile of books and
shook his head. “We'll read later, Sharna. Now please
recite what we learned yesterday.”
At her puzzled look, he changed his words, “Repeat is
the same as recite.”
He swallowed a chuckle at her look of delight. [She
just loves learning new words.] “Now please recite
what we learned yesterday.”
Sharna nodded and stood at attention, like a soldier.
“Sharna learned to use three quarter staff to beat
Sir. Read book on Chaos demon. Read history of Marwha
War. Trained with crossbow. Ate steak and oyster pie
with Ethan. Saw Queen's house with Ethan. Read book on
Kelgor demon. Trained with three quarter staff-“
“Very good,” Wilson nodded as he picked up his glasses
and nearly dropped them when he heard how the rest of
Sharna's day went. “Practiced small changing spells
with Ethan. Learned to say: 'Toffee-nosed dolt with
his head up his-'”
“Sharna!” Wilson said sharply as he looked at her.
Sharna looked at him, puzzled. [I shall have to have a
talk with that boy.] “You should not repeat what Ethan
said.” He thought about it some more and added, ”And
you should not learn what Ethan said, either.”
Sharna looked at Wilson, then blinked with delight as
she realized, “Sharna learned more bad words from
Ethan?”
“Yes, you did, my dear. And we should not repeat
them,” Wilson nodded, then took a sip of his tea, and
nearly choked when she asked, ”Why? Toffee is candy.
Nose is nose. Dolt is-“
“Yes, I know what the words mean,” Wilson said to her
patiently. [Ethan, I am going to murder you, you
little brat] he thought with exasperated affection.
“But if you put them together, they mean something
bad. Alone, they mean almost nothing. Together in a
sentence, they give the meaning of something else. Is
that understood?”
Still confused, Sharna shook her head. Resisting the
urge to rub his head and to hunt Ethan down, Wilson
sighed. “We'll get back to it. Now, for today, we'll
learn the properties of the elements. What do you know
about them?”
“Earth most important element to Bhavika, part of
Dhara, the Mother,” Sharna said as her violet eyes
glowed. He was about to stop her from talking about
her people, but for some reason, Wilson didn't. “Dhara
says 'Watch over all living ones. Defend small ones.
Protect weak ones. Most blessed are ones to protect
living ones.' Sharna is protector, my name. Is most
blessed by Dhara. Go to Dhara direct when ashes.”
As pang went through him at the thought of her death,
Wilson smiled at her affectionately as he agreed with
her. “Sharna is indeed the most blessed.”
“Fire next important element. Bhavika use to keep warm
in Outworld. Fire is inside Bhavika heart, many forms
of fire in heart. Make weapons. Used to see far-away
ones,” Sharna told him proudly. “Water is in Bhavika
eyes-“
“Fire in the heart? Used to see far-away ones?” Wilson
asked, confused. He had never heard of this
terminology before. “Please explain, Sharna.”
Sharna pointed to her chest as she tried to explain.
“Bhavika heart filled with fire, many forms. Clan
lives there. Father and Mother there as Family Elders.
Sir lives there as Sharna's Protector. Ethan lives
there as First Fire. All always with Sharna when not
here with flesh. Stay even when with Dhara.”
[She's talking about love and it's many forms] thought
Wilson, touched that he held a special place in her
heart. “I see. Go on.”
“Fire sees far away ones, ones away from clan. Like
Sharna,” she explained as she pointed at the
fireplace. Wilson looked at his fireplace in
confusion. “If fire, then can see far away ones. Is
not so lonely for far away ones or clan. Always know
how far away ones are, if they happy, sad, hurt or
hungry. When fire mold earth in Elder's hands, then
can hear and talk with far-away ones, share all with
clan. Clan always learns with far away ones. Always
with Clan until ash and embraced by Dhara.”
************
“Mr. Wilson? Sir?” Wesley asked again as he shook the
man on his shoulder. Wilson looked at him blankly.
“Sir, are you all right?”
“No, I was just lost in a memory,” Wilson said as he
rubbed his limb. It always ached when he thought of
Sharna. He smiled sadly. “A very good memory. Of a
time with my Slayer.”
“Oh, I am sorry for your loss, her life is celebrated
in the heavens,” Wesley said, automatically repeating
the phrase he learned as a boy to someone that has
lost their Slayer. He was stunned to see the rage in
the older man's face. “Now that-“
“No, her life wasn't celebrated,” Wilson spat out as
his fist clenched. “It was Passed. And that's why I
think that this whole bloody massacre started.”
**********
Ethan sat up when Ripper described the assassins to
him. “They have purple hued eyes and turn to ashes
when they die?”
Ripper nodded slowly as he saw a look of strange
realization on Ethan's face. “What? You know
something? Ethan?”
“Hoist by their own petard!” Ethan shouted out then
started to laugh harshly. [Oh, Sharna! May your Dhara
embrace you tight! The Bhavika will make sure of it!]
thought Ethan giddily as tears started to run down
from his eyes. When he calmed further, Ethan looked at
Ripper, giving him a cold smile. “Let the Watcher
Network fall. Let it all crumble and be destroyed. I
have no love for them or the Council, justice has come
at last and I won't stop it.”
“You know who the assassins are?” Ripper demanded.
Ethan nodded. “And you won't help us stop the
massacre?”
“Not for all the gold in this world or the next,”
Ethan said with a twisted smile as he sat back in his
seat. Ripper looked at him with impotent rage, and his
smile grew. “Call it justice long overdue, Ripper. I
just hope the assassins take their time to hunt all
those bastards of the Council down and torture them
before they kill them.”
“You would let men and women die for this justice?”
Ripper demanded with a shout. “They are innocent
people-”
“They hell they are!” Ethan spat, his eyes narrowed
with hate. “As far as I'm concerned, every one in that
Council, everyone that Council has trained…they're all
murderers. All of them are killers of young girls,
especially Slayers. And I refuse to save their fucking
sanctimonious, hypocritical, collective blood-soaked
hands. Or any part of them.”
Ripper looked at him, seeing the unrelenting anger and
hate in his eyes. [What did the Council do to him?
When had Ethan ever craved for justice?] He asked
softly, “Not even for Wesley?”
Ethan stared at Ripper, a surreal feeling passing
through him as the sense of triumph died and a cold
fist formed in his stomach. “What?”
“Wesley's a Watcher, Ethan. And he's already being
hunted by the assassins,” Ripper said quietly. “Your
brand of justice is going to kill him, too.”
