Disclaimer: 3 original characters are mine. All others are owned by Joss Whedon, damn him.
Spoiler: One tiny reference to season six "Afterlife".
Notes: Written in the hiatus between S5 & S6. AU regarding S6.

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TO LIVE OR DIE 

By Thinny

 
 
 

Moon is up
The sun is down
You can’t have it both ways round
Ooh babe, won’t you listen to me
We are worlds apart, you see
 (Jagger/Richards)
   

Chapter One

Albatross

 
 

Early November.

When travelling in public transport and sitting in a comfortable chair, it is possible to enter a peculiar state of rest that can never be achieved in a familiar bed. The eyelids become so heavy that the eyes roll up in their sockets when one tries to keep them open. The bones turn to jelly, the ears become acutely sensitive, and the heart leaps and beats hard at the slightest noise.

High above the Atlantic, Rupert Giles had entered this state some time ago and the voices of the other passengers played havoc with his rest, turning his dreams into a nonsensical, half-aware kaleidoscope that made him shift restlessly. With his head lolling and his legs stretched comfortably before him, he slumbered in first-class and dreamed of cool grass and wine-glasses and sunbathing vampires.

*

The pilot’s voice jerked him awake and he stretched, peering through the tiny window to see late morning sunlight spearing through clouds onto patchwork land far below. Heathrow was not far away. Feeling tired and a little sad, he sighed and set about tidying himself up.

*

They were waiting for him as he came out of passport control and he spotted them immediately...two men and a woman in sharp neat suits: Watchers, patiently awaiting the arrival of their brother.

As he answered their cliched questions with cliches of his own, Rupert found that he was studying them as if he’d never seen their like before. They were so painfully polite and well-mannered that he felt an urge to express some of the phrases he’d heard countless times in the past few years. He wanted to say ‘you bet’ instead of ‘yes’. He wanted to say ‘bite me’, but he was too tired to bother.

Perhaps he was jaded. He had good reason to be.

With minimum fuss the men took his luggage, and the woman politely indicated with a genteel wave of a manicured hand that they should proceed this way, please.

When they reached the car, the driver dropped the keys into an oily puddle. "Bugger," he muttered quietly.

Hearing this small curse, Rupert relaxed a little. Perhaps he should just give everybody a chance. Perhaps living at Council Headquarters for a few weeks wouldn’t be so bad after all. Perhaps, he thought, he might even make it through without having to kill anyone.

The car was a white limousine with dark windows and a bar. Rupert accepted a scotch, and the small talk continued until he fell asleep again. The one-hour journey to Brockworth continued then in silence.

*

Rupert’s arrival at Headquarters was low-key, to his relief. He stood in the enormous oak-panelled entrance hall and looked around, hoping to feel as if he`d come home. But he felt nothing. He was disappointed. He`d spent a good portion of his life in this building, and had left here nervous and excited...and not a little worried...going off at a time of prophesies to meet with his Slayer at the mouth of hell. Now he felt as if he`d only ever seen this place in a dream. All that driving enthusiasm - had the Hellmouth burnt it all away? He had never before felt so dull.

At least it wasn`t raining.

The men took his luggage up to his room and the woman asked him if he needed anything. Irrationally, he was tempted suddenly to to tell her to go to hell and write a report about it. All he wanted was food and time to himself.

"I`ll just give Michael a quick ring," the woman said, referring to a man Rupert had come to know very well during his years at Headquarters. "He wanted to see you when you arrived." She smiled, seeing the look on his face. "Just a quick hello, nothing deep, then we`ll leave you to it. He`s in his room upstairs, he won`t be long. Come into the lounge and sit. I can make a start hanging up your things if you like?"

"No. No, that`s all right. I’ll do it tomorrow. Thank you."

"Oh," she turned at the door. "About Michael. Try not to be too surprised when you see him? He’s not well."

Rupert sat down and realised that not one name had been exchanged during the journey from the airport. Feeling numb, he let his head rest against the back of the chair.

When Michael Greco entered the lounge it took Rupert a moment to recognise him. Michael had appeared fit and well when Rupert had seen him last, yet here was a grey scarecrow with a cane and a careful walk. Michael was sixty-seven and looked ninety. The man seemed full of death.

Rupert’s mouth fell open and the words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Good god, Mike, what’s happened to you?"

Quentin Travers’ second in command chuckled ruefully and waved the question away. "That’s for later, Rupert, I’ll not depress you with my troubles today. I’ll just give you the welcome back speech and let you go." He thumped Rupert on the arm and looked into his face with weary eyes. "Can`t let the return of my old friend go unrecognised. How was the flight and all that rubbish?"

Rupert pulled himself together. "Thank you for first class on the plane. I`ve always known I had a taste for luxury living."

"Ha! Yes, well. I told Quentin some time ago that he’ll have to do a fair bit of grovelling if he wants to keep you. He agreed. By the way, Liz says you’re hungry? Shall I kick the cook and make him send you up a tray?"

"Please."

Michael smiled at him. "It’s good to have you back, Rupert. We’ve plans for you, you know."

"I’m not sure I like the sound of that. I wish I could say it’s good to be back."

"Give it time." Michael held out his hand. "I’ll let you go now. Visit me when you’re settled."

Rupert shook hands with his old friend and went up to his room.

*

He slept deeply and awoke very early the next morning with a foul taste in his mouth and a searing headache. He remembered where he was and groaned, rolling over to switch on the bedside lamp. Last night he`d done nothing more than eat and fall into bed and now he sighed as he looked at his luggage piled neatly by the door.

Sitting up, he glanced around the unfamiliar room and found himself thinking fondly of the home that was no longer his back in Sunnydale. He was homesick already.

He found his watch on the floor and counted back from five thirty-seven. They were probably just going to bed. Or more likely, they were still at the Bronze having their last drinks and one more dance. He wondered what had happened on patrol and felt his gut turn over. God, how he wanted to be back there! For a few minutes he sat with his eyes closed, imagining himself getting up and out of there, getting on a plane and just going. Moving into Buffy`s spare bedroom, getting back into the magic shop with Anya. A small smile touched his lips.

His stomach growled. Shaking himself, he grabbed the telephone and called the kitchen, ordering a huge cooked breakfast to be sent up to him. That was one of the advantages of staying at Council property - eat and drink whenever you choose and no worries about cost because there wasn`t any: the Council of Watchers was so wealthy it was frightening.

Sitting morosely on the edge of his bed, he thought about his plans to get out and find himself a house as soon as possible. He would start now, right now. Remembering that someone was always available night or day in the office downstairs he dialed there next and asked the clerk to arrange for property details to be sent to him.

"What kind of property? Um…" God, he couldn’t think. All he knew was that the price wouldn’t concern him. During his last telephone conversation with Quentin, Rupert had been told not to worry; the house would be his but Council money would buy it. He knew now that he was being sweetened and it amused him. "I want something in a nice village around this area," he said. "Quiet. Detatched. I’ve no idea what that would cost - "

"Decent house in a nice village? Then I think we’re talking up to half a million," said the night clerk. "Or much more. It depends where and how big."

"What? I don`t want a bloody mansion!"

"Villages are exclusive. Prices have gone up in the last few years."

"You`re telling me. Good god. I’ll have to clear this with Travers."

"Mr. Travers has already told us that whatever you want you get, Mr. Giles. We’ll take care of it. Was there anything more?"

They were lounging on colourful rugs on the lawn in his beautiful garden, laughing and chatting and drinking from crystal glasses that glittered in the warm sunlight. Olivia was smiling. A blackbird flew across to the bronze sundial and settled on the unicorn gnomon. A small breeze made the roses tremble.

"Mr. Giles?"

Willow reached across a prone Xander and handed Buffy a plate holding a thick slice of cake. Spike leaned back on his elbows and raised his face to the sun, jigging one bare foot to a beat only he could hear and talking lazily with Tara and Dawn.

"Mr. Giles, sir?"

Anya poured cream over glistening strawberries - Rupert blinked. "I need at least, ah, five double bedrooms and a good-sized garden."

"Certainly."

"That’s all, I think."

"Very good. Good bye, sir."

Oh god, it was all so mundane. Rupert looked again at his luggage and felt his headache return. Quentin would be arriving this afternoon and would need to talk but for now Rupert didn`t want to think of anything except aspirin. He upturned his hold-all and emptied it onto the floor, searching for pills and toothbrush.

Suddenly he stopped and addressed the carpet. "Spike? What the bloody hell was he doing in my fantasy?"

*

After breakfast Rupert took advantage of the clear weather and re-acquainted himself with the enormous old building and its grounds. Armed with a couple of apples he made a slow circuit of the exterior, looking at the architecture and remembering this oddly unsettling stained-glass window or that particular flight of slippery stone steps leading down to a mouldy door that was always locked.

It had rained during the night and the grass was wet. He wandered out onto the close-cut lawn and watched the toes of his shoes darken. When he looked back at the house he realised with surprise that he had forgotten all about the gargoyles. They were placed at regular intervals around the edge of the roof and scattered randomly between the chimneys and he knew why they were there: their reputation for scaring away evil spirits wasn’t simply a myth. His old favourite lived on this side, an ugly little monstrosity of a thing that clung upside-down to the wall like a vile lizard, leering out at the distant hills. He spotted it and gave it a friendly nod.

The lawn ran down a gentle slope to thick woods. There the land fell away into a narrow tree-covered valley and Rupert knew that deep down in those woods, where it was always gloomy and damp moss grew  everywhere, there was a stone circle beside a stream. There was an ancient pathway, used so often in the unknown past that it was now a permanent depression in the ground. Leading from the stone circle, this path wound through the trees along the valley floor, vanishing in places until it reached a slippery rocky area where stood the most unpleasantly curious statue Rupert had ever seen. No-one knew what it depicted; time had reduced it to a puzzle. It had been enormous once and had stood there for a very long time. Rupert couldn’t explain why but he had always been convinced that it was a statue of a demon.

He left the lawn and settled himself on a stone bench. Eating his second apple, he looked over the trees to the hills beyond and let himself drift into the past.

He didn’t have many pleasant memories of the time he’d spent with the Council before leaving for California to meet Buffy. He realised that the best years of his life had happened in Sunnydale and when he considered what those times had been like he knew he was overdue a good life.

Shaking himself, he looked down at the apple cores in his hand and decided to visit the horses.

*

After lunch Rupert telephoned Olivia. He’d told her a few weeks ago that he was returning and now he was looking forward to seeing her. Their conversation was short but warm and he asked about visiting her soon. Strangely, she was anxious to visit him instead.

"I’d really like to come to you actually, Rupert."

"Would you? Oh, well, I-I don’t know when I’ll have a roof for you to sleep under. I haven’t seen any house details yet."

"If you haven’t found a place by the time I come down couldn’t I stay at Headquarters? Would they mind?"

"Well, you know all about the Council, so it’ll hardly compromise their security - and I have an enormous bed. Yes, all right. When?"

"The next few weeks are sewn up. How does Christmas and New Year sound? Around the twenty-first of December?"

"It’s later than I was hoping for but yes, that would be nice."

"I’ll be there on the twenty-first, then."

Rupert gave her directions and they said their goodbyes. Almost immediately the phone rang. Quentin had arrived.

*

"Before you get to anything you want to say, Quentin," said Rupert pointedly. "You`re going to tell me one thing."