*********
“Elders? It is ready,” said a soft voice from the
shadows. The Elders paid no attention to the young
one, and the young one waited for the commands. An old
man with silver hair and deep purple eyes looked up at
the young one.
“Recite what has been done,” the Elder commanded
softly. The young one looked at him, puzzled. “Repeat
is the same as recite. Recite what has been done.”
“The Achala still hunt for the missing six Council
Elders and the retired ones,” the young one reported.
“And we still seek to place a statue in the abode of
the Slayer's Mother. The Achala renamed Adam will
place it in her home.”
“No harm shall come to her unless she interferes,” the
Elder said softly. “Her daughter is blessed by Dhara,
and she is not to be harmed while we hunt. Dhara would
curse us.”
“She has already interfered, Elder,” the young one
said. “Are we to-“
“We distract her as we hunt for the Guilty Ones,” the
Elder decided. “She will be else where as we hunt.
What else?”
“The Old Protector, Wilson, is missing,” the young one
reported hesitantly. “And we still have not found the
Sharna's First Fire, Ethan. The Hidden Achala-“
“The Outworlders call them 'spies',” said a voice from
the darkness. “We must learn to use their phrasing if
we are to succeed.”
The young one bowed to the correction. “The spies have
reported that the Guilty- my pardon, Elders, Watcher
that killed Haimi has taken refuge with the Slayer's
Watcher. And the spies in the Outworlder's England say
that the Untrained Ones are safe, however, there is
one missing. The spy says it is the one that has
bonded with Wyndham-Pryce.”
“She will be found and returned to her
sisters-in-arms,” the Elder decreed. The young one
nodded. After a moment, the Elder continued. “We will
create another image of Dhara for the Slayer's
Watcher. To judge if he is to be…Passed. You may
recite this to the others.“
“As you will, Elder,” the young one said as he bowed
and left the room.
***
Lucius guiltily tried to curb his anger upon seeing
the stunned expression on the young man's face. There
was no reason to be angry at him - he had been but a
small child when Sharna was killed. Besides, he
reminded himself, unless the Council had changed
policy - and when was the last time that had happened?
- Wesley knew nothing of the
Passing. It was knowledge reserved for the Council
members only.
Not that that changed the facts. The odds were in
favor of Wesley's having been brainwashed by the
teachings at the Academy. But he was still young.
Perhaps there was a chance for him.
“To Pass a Slayer,” he began to explain, “is to take
her life -”
“- in order the prompt the calling of the next
Slayer,” Wesley interrupted. “I know.”
Wilson gave him a sharp look of surprise. “You do?”
Wesley nodded. “Yes. It's why I was fired. Do you
know that there are two Slayers now?” At Wilson's nod
of confirmation, he continued.
**********
Wesley set down the slim packet, his mind reeling from
the revelations inside it. An incapacitated Slayer
was killed? When he thought it over, he could
appreciate the logic of it, but what did that have to
do with anything now? There were two Slayers now.
When one was unable to perform her duties, that no
longer meant that the fight between good and evil was
fatally unbalanced. With the other girl able to
fight, the injured Slayer
could be afforded time to recover, if possible. The
Passing had been rendered obsolete by Buffy's death
and consequent resurrection. So why had he been
delivered this information coupled with the warning
that it was strictly top secret?
He looked down at the packet. It was a case history
of each Slayer that had been Passed within the
recorded history of the Network. A Passing was rare -
there was perhaps one a century, if that - so there
was room for a detailed record of each girl, even in
the small
packet. They were sound and logical, leaving no room
for doubt as to the necessity of the Passing in each
situation. At least, most of them were.
But the last entry, dated twenty years ago, bothered
Wesley. It was short, scarcely half the length of the
other entries, and vague, offering half-formed,
ambiguous explanations and leaping about between
topics.
Wesley was trying to make sense of it and quell the
growing discomfiture it was causing when the summons
tone sounded. As always, Wesley was reminded of the
remark one of his Academy classmates made every time
the sound was heard: “His Majesty will see you now.”
Swallowing a nervous chuckle, Wesley stood and waked
down the hall to the Head Watcher's office.
“Come in,” Travers called from inside before he could
even knock. Wesley blinked and entered the office.
“I trust you've read the literature?” Travers
remarked as Wesley sat down.
Wesley's time in Sunnydale had taught him, among many
other things, to put
forth his opinions in rapid bursts when he knew they
would be unpopular, before the others had time to
interrupt him. He utilized that lesson now, saying
quickly,
“Yes but I don't see the relevance of the Passing
anymore as we have two Slayers instead of just one.”
Travers frowned at him. “Our sacred laws are not open
for interpretation, Wesley. They are as they are
written. Now, do you want your assignment or do you
wish to continue educating me on what *you* seem to
think I am doing wrong?”
The unspoken implication, of course, was that no young
Watcher who had failed with two Slayers should presume
to contradict the Head Watcher. Wesley, stung,
flushed and remained silent. Travers gave a curt nod.
“Faith,” he began, “is useless to us. Even if, by
some miracle, she should regain consciousness, her
behaviour is not conducive to the activities that a
Slayer is duty-bound to perform. She must be Passed.”
Wesley stared in disbelief. He had suspected that
this was the reason for this meeting, but to actually
hear it out loud . . .
“But - Buffy is more than capable -”
“We have two Slayers at our disposal now, Wesley,”
Travers interrupted. “We must take full advantage of
our opportunities. I want you to perform the
Passing.”
He held up a hand to ward off and protests, but the
gesture was pointless; Wesley was stunned into
speechlessness. “This was a unanimous decision. The
Council feels that you are the best choice for the
job. You are familiar with Sunnydale, and Rupert
Giles and his little posse are less likely to
interfere with you than with an operative they don't
know.”
He leaned forward slightly and continued in a
confidential tone, “And, off the record of course,
carrying the Passing out successfully will restore the
status you lost by bungling your last assignment.”
Travers sat back and folded his hands together on top
of his
desk. “Consider this very carefully, Wesl -”
“No,” Wesley said quietly. Travers, unused to being
questioned, gave him a sharp stare.
“I beg your pardon?” he demanded coldly. Wesley
matched his angry stare with an even gaze.
“No,” he repeated. “I won't kill her.” Taking
Faith's life when the time could be spared for a
possible recovery was something that Wesley could
scarcely comprehend, much less actually perform. It
went against everything he had been taught - by the
Council, no less - to stand for, both personally and
as a Watcher.
Traver's voice was dangerously silky. “Alive, Faith
would be a very dangerous liability. She entered that
coma on the side of evil and she is not going to wake
up as Pollyanna. If anything, she will be even more
lethal, if she manages a full recovery.”