They were in Quentin`s office, a pleasantly old-fashioned cosy affair with deep leather armchairs and book-filled mahogany shelves around the walls.

"Why did you give us all that nonsense when you knew we were up against a Hell-God? That group you had with you were so far up themselves they were practically doing backbends."

Quentin sighed. "Because we thought we couldn`t help you with her. We know now that we could have done quite a lot to help keep the Key safe but we didn’t know of her existence at the time, did we Rupert?"

Rupert frowned and opened his mouth but Quentin held up a hand. "Hear me out. I understand why you didn’t mention her. I simply want you to know the shape of our thinking at the time. As far as we knew we couldn`t help. There was no research we could do, no spells we could give and you already had some talented friends to help you. The two witches alone were worth any twenty people we could have given you. Of course, you could have lost the battle anyway, but that’s beside the point. What mattered was that everyone needed to be doing their utmost. We knew you’d do whatever you could, whatever was necessary, but Buffy -"

"Oh my god," Rupert let his head fall against the back of the chair. "Oh my god. It was a test, wasn’t it - but not the one we thought it was. You were pushing to see how she`d take control. If she`d take control."

Quentin nodded. "When we arrived she wasn’t in control. When we left she was, and looking stronger for it. She did it quite beautifully, too. I was impressed. Our work was done." He chuckled. "I’d told the others to be as pushy as they could. Nigel didn`t have to try very hard. A very supercilious man, that one, needs taking down a peg or two.

"We had to push her, Rupert. We were very nervous. We weren’t sure what Glory’s intentions were but we felt - our psychics somehow knew  - that if Buffy didn’t step up and fully utilise her power we’d all be lost without a whimper. All of us. Everything. When we discovered what you were up against we were shocked but we knew that of all the people it could have happened to, you and Buffy stood the best chance of winning." He took a sip of his wine and glanced at Rupert. "And her friends, of course."

Rupert looked away into the past and winced as he recalled how that adventure had ended. He sighed. "Yes, you tested them too, didn’t you? They were a great help. Friends fit for a Slayer. They`ve paid a lot for that friendship."

Quentin pursed his lips. "And Spike?"

Rupert hesitated, remembered Dawn shouting, forcing a devastated vampire to eat. "He paid too."

"I’m going to need more on that one, Rupert. The call you made here after Buffy died was garbled enough and I know you were distraught at the time - but it gave me the willies, I can tell you."

"You`ll get more, don`t worry. He`s still a puzzle to me. I - I`m still trying to work it out." Rupert shook his head. "Don`t know if I ever will."

Quentin drained his glass."He`s a puzzle to all of us. You won`t believe the ripples this is causing. There are some who are all for simply going over there and killing him, chip or not. They seem  highly offended by the thought of an unsouled vampire in love with the Slayer and I`ve had a bit of trouble holding them back."

Rupert looked puzzled. "What do you mean you had trouble holding them - you don’t want them to kill a - "

"You and your Slayer have taught me caution, Rupert." Quentin frowned. "Plus, I have had a recent wake-up call. Nothing is black and white anymore. But until I know what`s what concerning him I really have nothing concrete to say to the lynch-mob. They are very passionate about this."

Suddenly furious, Rupert spoke through thin lips. "Tell them this, then. For the sake of the Slayer’s family Spike withstood a torture session that would have had any one of those bastards singing like birds."

Quentin’s eyebrows shot up. "I will," he said, surprised at Rupert’s venom. He looked at him for a moment, then slapped his knees and stood up. "Well, this is really just a courtesy call. Check your ears, look at your teeth, tell you what we need. I needn’t say I want a report from you? Well, I need Spike`s story yesterday. As for the rest of it, there’s no particular rush. I`m sure overall it will be a large report?"

Rupert laughed grimly. "Think Encyclopaedia Britannica."

"Well, take your time. I have to shoot back to London but I`ll be popping in often. Give me a call when you have some of it written up."

Rupert stood up and they shook hands. "Goodbye, Quentin."

At the door Quentin hesitated. "Buffy - "

Rupert looked at him sharply.

"How is she?" asked Quentin.

It was a loaded question and Rupert thought carefully. "She`s - still Buffy. She`s sad to be back when she`d thought it was all over but she`s also glad because she has Dawn and the rest of them again. She’s still the Slayer. She`s Buffy. That`s all I need to know."

Quentin nodded. "Strange business. And you, Rupert. Why have you come back? You told me you were coming but you never explained why."

That one was sadly easy. "She doesn`t need me any more."

*

Willow: "I miss Giles."

Buffy: "Yeah. It`s like my father’s gone away all over again. Not need him? How can I not need him? I don’t get it. It`s hard."

Willow: "Poor Buffy. He said he`ll visit us, though. That`s good, isn`t it? That`s a happy thing?"

Buffy: "Yeah. Then when he goes back I’ll miss him all over again."

Willow: "It`ll get better. It has to. Do you think he`s happy?"

Buffy: " I don`t know." Pause. "You know, looking back, it`s like he never really found his - found himself. Found the thing that he was."

Willow: "What do you mean?"

Buffy: "It was never…I mean, he could be so much more than a Watcher. It`s obvious now. Watching never really fitted him. Or, it fitted him at first but after a while it didn’t. He was damned good, I`ll grant that. I`d have been dead a lot sooner if he wasn`t. He`s just….I dunno. I don’t know what he’s gonna be. He`s more than a Watcher."

Willow: "The way you`re more than a Slayer now? Slayer plus?"

Buffy: "I think we`ve both outgrown our original roles. Watchers always seem to be on the outside, you know? They’re not - they’re not part of the magic. I mean, it is magic isn’t it, this thing I am? It’s sure as shit not natural. But Watchers seem to be just regular people who get, ah, recruited. Or they follow mum and dad’s footsteps. I think Giles is going to end up on the inside, somehow. He’s gonna be somewhere in the middle of it all, connected. Maybe in charge in some way."