“She deserves a chance.” This was the same argument
Buffy and Giles had been throwing at Wesley mere weeks
ago. Of course, then Faith's life had not been at
stake. Or so he had thought. Now he realized that,
had his capture attempt been successful, she would
have been Passed immediately upon arriving in England.
[Oh, god, I almost killed her.] The thought was so
horrific that he almost missed Travers's next words.
“I see. So not only would you have us deny the
natural process of activating a new Slayer, but you
would offer salvation to a girl who would slap it away
with both hands and then wring your neck. You have
just proven beyond a doubt that you are a hopeless
case. We have wasted enough of our time and resources
on you. You're fired. Get out of my office.”
Travers calmly turned his attention to a small black
journal that lay next to the lamp on his desk.
Wesley was never certain, afterwards how he managed
to stand and make his way to the door in the stunned
haze that swallowed him following Travers's
pronouncement.
As he reached the door, Travers spoke.
“And Wesley, if you attempt to contact Sunnydale and
warn them of our plans for Faith, she will not be the
only Slayer to die in the immediate future.”
**********
As Wesley finished his story, Wilson found himself
seeing the boy from a different angle. Before, he had
considered Wesley to be just another Watcher, though
perhaps one who could still be reached. Now, though,
it was clear that Wesley did not need rehabilitation.
Most Watchers would not be able to turn down an
assignment that came directly from the head Watcher,
no matter how distasteful or immoral. He himself had
been like that once, not daring to say no. But this
boy was stronger than most. Stronger, perhaps, than
even himself.
“Every Watcher should have such ethical standards,”
Wilson said softly.
Wesley flushed a little at the compliment, but
reminded him grimly, “At the rate things are going, I
believe that every Watcher now does.”
***********
“Wesley - *is* alive?” Ethan asked hoarsely.
“Yes,” Giles answered slowly, guiltily remembering,
too late, his promise to Wesley. “He's spent the
summer fighting off the assassins. His stamina is
running down, his health is beginning to be affected,
and he would have been killed this afternoon if Buffy
hadn't been there to intervene.”
Ethan sat back, his thoughts swimming chaotically, and
struggled to process everything he had heard. From
thinking Wesley dead, to knowing him to be alive - it
changed things.
Giles fell silent, giving the other man a little
mental breathing space. A few minutes had passed
before Ethan spoke.
“I will help you, for Wesley's sake. But if he dies,
I walk away.”
“I understand,” Giles replied softly. It was
actually more than he had expected when he had walked
into the office.
“I suppose I'll have to put off grading these for
another day,” Ethan remarked, gesturing to the papers
on his desk. “Shame, really, I was so looking forward
to it.”
Giles allowed himself a little smile.
***
As the car left the campus, the silence inside the
small car was palatable, both men lost in their own
thoughts.
Finally, Rupert Giles cleared his throat, and asked,
”So why did you take the job UC Sunnydale?”
“Because I had the credentials and needed to eat,”
Ethan Rayne said with a shrug. “Worshiping Chaos is
fun, and quite rewarding at times, but it doesn't pay
all the bills.”
“I see,” Ripper said as he made a turn. Silence
reigned inside the car once again.
An imp rose inside him, he was quite sure which it was
the one that liked to get him in trouble, and forced
him to say something inside the car, just to provoke
Ripper. Ethan looked at his former lover and friend.
“So how do you like shagging the Slayer's mother
sill-oof!”
As Ethan grabbed his jaw, Ripper yanked at his tie and
glared at him while keeping an eye on the red
stoplight. “You keep your tongue civil when taking
about her. Or to her, got that Ethan?”
“Playing the gentleman, Ripper? Since when?” Ethan
sneered as he struggled with Ripper's hold on his tie.
“As I recall, you used to love a quick shag with
women. 'Anytime, Anywhere' was your motto, I believe.
The same went for your men as well. Don't you remember
Randall, Deidre and Tom, and our little five-some
fuck-fest afternoons?”
“I haven't done anything like that for a long time,”
Ripper gritted out as he yanked at Ethan's tie. He
started the car again when the light turned green.
“Now keep your trap-”
Ethan choked out, “Why? Is the Slayer's mother that
much more an energetic fuck? Or are you too old-gurk!”
“You really just don't know when to quit, do you?”
Ripper snarled as he yanked at Ethan's tie again. “Is
a thrashing what you really want? Or are you just
trying to get killed before you can help Wesley? What
are you trying to do, Ethan?”
“I'm bloody trying to find out why the hell are you
more faithful to her than you were to me!” Ethan
choked out as he yanked at his tie again. He flung
himself into the door when Ripper's grip on his tie
suddenly loosened. “Ow! Bloody hell!”
“Oh, that hurt!” moaned Ethan as he grabbed his head
with a grimace. Then he noticed something. “Why are we
stopping?”
“I was faithful to you,” Ripper said as he stopped the
car. His face was set in stone. “I was more faithful
to you than you were to me.”
“Bullshit,” Ethan spat out. Bile rose in his throat
and old jealousies that always simmered in his gut
rose. “I've seen you about town with her, the way you
look at her, the way you act around her. She has your
complete attention, no matter what she does, no matter
what you do.”
Harsh laughter barked out of Ethan. “I saw you once,
after the two of you had a bite at her place. From the
look on her face, I knew that you had her for lunch.
But the look on your face, after she left you in the
driveway…I knew. I knew that she was still with you
even though she wasn't there. She has all of your
attention. Something that I never got from you.”
“You always had my attention when we were together and
when we weren't,” Ripper spat out. “But it was never
enough for you. You always wanted more of me, demanded
more from me. When my attention wasn't enough, you
turned to everyone else. You wanted more from Randall,
then Deidre, then more from Tom. You always had to
come first, and to bloody hell with everyone else.”
“You wanted to come before everything I was, my music,
my family, my studies, my magic. I didn't mind, but
then it came clear that I was not the first in your
life, not like you were in mine,” Ripper bit out. “You
demanded that you come before every single thing in my
life, and gave me only the dregs of your attention.
You pulled me so tight, I was itching to get away from
you.”
Silently, Ethan stared at him, his face filled with
hurt and fury. Suddenly, Ripper looked tired. “So
after Randall died, I left because I had nothing else
to give. You, Deidre, and Tom, I left you all because
there was nothing left for me to give after everything
we had was destroyed.”
“So what has she demand from you, Ripper?” Ethan
sneered. “If all my demands for your attention made
you leave, if all I did was take until you had nothing
left, what does she demand from you?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Ripper said quietly. “Joyce
demands nothing from me, she wants nothing but to be
with me. And I want nothing, except to be with her.”
“Oh, please, you're going to make me retch,” Ethan
sneered at him. “No one that has a life is without
demands. You mean to say that she never has once,
demanded anything from you? No promises whispered in
the night? Small assurances given during the heat of
passion? Not even that you give your life to protect
her precious daughter?”
Ethan felt the jealousies build up in him as Ripper's
mouth quirked. “She made her promises to me long
before we got involved, and only two more after we
did.”
Intrigued despite himself, Ethan asked, ”And they
are?”
Ripper remained quiet for so long, and his eyes a far
off glimmer, Ethan thought he would never answer. And
the imp in him rose and demanded that he get the
attention of his former lover. His mouth opened to say
something when Ripper spoke quietly.
“Before we became involved, she promised me that I
would forever regret it if I ever hurt her daughter,”
Ripper said quietly as he remembered Buffy's
eighteenth birthday.
After a moment's silence, Ethan prompted. “And after
the two of you became involved?”
“She promised me-she promised me to never come between
me and my duties as a Watcher,” Ripper said slowly,
his eyes meeting Ethan's.
“How romantic,” Ethan said, his voice filled with
sarcasm as the barb stung. “She sounds like an angel.”
“She is,” Ripper said quietly. He looked at Ethan,
cynicism marring his fine features. He shook his head
at his former lover. “Haven't you ever loved anyone
that never made any demands from you? That never
wanted anything from you?”
“Not in this lifetime,” Ethan said as he looked out
the window. Unconsciously, he touched the small star
shaped-scar, just above his heart. The one that Sharna
gave him.
***************
Ethan knocked on the door before entering the room.
“Sharna? Sharna, are you in here?”
His eyebrows lowering as he heard a series of muffled
bumps and bangs from behind the door, Ethan grabbed
the doorknob, alarmed. “Sharna? What is that noise? Is
that you in there? Are you dressed? Sharna! What are
you doing in there? Sharna!”
“Enter,” came out a muffled, child-like voice. His
eyes narrowing in suspicion, Ethan opened the door
cautiously, and saw Sharna sitting in front of her
small fireplace, her hands out as if to warm herself
with the fire. There was a small dagger in her hand,
and a spot of some sort on her other hand. “Hi Ethan!”
Walking cautiously towards her, Ethan blinked at the
happy greeting. He knelt beside her. “Hi, Sharna. What
are you doing?”
“Showing hands to Clan,” Sharna said as she smiled at
him. “Did First Fire ritual. A little messy. See?”
Ethan looked down at Sharna's hands and became
alarmed. “BLOODY HELL SHARNA! You're bleeding! What
the fuck did you do to yourself?”
Confused, she looked at Ethan as he dragged her to her
wash basin and started to tenderly clean her hands.
“What is 'fuck', Ethan?”
“Ask Wilson, the damn fucker should have been watching
over you and making sure that you're not hurting
yourself,” Ethan snapped back. He let out a sigh of
relief when towel took off all of the blood. [Wait a
min! Her hands aren't bleeding, so then where did all
the-] Ethan's head shot to Sharna's open blouse.
Between the valley of her breast, just above her
heart, she was bleeding from a small star carved into
her skin.
“SHARNA!” Ethan shouted as he covered the wound with
his towel. He glared at her. “Why the bloody hell
didn't you tell me that it wasn't your hands that were
bleeding?”
“Ethan didn't ask,” Sharna said simply. “Sir said one
must be polite and answer questions when asked.”
“Oh, bloody fucking hell on the manners,” Ethan
grumbled. He looked at her. “Can you tell me why you
carved yourself up?”
At her blank look, Ethan amended his question.
“Sharna, why is your chest bleeding?”
“Sharna performed First Fire ritual,” Sharna said
happily. “Made mark of First Fire with Mother's help,
and showed to Clan. Woman now.”
Ethan looked around, and saw it was empty. “Sharna,
there's no one here. Where's your parents and Clan?”
“At home,” Sharna said, her face clearly showing that
she thought he had asked a stupid question.
Still confused, Ethan asked, “If they're at home, how
can they see-“
“Through fire, fire sees all, Ethan,” Sharna said.
“Understand? So when Sharna made First Fire mark for
Ethan-”
“You marked yourself up for me?” Ethan yelped. He
looked down at Sharna's chest, then up at her violet
eyes. “Why?”
“Because Ethan is Sharna's First Fire,” Sharna smiled
at him, her eyes glowing. The look on Sharna's face
made his breath grow short. Her small hand stroked his
face. “Now Ethan always in Sharna's heart, always
think of first, until Dhara embrace Sharna.”
Ethan's head lowered as he thought about what she
said. He really wasn't sure about what a First Fire
was, but he got the gist of it. It had something to do
about matters of the heart. And that was the real
kicker, the part that he couldn't understand. He was a
foul-mouth, self-serving little pissant, and that was
on his good days. A part of him yelled to let it go,
but that imp inside him, the one that helped him mouth
off to everyone he'd every met in his life, caused him
to ask. “Why? Sharna, why am I your First Fire? What
do you want?”
Confused, Sharna looked at him. “Why what? Want what?
Sharna not understand Ethan.”
“Why am I your First Fire? Why do the ritual?” Ethan
asked a little desperately. At her confused look, he
tried to explain what her needed to know, without
knowing himself why he needed her answers. “Why me?
What do you want from me?”
“Not understand. Sharna want nothing from Ethan,”
Sharna said slowly, her brow lowered in concentration
as she tried to understand what Ethan wanted to know.
“Just happy to be with Ethan, want to spend time with
Ethan. Clan knows now Ethan is Sharna's First Fire.
Ritual is only for Sharna, not Ethan.”
Stunned, Ethan stared at her innocent gaze. If he
understood her correctly, Sharna had marked herself up
for him, because of him. If he understood her, she
performed the ritual because she loved him, and simply
just wanted some part of him to be with her, always.
He had a feeling that she never would have told him
unless he had asked her specifically what she was
doing. He lifted the towel away from her chest, and
saw the small bloody star.
From his own experience with scars, he knew that she
was going to get one. He lowered his head, and gently
kissed the star, and then her forehead. At her
questioning look, he asked, “Sharna, will you mark me?
I want to mark you as my First Fire.”