Willow: "In charge? He was in charge in the Magic Box but that’s not what you mean, is it?"

Buffy: "Yeah, the shop. His training-room. No, he needs a bigger one now."

Willow: "The Council?"

Pause.

Buffy: "That would be funny."

 

Chapter Two

Anchorage

 

 

"What? Oh, it’s cancer."

Michael Greco spoke casually. A week had passed since Rupert’s arrival and November was blowing and raining in the gardens. Michael was in Rupert’s room, enjoying the large fire burning in the hearth. He picked up the poker and turned over a log. Rupert was pacing, not sure how to cope with the calm words he’d just heard.

"Oh, bloody hell, Mike."

"Now, don’t be like that. Something like this gets most of us in the end, unless we go down suddenly in the street. Now, that’s unlucky."

"Unlucky?" Rupert felt off-balance.

"You don’t get the chance to plan."

"Bugger that. Let me go in my sleep."

"It’s not so bad, you know. The drugs are really nice and you should take a peek at my nurse. You’ll go blind."

Rupert gaped at him. "You can’t be trying to tell me It’s Okay Really?"

"No, of course not. But it’s not as bad as I thought it would be." Michael shrugged. "Of course, the next few months will be worse, and I may change my mind." He looked at Rupert’s face and laughed. "But at the moment I’m all right. Truly. Sit down, man. Drink your tea."

"How long do you have?"

"Year. Or less."

Rupert dropped into a chair and picked up his cup. "Well, I’d be in a rage."

"Against the dying of the light? God, what’s the point? Might as well rage against the sun rising. Give in. Go gentle. Spend your energies on something else."

"Honestly Mike, I don’t know whether to give you sympathy or jokes."

"Do neither and just accept it. It’s quite simple. Right now is when we live and right now is when we die and when you get to the end it doesn’t matter a damn how many years have passed. Everything happens in the Now."

"Yes, I realised that years ago. It was an unpleasant thought then and it still is. I know it’s true, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. It makes it all seem so pointless."

Michael nodded. "I happen to like the inevitability of it all. It means I can just go limp and let happen anything that wants to happen. I’m tired of fighting, done it my whole life. I’m glad to just relax and let it go."

"Well." Rupert felt a dull sadness settle down deep inside him. "I’m going to miss you, you old sod."

"Positively splendid of you to say so, old boy. Now tell me, have you written anything about the famous Spike that I can take an early peek at? When Quentin gets his hot, sweaty hands on anything it’s weeks before I get a look in."

Relieved at the subject change, Rupert turned to the papers on his desk but was interrupted by the telephone ringing. Suddenly irritated, he snatched up the receiver. "Giles," he said curtly, and proceeded to listen in wonder to the plummiest voice he had ever heard:

"Mr. Giles, sir. Clerk’s office calling. Good day. You will be pleased to know that I have received several replies to your enquiries and I have discarded those that are obviously not to your specifications."

Rupert had no idea what the man was talking about.

The clerk sighed dramatically. "Really, one takes the time to tell these fellows what one requires, and what do they do? They ignore one and send everything. Most vexing. Happily, however, I am left with the details of eight pleasing properties here on my desk that I believe you may find satisfactory. Do you wish me to dispatch them to your room? The porter fellow is available."

Unable to believe the pomposity he was hearing, Rupert’s mouth hung open. Then the devil took him and he channelled Ripper. "Shit, yeah. Send those bastards up." In the corner of his eye he saw Michael’s shoulders begin to shake.

Down in the office, the clerk didn’t bat an eyelid. "At once, sir."

"What’s your name?"

"Crispin Farnsworthy, sir."

Rupert swallowed a laugh. "Well, thanks."

"Good day to you, sir."

Rupert held the receiver up and stared at it.

"Going by what you said," said Michael, still chuckling, "I imagine that was Crispy."

Rupert laughed and mimicked, "Ay hev received replays to your h’enquairies," He laughed again, feeling grateful to Crispy for the light relief, feeling his day brighten up. "Wh’one takes the tayme...good god, I thought they’d all gone the way of the Dodo. I’ve never heard so many dropped h’aiches."

Michael laughed. "Yes. We do seem to attract some h’insufferable snobs. Crispin, h’unfortunately, is one of the worst we’ve ever known, h’and that’s saying something."

They were still laughing when Rupert’s package arrived.

*

Two weeks later Rupert knew he had found his house.

The day was cold, bright and clear; the type of weather that usually lifted Rupert’s spirits, but today he could hardly be bothered. Having seen six previous properties he was fed up with the whole business and more than a little depressed.

He’d spoken to Buffy the previous evening and had listened with a heavy heart to her brief account of the doings of the Scooby Gang. Nothing much had happened: vampires dusted, a couple of rampaging demons taken down, the usual. Dawn was doing okay and had a boyfriend who was being terrorised by an certain overly protective vampire: Spike was still basically Spike, except -

"He’s got this whole territorial thing going on around Dawn. Any day now he’s gonna start leaving his spoor in the garden."

Willow and Tara were fine. Xander and Anya were fine. The Hellmouth was quiet. Boresville, and how was his house-hunting going?

Oh, how Rupert wanted to be back in Boresville. He’d gone to bed in a foul temper and lain awake until well past three a.m.

His head felt fuzzy and his eyes were hot and gritty as he drove up the drive leading to Little Eden; highly sought after des.res., rare opportunity; six dbl beds; blah, blah; one acre; blahdyblah. He scoffed at the pleasant garden areas on either side of the drive. He twisted his mouth contemptuously at the black-beamed old house with gabled windows and large oak front door.

The agent came out to meet him and he forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Her heels echoing, she led him through the empty house and pointed out the splendid original features, but he followed her like a zombie, aggressively disinterested in everything.

She brought to his attention the lovely view, and for the sake of looking as though he cared, he glanced through an upstairs window as he walked past. Yes,  there was indeed a view from up here. Yes, the rear garden was nice and big, just like the other six he’d seen. Pah. Suddenly he stopped and looked down into the garden again.

After a minute the agent touched his arm, making him jump. Having shown him the house, she told him she’d wait outside if he wanted to walk around again on his own, and Rupert found he was suddenly interested and did indeed want another look. He wandered slowly around, feeling a strong sense of deja vous.

When he entered the living room he went to the french windows that opened onto the rear garden and stood there for some time looking out at a sundial set on a pedestal in the middle of the lawn. It seemed to have a horse-shaped gnomon.

Ten minutes later Rupert shook hands with the agent, telling her he’d think about it. He walked to his car, a little frown creasing his forehead. Slowly, he took out his keys and unlocked the driver’s door, then his eyes widened and he straightened up, his mouth hanging open. Olivia was smiling. A blackbird settled on the long horn of the unicorn gnomon on the sundial. After a moment of complete stillness, he said: "Good lord."

*

"Clerk’s office. Crispin speaking."

"This is Giles - what? Oh - yes, hello. I’m calling to lett you know I’ve chosen a house. Pardon? Well, as I was about to say - it’s the one in Mitching called Little Eden. You will? Thank you."

*

"Mr. Giles? I need your signature for the deeds to Little Eden. Could you visit the office sometime today?"

"What? It’s only been four days!"

"Well, it was an executor’s sale, no chain involved. We just threw money at them. Plus, our solicitors are evil."

"Yes, they must be. Well, wonderful it’s all gone through. Where’s day clerk Crispy?"

"He’s on holiday. I’m covering for him."

"Oh. I’ll miss him."

"Won’t we all."

"I’ll be down in a minute."

*

Dear Willow.

Hello! Giles here. Yes, I now have a computer. Yes, I know how to use it although it is a machine forged in the fires of hell. It’s a Good Thing you gave me your e-mail address before I left, wasn’t it?

How are you all? Everything still quiet? Everyone all right? Write back and let me know. This e-mail thing is quite exciting.

I now have a house. It’s very nice and has a lovely garden - or it will be lovely come summer. I’m buying furniture when I’m not writing that bloody report. Tell Buffy that to write about her needs a lot of words. Thank god I kept regular diaries. Everyone is fascinated with it, you’re all stars you know.

Olivia will be coming to spend Christmas and new year with me, which will be nice. Hopefully I’ll have most of the house ready when she gets here - when you employ the Watcher’s Council to arrange things for you it all gets done *very quickly*. There are three carpenters and five decorators over there beavering away as I type. I think they’re scared. It will all look very nice when it’s finished. I plan to have a gargoyle on the roof.

You’ll be pleased to know they’re still bribing me. I’m on quite a collossal salary and all I’m doing is writing a report and spending their money. Quentin seems quite anxious to keep me happy, don’t really know why. However, make the most of it, next on the list is a new car. LOL.

Anyway, love to everyone. Reply soon! Miss you all very, very much.

Giles.

*

"LOL!" shouted Buffy. "He wrote LOL!"

"Next he’ll be giving us OMG and IMO," said Willow.

Buffy looked scared. "God, I hope not. I couldn’t stand it. He sounds like chirpy Giles, doesn’t he?" She handed the e-mail to Xander.

"I can’t believe he has a computer," said Anya. "Voluntarily, I mean."

"And he lets it come indoors too," Buffy shook her head. "Scary."

"He sounds very busy. He must be loving it." Willow turned to her computer. "We have to write back. Now. He wants to know everything."

"What everything?" said Spike, reading the message over Xander’s shoulder. "There’s been bugger all happening around here since he left."

"I killed those vampires tonight," said Buffy, and then she sighed. "Right. Nothing happening."

"Well, you might get lucky on patrol tomorrow," said Xander. "And who let the corpse in?" He shrugged a shoulder irritably. "Stop breathing down my neck."

"I came with Dawn. And I don’t breath, friend. It’s great. You should try it."

"Go away."

"I don’t think so."

"We could tell him what we did today," said Tara, heading off another argument.

They thought about that.

"I gave myself a facial," said Anya brightly. "Oh, then I did a stock check - he’ll want to know that."

"I killed the evil laundry," said Buffy. "I used creepy water and a cursed machine"

Spike shrugged. "I slept."

"Like he wants to know about you," said Xander. "I bought some new tools."

"Yeah. Great. Tell him that. He’ll get all excited."

"Will you two shut up a moment?" said Willow. "I’ll just start typing and see what happens." She poised her fingers over the keyboard. "Um..."

Buffy nudged her. "Putting "Hello Giles" right at the top might be a good idea."

"Oh! Right. Okay, what else?"

"Tell him we miss him," said Dawn.

"Okay. ‘Cos we do." Willow typed a few lines. "Come on, people. I need more. Think."

"Put..." Spike paused and ticked off on his fingers. "Put ROTFLMFAO and wait for him to ask what it means."

"You’re evil, Spike," said Willow, her fingers tapping on the keys.

"Well, yeah."

*

Dear Willow.

Just a quick note to say -

Don’t think I don’t know what it means.

Lots of love,

Giles.

 

Chapter Three

Olivia

 

 

21 December.

Rupert sat in his car outside Mitching’s tiny station and listened to the rain drumming on on the roof. Typically dreadful December weather. He watched the water run down the windscreen as he waited for Olivia’s train to arrive.