***********
Ethan shook out of his memory as the car stopped
again. Looking out of the window, he noted that he was
at Ripper's place. “Here? And I thought you were
shacking up with-Oof!”
As Ethan bent over and gasped for air, Giles rubbed
his hand. Then pulled Ethan up by his hair. “Now,
let's get one thing straight, Ethan. You say anything
that disturbs Joyce or say anything about her, I will
not guarantee that you'll have all your teeth or your
life, got it?”
“A tarnished knight, Ripper?” Ethan gasped. “My, you
must be in love.”
Grabbing Ethan, he threw him against his front door.
Ethan crumpled against the door. “Must you treat me
like a sack of flour?”
“Must you shoot your trap off?” retorted Giles as he
reached for his key. The door opened, he looked up to
see a stunned Wesley and an elderly man. Inanely, he
said, “Wesley, I brought Ethan.”
Ethan straightened as he looked at his past lover.
“Hello, tiger. Heard you were in a spot of trouble.
Told you being a Watcher would bring you down to no
good, that's why I never became one.”
“And here I always thought it was because they kicked
you out first, brat,” drawled a voice.
Ethan froze when he heard that voice, a voice he had
not heard for over twenty years. Not since the night
he found out what happened to Sharna. “Wil-Wilson?
Sir? Is that really you?”
The older man stepped out to the foyer. He gave him an
affectionate smile. “Hello, Ethan. How have you been?”
**********
Shaking her head as she puttered around the kitchen,
Joyce smiled as she listened to her daughter's chatter
on the phone. “Yes, yes. I hear you, sweetheart. I
will bring the brownies so that you and Willow will
have something to munch on at Rupert's. I'm leaving as
soon as I get off the phone. Love you. Bye.“
“What a kid,” Joyce muttered to herself as she
gathered her car keys and the plate of brownies.
Humming to herself as she started up her land rover,
she never noticed the parked car a few blocks down
follow her.
***
"I love your mom," Willow said cheerfully. "Have I
mentioned that lately?
'Cause I love your mom." Buffy raised an
affectionate eyebrow at Willow
sudden gushing. Willow smiled sheepishly.
"The brownie content of my blood is getting low," she
explained.
"Well, we can't let *that* happen," Buffy answered.
"We'd better get you to Giles's, stat. Well, as
soon as we drop our books at the dorm," she amended.
"Excuse me!" a young voice called suddenly. "Excuse
me!" A girl came jogging across the commons, headed
in their direction. She looked to be about thirteen
or fourteen, with green eyes and red hair a few shades
darker than Willow's, pulled back into a sloppy braid.
She wore a slightly oversized T-shirt and spandex
shorts, an outfit clearly put together to allow for
quick movement.
"Are you Buffy Summers?" she spoke with an unfamiliar
accent, offering a hand to shake.
"Yes . . ." Buffy replied slowly, taking the girl's
hand.
"Wow!" The girl shook Buffy's hand vigorously. "It's
so great to meet you!"
"Uhh . . ." Buffy exchanged a confused look with
Willow. ". . . thanks."
"Oh." She let go of Buffy's hand with a nervous
giggle. "Sorry. I get ahead of myself a lot."
"That's okay." Buffy discreetly flexed her hand to
make sure that the little girl's startlingly strong
grip hadn't broken any bones.
"Actually, I do need to talk to you about . . .
stuff." She glanced warily at Willow, then gave Buffy
a significant, wide-eyed look. Buffy caught on
immediately.
"Oh. Well, it's cool. Willow knows all about
*stuff*."
Willow nodded quickly. "I am stuff-aware."
"Oh! You're Willow! Oh, wow! I should have known,
Wesley said our hair was almost the same color, I'm
Chloe by the way, Wesley's my watcher," she finished
in a confusing rush.
"Watcher?" Buffy stared. "You're a *Slayer*?" She
wondered, frantically, if Faith had died, and felt a
strong twinge of guilt. Chloe saw it cross her face
and hastened to reassure her.
"Oh no, I mean yes, I am a slayer, but not a Slayer
like you, I'm a *little* slayer." She paused for
breath. "See, there're Slayers like you, with all
those powers, and then there are little slayers like
me, with just *one* power. I'm as strong as you.
There are other girls who are as fast as you, or can
hear like you, or have reflexes like yours. Stuff
like that."
"And Wesley's your watcher?" Willow asked. "But he
said the Council fired him."
"They did," Chloe explained. "We met after the
wipe-out, at the Meeting Place." The animation faded
from her face, replaced by a deep sadness. "The
assassins killed my first watcher, Michael. I don't
know why, he never did *anything* as bad as the
Council." She looked at Buffy seriously. "I miss him
so much. All the girls at the Meeting Place miss
their watchers, but I got lucky and found Wesley.
He's my *real* watcher. We were meant to be paired
together, like you and Mr. Giles."
"How do you know that?" Buffy asked curiously.
Chloe shrugged. "You can just tell. That's why you
and Wesley didn't get along. Once you've met your
real watcher, no other watcher can ever be good
enough." Chloe shook her head, as if physically
shaking off the conversation.
"Anyway. I'm looking for Wesley. He said he was
coming here and that I should stay and help the other
girls because they're all so confused without their
watchers to tell them what to do, but they're doing
okay now, even Kiana and she was having the most
trouble of all of them, and I miss Wesley a lot. Plus
I was worried," she confided in a confidential tone.
Buffy nodded in understanding, imagining herself and
Giles in that
situation. She would move heaven and earth to find
him in that case, she was sure.
"He's staying with Giles," she told Chloe. "We were
going there anyway.
We just need to drop our books off at the dorm and
we'll all head out."
Chloe grinned. "Cool."
**********
"How have I been," Ethan repeated Lucius's question.
"Do you have a few years?"
Wilson chuckled warmly.
"Well, this does cut down on introductions a bit,"
Giles remarked
pointedly, not entirely pleased over being the only
one who didn't know a
visitor to his own house.
"Lucius Wilson," the visitor replied. "It's good to
finally meet you, Mr.
Giles." Giles nodded, accepting and shaking the
proffered left hand.
Ethan frowned. "Last time I saw you, you had two of
those."
Wilson glanced at what remained of his right arm. "I
lost it that night,"
he replied briefly. Ethan's eyes darkened and he
gave a short nod.
During the exchange, Wesley had sat on the couch,
still and uncharacteristically silent. His eyes had
taken in the fresh, reddened marks on Ethan's face and
neck, beginning to swell, and had also seen the anger
on Giles's face when they first entered. Arriving at
the obvious
conclusion, he shot Giles a black look, which was lost
on all except Lucius Wilson. He immediately liked the
boy even more - that one look had made his loyalty to
Ethan clear to anyone who cared to see it.
Still silent, Wesley rose and headed into the kitchen,
pulling a tea towel
out of a cupboard handle and raiding the freezer for
ice. He emerged a
moment later with a makeshift ice pack, which he held
out wordlessly to
Ethan.
Ethan accepted the compress, his hand lingering on
Wesley's as their gazes met and held. They stood that
way for a moment, looking into each other, until Ethan
finally spoke: "Thank you, tiger," he said quietly.
"You're welcome," Wesley murmured. Taking a step
back, he slipped his
hand from Ethan's light hold and resumed his seat on
the couch.
It was understood by both of them that they would talk
in depth later;
that and so much more had passed between them in that
minute of silent communication.
Giles watched this exchange in amazement. He had
never seen Ethan
demonstrate such intensity toward anyone, for any
reason. He tended to reserve it for his magick, or
for the times when he had ingested more
drugs than the human body should rightfully be able to
handle. There was a spark of old jealousy - Ripper
rearing his possessive head. Giles
ignored it.
Wilson, for his part, was pleased by the emotions that
his experienced
eyes had seen strung between the two. It showed that
Ethan had been able to move on after Sharna's death,
which was more than he himself had accomplished. And
if it had to be with a man, well . . . from what he
had heard, homosexuality was the least of Ethan's
sins.
There was an uncomfortable silence; Giles broke it by
glancing at his watch and saying aimlessly, "Buffy
and Willow should be here soon - their last class just
ended."
He glanced at Wilson and began to explain about the
"Scoobies," but Wilson shook his head.
"Mr. Wyndham-Price explained the situation to me. The
more help in protecting the two of you, the better."
Ethan, ice pack applied to his jaw, narrowly succeeded
in swallowing a
snide comment about how helpful he imagined the
Slayer's posse would
actually be. No need to antagonize Rupert in front of
Wilson and Wesley. Especially Wesley.
**********
Joyce hummed along to the radio as she drove. She
knew better than to
sing aloud, even alone, with her singing voice, but
she deemed humming to be perfectly safe.
Her eyes flicked absently up to the rearview mirror to
find that the gray
Honda was still behind her. She hadn't given it much
thought -Sunnydale was a small town; many cars ended
up taking the same route quite coincidentally - other
than to be reminded of a game that she had Buffy had
played when her daughter was young. When their car
and another took several same turns, they would make
up stories about why they were being followed, or why
they were following another car.
This car, however, had stuck with her for nearly the
whole drive, and she
began to suspect that the driver was not playing.
As she turned onto Rupert's street, still accompanied
by her Honda-shaped shadow, she had a sudden flash of
realization.
The assassins.
They were using her to track Rupert.
Shit.
Joyce ordered herself to stay calm. Don't change
driving patterns, don't
speed up, don't do anything to let them know that she
was on to them. And remember that it wasn't
necessarily the assassins - it could be that
Achala man with his little statuette, hoping for a
second chance at persuading her. Or it could be - and
this was a soothing thought - an
entirely unrelated threat. Or it could be a
coincidence.
Somehow, she didn't think so.
She kept driving right past Rupert's house, mind
ticking frantically. She
could go to the grocery store and make a few random
purchases so it
wouldn't look suspicious, then go home and call
Rupert. But, wait - if
they knew where she lived, they could have bugged her
phone while she was gone.
Dammit. Dammit!
Then an idea struck.
**********
Ethan took the chair closest to Wesley on the couch.
Giles was just
settling himself into another chair when the door
opened and Buffy and
Willow walked in, accompanied by a younger redhead.
Giles spoke quickly.
"Buffy, Willow, this is Lucius Wilson. Mr. Wilson,
this is Buffy Summers,
Willow Rosenburg, and . . ." He stopped, blinking at
the newcomer.
"Chloe." Wesley's voice was part surprise, part
amusement, and part
reproval. Chloe launched into a speech whose
components, if not actual
delivery, had clearly been thought out carefully.
"Hi, Wesley, I know you said to stay at the Meeting
Place but you were gone for a long time without even
sending word or calling or anything and *everybody*
was worried so we took a vote and we all agreed that I
should find you and everybody's doing okay now even
Kiana so I figured it would be safe." She delivered
this monstrosity without taking a breath, green eyes
wide with persuasive innocence.
Wesley could only shake his head and tell her, "We'll
discuss this later, Chloe, I don't wish to lecture you
in front of the others."
The warmth to his tone, however, suggested that the
promised lecture would be far from harsh.
Further introductions were made. Chloe, upon
determining who the owner of the house was, asked
anxiously, "Do you have a bathroom? I really need
one."
"Yes, my house is fully equipped," Giles replied
dryly. Chloe giggled and
followed his directions upstairs.
When she was out of hearing range, Buffy said,
"Well. Isn't she . . ." She trailed off, apparently
searching for words.
"Flighty?" Wesley suggested with a little smile.
"I was thinking more along the lines of 'fluffhead,'"
was Buffy's blunt
response.
"Buffy," Giles reproved sharply, but Wesley held up a
hand.
"It's quite all right, Rupert. Chloe does give that
impression, but I assure you that she is more than
capable of being deadly serious when the occasion
warrants it."
***
The driver in the car cursed. Trailing the Summers
woman was supposed to be easy, she was supposed to
lead him straight to the Slayer, Rupert Giles and the
assassins. Instead the idiot woman was simply driving
around aimlessly and now she was going shopping. What
the hell did a woman need to buy groceries for at this
time in the evening?
Lighting a cigarette, he watched the woman leave her
car, then debated if he should follow her. He
muttered, as he parked closer to her car. “What the
hell, might as well follow her. Worse comes to worse,
I'll just tie the stupid bitch up and make her to tell
me where her kid is.”
With a sigh, he opened the car door, dropped the
cigarette and crushed it before he followed her into
the grocery store. The dying embers of the ash glowed
briefly for one last time before winking out.
**********
“Then we can't wait to see her in action. Buffy'll
finally have someone who can hold her own when she
spars,” Willow said as she made her way to the
kitchen. “Giles? You have any milk? 'Cause Buffy's mom
is supposed to be bringing brownies, and brownies just
don't taste as good if you don't have milk.”
“Joyce is coming here?” Giles blinked, a pleasant
feeling going through him. Something that always
seemed to happen whenever he thought of her. “I
thought she had work-“
“Like Mom would calmly sit by and leave us to fend off
Watcher-killing assassins on our own,” Buffy snorted
as she looked down at her Watcher incredulously. She
settled on the armrest of Giles's chair. “Yeah, right.