The last time he had seen her she’d been saying goodbye and hurrying for the cab, eager to get away from Sunnydale and it’s frightful habits. He’d entertained such high hopes for a happy few days with her, and The Gentlemen had ruined it all with their thievery. They’d stolen her voice and her peace; taken away her comfortable belief in the natural order of how things must be and left her spinning helplessly in the uncaring light of how things really are.

Although Rupert had talked to her in the past about the supernatural and the paranormal, she’d not believed him. Sunnydale had given her an uncomfortable awakening. She’d not been prepared for his peculiar lifestyle; for the things that he, by default, spent his time fighting. They’d talked about it later, and he had told her everything: Buffy, the Watcher’s Council, himself; he’d held nothing back. This time, of course, Olivia had believed him; after the things she had seen she would have been a fool not to. Then she’d kissed him and told him she loved him...and promised never to come to Sunnydale again.

Rupert was determined that this time she would not be upset or dismayed in any way. She would not even feel a draught. His house was ready, in truly record time, and he’d spent the last two days putting barrier spells around it. The gargoyle by the chimney had a wide mouth so stuffed with protective charms that he’d had to cement them in place to prevent them falling out. Nothing. Was going. To go wrong. This time.

Taking him by surprise, Olivia appeared at the top of the station steps struggling with a large suitcase. Hunched against the rain with a broken umbrella flapping uselessly from her hand, she stopped and looked around for his car.

Rupert swore. He hadn’t even noticed the train pulling in and he’d wanted to meet her on the platform. Hurriedly, he got out of the car and met her at the bottom of the steps. The rain pelted them as he pulled her into a hug, and she laughed. "You’ll get soaked!"

"Never mind!" He kissed her hard. "God, it’s good to see you!"

They ran for the car.

*

Rupert woke early and saw rain hitting the leaded glass of his bedroom window. He turned over carefully and watched Olivia sleeping. Her hair was spread on the pillow and he saw how it shone even in the dull light of the cloudy morning. She seemed smaller, somehow. She’d lost weight since he’d seen her last, he could see it in her face.

He lay propped up on one elbow, remembering the previous evening with a smile. He’d shown her around his lovely house and she had adored it, laughing loudly when he told her how the Council had paid for everything. She’d gaped at his over-the-top Christmas decorations and the enormous tree ablaze with lights in the lounge. They’d talked for a long time after dinner and eventually he’d lead her upstairs to make love in his enormous bed. Afterwards, she’d held onto him tightly and he’d fallen into the best sleep he’d had in a long time.

A sudden darkening of the room made him look at the window again. Blacker clouds had come up and he heard a rumble of thunder. Olivia stirred and opened her eyes.

"Breakfast," Rupert stated.

Olivia stretched. "Make it a big one and I might decide to stay."

"Eggs, tomatos, sausage - "

"Stop. Go now. Feed your guest."

Rupert grinned and left the bed. "I have to buy some things from town sometime today, if this bloody rain lets up." He headed for the en-suite bathroom.

"Rupert Giles, afraid of rain?"

"Well, I thought we could have lunch. There’s a nice little restaurant I’ve found."

"Okay. As long as we don’t have to walk far - I’m not as fit as I used to be." Olivia joined him in the bathroom.

"You seemed fit enough last night."

"I was lying down and you did most of the work."

Rupert grinned. "It’s just to the supermarket. You know, last minute bits. And I want to get something for you." Olivia cocked an eyebrow at him and he added defensively: "I have a present for you already. I just want to get something additional. Anything you want?"

"I’ll have to think."

"How about perfume? Do you still wear your old favourite?"

"Yes, I’ve run out. Good idea - I’ll wear it Christmas night, remind you of all the times we’ve been together."

"Right then. A large bottle of, um, Chanel - "

"No."

"Yves St. - "

"If you think I’m going to make this easy for you, think again."

*

On the twenty-third a large crate with USA markings arrived at Rupert’s door. Written in thick black letters on all four sides: GILES! DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 25th!!

"Must be from Buffy," said Rupert delightedly as he signed for it.

With some effort, the delivery man deposited it in the hallway. Rupert bent to lift it and staggered, surprised at the weight. He wrestled it into his lounge and stood back, staring at it. "Good grief. What on earth’s in there?"

Olivia looked it over. "They wouldn’t send you a demon, would they?"

"Well, Spike might." Uncertain now, Rupert walked around the crate and frowned. "Perhaps I should put a caging spell - "

"Rupert," Olivia said firmly. "It’s a Christmas crate from your friends in America. Put it under the tree and leave it alone."

"It won’t fit under the tree."

"Open it now, then."

"No. Willow’s probably put a spell on it. Give me blisters or something."

"Then do nothing and come over here. I need a cuddle."

*

The local pub was a splash of light on a dark tree-lined road off Mitching’s main street. Olivia and Rupert arrived there early on Christmas Eve and found the quaint old place quite quiet. The landlord’s two siamese cats sat regally beside the pumps on the bar and gave Rupert and Olivia a blue-eyed stare as they came in.

While Rupert ordered their drinks at the bar, Olivia sat at a table beside the huge sweet-smelling log fire and gave the pub dog a pat as it wandered past on it’s continuous quest for snacks. She looked around.

A woman sat down at a table on the other side of the fire and smiled at her, wishing her a happy Christmas. Olivia replied in kind and noticed that the woman had placed what looked to be a very old book on her table. The gold lettering on the dark spine was easy to read: "The Vampyre: to bind and control a natural creature."

When Rupert arrived with their drinks Olivia pointed at the book and smiled at him. "Just can’t get away from them, can you?"

Rupert looked at the book and his mouth fell open. "Good lord! No, it can’t be. It must be a fake."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, good heavens, that book is believed to be a myth. No-one’s ever seen it - no-one in the Council, at least. It’s supposed to be a translation of a much older book, reputedly containing a whole series of spells for the containment and control of vampires, but god - " he shook his head. "If it’s original it’s over four hundred years old and virtually one of a kind. No-one really believes it exists."