That'll work only if you tie her up.”
“Still into bondage, Ripper? How deviant of her!”
Ethan said before he could check himself. He'd rather
see any other look on Ripper's face, than that look of
silly infatuation.
Giles and Buffy glared at the sorcerer. Fists forming
and eyes narrowing, Buffy took a step towards Ethan.
“Just what are you-“
“Brat, I know that you have better manners than that,”
Wilson admonished with a frown. “Apologize.”
Startled, Ethan looked at his old mentor and felt like
he was fifteen again. His face red, he muttered an
apology as he glared at a fist-ready Slayer and
expectant Ripper. ”Sorry that your mother's-“
“My mother is what?” Buffy said with a growl as she
stepped up to him.
“That your mother is-“Ethan caught the sight of Wesley
standing just behind Wilson, almost out of his line of
sight. He quickly changed his next words from 'sexual
deviant' to “-Ripper's lover.”
“Nicely done, Ethan. It would have been better without
the glare, but then even I know better than to make
you do it all over again,” Wilson drawled calmly.
Ethan glared at the older man, then smiled ruefully at
him. “At least for this decade, sir.”
*********
As he walked long the corridor to the Appointment
Office, Lucius Wilson sighed as he read his papers.
The information gathered on this new girl, Sharna, was
sketchy at best. Did the girl even speak the Queen's
English?
“You take that back, Rayne!” shouted a voice from a
classroom. “You take that back, you bloody little
ass-wipe!”
“Like hell I will!” the mocking voice of Ethan Rayne
shouted back. Lucius sighed. He had only seen the
newest and youngest member of the Watcher's Academy
once, and from what he saw, the boy was pure trouble.
“And if anyone's the ass-wipe, it's you! Everyone
knows that the only way you got into the academy was
because your ma let Travers his limp dick poke her.”
Lucius winced as he heard that. Rayne must be arguing
with the Fletcher boy, whose mother was indeed a past
lover of Travers.
“Hah! And my mother said that you're a bastard, Ethan
Rayne!” shouted the Fletcher boy. “Wouldn't have even
gotten in if it weren't for your father's blood! Son
of a whores don't get into-”
“My mother might have been a whore,” Ethan sneered,
”But at least she wasn't a slut! Heard she went down
on the whole Council to get you in!”
Lucius winced as he heard a howl of outrage and a
series of crashes inside the room. He supposed that as
an adult he should stop the argument. He ran into the
room and saw the two boys rolling around each other as
they tried to throw fists into the other's face. “This
is quite enough!”
“I said, THIS IS QUITE ENOUGH!” Lucius roared as he
broke the two boys apart. With some force, he
separated the two boys. He glared at the two of them.
“I don't care who started it, and I have heard quite
enough to know what the two of you are arguing about.
But that doesn't matter, the two of you are in this
academy now no matter how you got in. And the both of
you will get along or else I shall make your lives
very sorry. Is that understood?”
The boys both glared at the other as they muttered a
“Yes, sir.”
Lucius nodded with satisfaction. “Now the both of you,
apologize to each other for calling your mothers
names-“
“Not to that little bastard!” Fletcher shouted
furiously.
“Like hell I will!” Rayne shouted at the same time. “I
don't apologize!”
“You will both apologize,” Lucius said sternly as he
shook the two boys so hard their teeth rattled.
“Because you both are talking about circumstances that
neither of you know about and condemning the other for
the actions of your mothers. Apologize to each other,
then stay away from each other. Rayne, you may go
first.”
Lucius watched as young Rayne's face twisted with
consternation. The two of them held gazes, then Rayne
looked at Fletcher and said to him, through gritted
teeth, ”Sorry that your mother's a slut.”
Fletcher snarled back at him. “Sorry that your
mother's a whore.”
“Rayne. Fletcher.” Lucius sighed. “That was not an
appropriate apology.”
“That's the only apology this ass-wipe or anyone else
will be getting from me this decade,” Rayne said
flatly. “You'll have to beat the next one out from
me.”
************
“You haven't changed a bit,” Wilson drawled as he sat
back heavily on the couch. He sighed as his weary
bones rested. “Still as insolent as ever, brat.”
“Did you even expect me to change, sir?” Ethan said
with a shrug. “Are you-“
Wilson waved off Ethan's concern. “I'm fine, brat.
Just a bit tired. Shall we get on with this business
of the assassins?”
“Wow! That was sure a relief! I really needed a clean
bathroom,” Chloe said as she jumped down the last few
steps. She bounded towards Wesley. “You have no idea
how dirty and smelly the bathrooms on a freighter are.
I mean, men are such pigs and the smell-“
“That's enough, Chloe,” Wesley said as moved a strand
of hair from her forehead. “Did you-“
“Anything to eat? I'm starved,” Chloe continued as she
looked at Wesley. “I didn't have anything to eat, and
I used up all my money just this morning and I could
really use some food. Preferably something chocolate-“
“Buffy's mom should be here any minute. Buffy called
from the dorm and she was just about to leave when we
were,” Willow smiled as she drank a sip of her milk.
“She's got brownies.”
“Oh, cool. I like brownies,” Chloe gushed as she sat
at a stool located near the breakfast bar. “And you
got milk, too.”
Frowning, Giles looked at his watch. “You girls got
here over fifteen minutes ago. Where is she?”
“Can't wait to see her again, Ripper?” Ethan drawled
as he settled back. “I'm sure that she hasn't run into
any of Sunnydale's exciting nightlife. If she knows
about it.”
Ignoring him, Buffy rose to her feet. “You don't think
that the assassins will target Mom, do you? Wesley, I
thought that you said the assassins will only go after
those that interfere with their mission.”
“I did say that,” said Wesley as he ran his fingers
through his hair. “As far as I know, that's what
they've done. They are very single minded in that.
Your mother shouldn't be a target-“
Alarmed, Willow ran to hold her friends back. She
grabbed her Buffy's hand. “Your mother's going to be
fine, Buffy.”
Nodding at Willow, Buffy glared at Wesley as she took
a step towards him. “As far as you know? She shouldn't
be a target?“
Ethan stepped up to stand next to Wesley, hovering
protectively. “If Wesley doesn't think that you mother
isn't a target, then she isn't one.”
“I didn't exactly say that,” Wesley said slowly. He
stood his ground even though the Slayer looked like
she wanted to wring his neck. He looked at Giles, who
was also looking at his neck. “The assassin will only
go after those that interfere with their purpose, like
Buffy did, or those that help their target.”
“So this means that Joyce could be a target?” Giles
demanded as he glared at Wesley, his fists clenched.
“That she's in danger-“
“Hey! No picking on my Watcher!” Chloe said. She stood
in front of Wesley, her fists ready to fly. “If he
says she shouldn't be a target, then she shouldn't
be!”
Wilson quickly stood up and got directly in the middle
of the divided camps. “I don't think that-“
“And I'm not going to gamble with my mother's life on
a shouldn't be!” Buffy said as she glared at Wesley.
Ethan was about to retort something when there was a
sharp rap.
“What was that?” Willow said as she looked around her.
The rap was heard again. It was coming from a window
beside the fireplace. She saw a shadowy figure.
“There's someone at the window!”
Alarmed, everyone started to look for something that
was a handy. Wesley ordered, “Stand back! It could be
an assassin-“
Buffy shook her head as she approached the window
cautiously, poking at a drape. “Not unless the
assassins knock on windows-Mom!”
As Buffy quickly opened the windows wide to let her
climb through, Giles ran forward to help her over the
ledge. “Joyce! What are you doing at the window?”
“Trying to avoid being followed,” Joyce winced as
Rupert practically pulled her into the apartment by
her waist. She sighed as he gathered her into his
arms, holding her tight as she trembled. “Darling, I
can't breathe-“
“Sorry,” Giles said as he let her go, but not
completely. He frowned as he got a good look at her.
“My God! Joyce, what-“
Joyce barely got her balance when Rupert let her go.
Then her arms were suddenly filled with her daughter.
Joyce winced again when Buffy applied pressure on
several particularly sore spots on her body. “Ow.
Buffy-“
“Sorry, Mom,” Buffy said sheepishly. Then she looked
at her mother and demanded, “Mom! You look a mess!
What happened?”
“I really don't look that bad,” Joyce hesitated as she
looked down at herself to get an idea of what she
looked like. Her whole body ached. She had mud on her
shoes, her skirt was messy, and her short sleeve knit
top had several holes. She didn't even want to know
where her sweater was. “Really.”
“No, you don't,” Ethan drawled. “A Chaos demon just
looks better than you do.”
Ignoring him, Giles lifted Joyce's face up. “Never
mind that, what happened? You have cuts and bruises
all on your face-“
“Oh, so that's why it hurts,” Joyce said, trying to
delay the questioning. “Did-“
“Mom, what happened?” Buffy demanded, her voice rising
in panic. “There's cuts all over you! You said
something about avoiding being followed.”
“Well, yes. There was a car following me while on my
way here,” Joyce said as looked at her daughter. “But
it's not any more, and I think that you, Rupert and
Wesley and whoever else is involved in this should-“
“Joyce, what happened?” Rupert asked as he made her
look at him. He held her tighter as tears filled her
eyes.
“I think I killed him,” Joyce sobbed as she held on to
Rupert. “He was following me so I led him to Maguire's
Grocery and had Tom distract him while I slashed tires
and-and I think I killed him!”
“Because you slashed his tires?” Ethan asked confused.
Tears still running down her face, Joyce shook her
head. “No, because when he-when he tried to open my
car door, it exploded!”
Giles's and Buffy's eyes met over the sobbing form of
her mother, then they both looked at pale Wesley.
Buffy bit out, “They shouldn't be after her, huh?”
************
A figure emerged from the shadows as he watched the
car and the body next to it burn. Another figure
joined him as sirens were heard in the distance. “This
was not a part of the Elders' plan, brother. The man
was to be taken alive for questioning and
retribution.”
The man's purple eyes glittered as he looked at his
companion. “He was a Watcher, intending to harm the
woman. You saw his intent through the fire as well as
I did. He would have harmed the woman to find the
Slayer.”
“The Elders are the ones to judge if he was to be
Passed,” the companion insisted. “Not you, Adam
Achala.”
“They also said that the Mother was not to be harmed
unless she interferes with the mission,” Adam Achala
answered back. “She has not interfered, yet she was
threatened. Dhara will not look favorably upon us if
we allow her to be harmed, brother. Did you follow
her? Did she go to her lover's house?”
“Yes,” the figure answered. “And from what could be
seen, she was not alone with him. Her child was there,
as well as several others.”
“Good,” Adam Achala said as he turned to his
companion. “Let us go now and see if this Watcher for
the Slayer should be Passed.”
***
“Explosives?” Wesley said blankly. That was a new one
on him. “The assassins generally prefer direct
hand-to-hand combat. A car bomb is more the style of
- well, the Council.” He shook his head ruefully.
“Which would be an excellent lead,” Giles replied
sharply, “if it still *existed*.”
“Hey!” Chloe marched over to Giles and glared
ferociously up at him. “What's your problem?
Wesley's not the one who put the stupid bomb there and
your girlfriend is *fine* so lay off!”
“Listen, you little -” Buffy began furiously, but
Joyce spoke sternly. “Buffy!”
She looked up from Rupert's embrace and gave her
daughter a Look. “I'm afraid I don't quite understand
why everyone is upset with Wesley.”
“*Thank* you!” Chloe exclaimed.
“This isn't right,” Lucius Wilson said abruptly. He
hadn't said a word since Joyce's unconventional
entrance. What she had said and what he knew of the
Bhavika clashed violently, and upon thinking it over,
he knew why.
“The Bhavika,” he began, “which is the race of
assassins, believe that the Slayer is blessed by
Dhara, their deity. They also believe firmly in the
sanctity of the mother-child connection. To harm the
mother of the Slayer in any way would bring Dhara's
wrath upon them. As would harming the Slayer
herself,” he added.
“That's right,” Ethan murmured. Joyce's story hadn't
sounded quite right to him, either. “They would never
dream of killing either of you.”
“But bringing down the entire Network is okay,” Buffy
remarked. “Neat philosophy.”
“There was a Bhavikan Slayer once.” Ethan's voice was
uncharacteristically quiet, with an odd mixture of
tenderness and rage. “The Council killed her because
she wasn't human.”
“I was her Watcher,” Wilson picked up, his tone low as
well. “I lost my arm trying to save her that night.”
“It's a wonder they didn't just kill you,” Ethan
said. Killing Wilson for interfering, or even for
just knowing what had happened, would not have been
below the Council.
“It wasn't for lack of trying,” Wilson replied
sardonically.
“Of course,” Wesley realized, thinking aloud as a
memory