"Oh, it exists," said the woman with a smile. "I’m sorry, but it’s quiet in here - I didn’t mean to eavesdrop."

"No," said Rupert. "That’s all right. Would you mind if - could I take a look at that book?"

The woman obligingly brought the book to their table and Rupert carefully leafed through the pages.

"It looks genuine," said Olivia.

"Yes. It’s hard to fake old books convincingly." Rupert frowned as he looked closely at the red and black lettering. "It has been done though, in the past."

"Oh yes," said the woman. "But this one happens to be real." She looked at Rupert. "You’re interested in old books? Or just the supernatural?"

"Well, both really." Rupert reluctantly handed the book back to her. "That’s fascinating - so many spells. How did you come by it? That’s a book worth studying."

"Oh, they don’t work, you know."

"The spells?" Rupert looked closely at her.

"Yes. The writer was assuming the vampire is natural, connected to the world. That’s a load of rubbish to base anything on, don’t you think?" The woman held out her hand. "Mera."

"Rupert. This is Olivia," Rupert frowned slightly. "I’ve seen you before, I think"

"Perhaps. I’ve just moved here."

"Oh, so have I." Rupert nodded at the book. "Assuming spells really work, how do you know that those don’t?"

Mera laughed. "I’ve tried them. Ages ago. I’m only reading it now for a laugh, the naivety is amusing. A lot of hogwash. I wasted a lot of time trying to get those spells to work."

"Well, you’d need to get hold of a vampire first," said Rupert with a laugh, making it sound as if the idea was ridiculous.

Mera waved a hand. "Oh, that’s no problem - we’re virtually falling over the little buggers in the street."

Rupert blinked.

"No, it’s the spells," she continued. "The idiot writer didn’t know what he was talking about. You can borrow it if you like."

"What?" Rupert was suprised by the sudden offer. "I mean - you’d trust this book to a complete stranger?"

"If you live in this village you won’t be a stranger for long. Anyway, I’m a good judge of character. Where’s your house?"

"Right up at the north end where the road turns into the track that runs up to the hills. Little Eden."

"Little Eden! Oh, that’s a beautiful place. I’m down the other end - the miniscule thatched hiccup between the church and the farm." She laughed. "Corpses on one side, pig-swill on the other. If it’ll make you feel better, I could bring it round tomorr - no, that’s Christmas. Boxing Day, how about that? If you’re not busy, that is. That way you’ll know that I’ll know you’re genuine."

"Well, thank you very much," Rupert smiled at her. "Even if it is rubbish, as you say, I’d still like a close look at it."

"Boxing day, then." Mera smiled at them. "Well, I’ve intruded long enough, and I have to go anyway. Nice to meet you both."

They watched her leave the pub. Olivia turned to Rupert. "Middle-aged Wicca wannabe looney?"

"Well, if I was him," Rupert indicated a man at the bar, "I’d be inclined to say yes. But I’m not him, so I’m going to say - who knows?"

"She was quite matter-of-fact about vampires."

"Yes." Rupert sipped his drink thoughtfully. "I wonder where she got that book from?"

*

Christmas Day.

"Oh, Rupert! Perfume! And my old favourite, too. How sweet of you!"

"Thank god. You put me through hell over that, you know."

"That was the plan. When are you going to open that crate?"

"Right now."

Among the bottles of whiskey - hidden by Willow from prying officials - magical paraphernalia, framed photographs, jumpers and, to his suprise, a small glass box of Sunnydale earth, Rupert found something that made his heart ache.

"Hi Giles!" Smiling broadly, Buffy waved at him from the television screen. "Happy Christmas!" She rolled her eyes. "Oh god, I had a whole speech planned and now it’s gone totally out of my head. I’m just having a hard time looking at a little piece of black plastic with a lens and pretending it’s you." She looked down at the top she was wearing. "Thank you so much for the top. It’s beautiful - I love real lace. But you already know that, because you bought it for me, so - oh god, I’m rambling." She straightened up. "We all really miss you, you know. I still can’t believe you’re not here. Sunnydale’s really quiet at the moment. Nothing much has happened since you left, a little slayage here and there, no big." She smiled. "Anyway, hope you’re okay - and happy. I want my Watcher to be happy, you hear? I’ll see you. I mean it." She blew a kiss at the camera. "Bye." The screen faded on her smile.

Willow and Tara were next. Watching Tara’s shy smile and Willow’s bright face and typically enthusiastic wave, Rupert felt his eyes prickling and wondered if he was going to make it to the end of the video without having to leave the room. Anya gave him a lengthy description of life in the Magic Box and Xander made a point of calling him ‘G-Man’ many times, giving Rupert a broad ‘what are you gonna do?’ smile. Rupert laughed. When Dawn came on he sat forward, unable to believe how much older she looked. She was wearing makeup and even sounded older as she told him about the small events in her life. The film ended on a still of them all sitting together. Several humorous and downright vulgar credits rolled up the screen.

"That was really nice," said Olivia. "You miss them, don’t you?"

"Oh god," Rupert closed his eyes. "You have no idea. We went through so much together." He winced as if someone had nudged him in the stomach.

Olivia squeezed his hand. "Then you’d better not watch that again for a while."

He sighed and looked at the bottles of clandestine scotch that had come out of the crate. "Willow could make a fortune as a smuggler. Do you think they think I’m an alcoholic?"

Olivia laughed. "Looks like it. The clothes are nice, though. And this magical stuff is fascinating." She held up a dubious-looking statuette. "What’s this?"

"It’s from Anya. I-I think you need to be drunk before I tell you what it’s for. That woman has a mind like a - well, let’s just say Xander must be very happy."

"Are you feeling easier about being back here?" Olivia asked suddenly. "More than you were when you first arrived?"

He thought about that. "I haven’t been here long enough to feel as though I belong." He looked at her. "It’s easier with you here. You’re the link that joins it all."

Olivia gave him a little smile. "There’s a card you haven’t opened." She pointed to the pile of wrapping debris from the crate.

Rupert opened it. "Good lord. It’s from Spike."

"Spike? What’s he doing sending Christmas cards?"

"It’s a New Year card - god forbid he has anything to do with religion." Rupert picked up a piece of paper that had fallen out. "Rupes," he read aloud. "Just to let you know that Buffy and Dawn are okay. They have their ups and downs but get through them. Nothing lasting. That’s all. Spike." He raised his eyebrows. "First time I’ve received mail from a vampire. What an elegant hand."

"He wasn’t in the video."

"Probably thinks it’s too, er, ‘un-cool’." Rupert read the letter again. "Hm. He’s letting me know he’ll tell me if anything bad happens. He knows Buffy won’t want to worry me." He looked at the back of the envelope. "SWAKITM. Cheeky bugger."

"What’s that?"

"Sealed With A Kick In The Mouth." Despite himself, Rupert laughed.

Olivia smiled. "It’s strange he’s so protective."

"He takes his promise to Buffy very seriously."

"A vampire." She shook her head. "It’s just weird."

"I thought about it a lot while I was writing that report on him for Quentin and I’m beginning to think it’s not so strange after all." Rupert hung Spike’s card with the others over the fireplace and turned back to Olivia. "You’re looking tired this morning, are you feeling all right?"

"No. Yes - I mean, I’m just sleepy. I might have a quick nap."

"You do that." Rupert looked at his watch. "I have to throw the bird in the oven now. I’ll wake you in time for lunch, all right?"

Olivia kissed him and went upstairs.

*

On the morning of the ninth of January, the day before Olivia was due to go home, Rupert broached the subject that had been on his mind ever since he had arrived back in England. They were in his kitchen and winter sunlight shone through the window, falling on Olivia and highlighting the planes of her face.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked. "It’s something I - I’ve been thinking about a lot since I got here. We’ve so much history - "

He watched in confusion as her face fell. She seemed horrified at his suggestion. Feeling a stab of deep pain, he watched her rise abruptly from the table and move to the window.

She took a deep breath. "Rupert - "

"There’s someone else isn’t there?" His voice was dull with disappointment.

Olivia turned quickly and stared at him with wide eyes. "Oh god, no. No, Rupert, honestly - there’s nothing I’d like better than to llive with you."

Now he was confused. "Then why so horrified, Olivia?" he asked quietly. "What’s so bad? What’s wrong?"

Olivia rubbed her hands over her face. "Oh god. Rupert, I’m so sorry. So sorry." She felt something tighten up inside her.

Alarmed, Rupert moved quickly to her side. "Tell me." He placed his hands on her shoulders and she looked at him, her face dull now.

"I wanted to tell you - I wanted to tell you here, not at my house. The first night here was so nice, I put it off for a day. Then another day. By the time Christmas came it was too late to say anything, you were so relaxed, I just couldn’t tell you." Her voice was shaking now. "And now you’re looking at the future, and - and there isn’t any. Not with me." The tightness inside her was so strong now that she could hardly draw breath. "I’m dying," she forced out. "It’s cancer. In my blood. All over me. It’s untreatable."

Then the dam burst.

*

Rupert stood with Olivia on the platform at Mitching station and knew that he had to at least try to get her to stay.

"Stay another day. One more day."

"I want to, but I can’t. I have to be at the hospital tomorrow."

"I’ll come to you, then." Rupert was determined not to be separated from her for long. "As soon as I can get a week away from Quentin."

Olivia nodded. She felt light now that he knew. "I’ve had time to get used to it. You haven’t." She laughed harshly. "Oh, yes. Used to it. Ha. I really wish I’d told you when you first phoned." "Don’t worry about it. I know - I mean I understand how hard it can be to tell someone about this, harder than it is for the person hearing it." Olivia kissed him. "I’d live with you. If it wasn’t for this, I would. No hesitation." She looked around."Here’s the train."
 
 

*

 Giles!!

Just a quick word to let you know we’re all still alive.

Have you used Anya’s statue on Olivia yet??!!!!! Haha!! Sorry. Bad me. Haha!

Well, HAVE you???

The only thing that’s happened around here, apart from a group of demons, is Dawn had a blazing row with Spike the other night over her staying out late. Later than seven o’clock, that is. He’s behaving like a prison guard and Buffy’s had to have a word with him. It’s all okay now and Dawn’s boyfriend is getting over his terror.

Everyone says hello.

Miss you.

Willow.

*

Rupert turned to the window and stared out at the night.

 

Chapter Four

Mera

 

 

On the nineteenth of January, Mera opened her door and found Rupert standing there holding her book.

He smiled apologetically at her. "So very sorry I took so long."

Mera smiled and took the book from him. "Perfectly all right, I wasn’t worried. Would you like to come in? It’s probably a pit compared to your place, but it’s clean."

"Well, I was wondering if you’d like to come up to my house. Have some tea and a chat, you know."

"What? Have a nose around Little Eden? Of course!" Mera grabbed her coat. "Been itching to see the inside of that place ever since I got here. Lead on."

*

Rupert had lit a large fire in his lounge and Mera sat down beside it, looking around the room appreciatively, taking note of the classic inglenook fireplace and the black ceiling beams. The room wasn’t over-furnished and gave an impression of cosy spaciousness. Very tasteful. She nodded approvingly at the prints on the walls.

Rupert came in with a tray. "If you take your shoes off be careful where you walk - there’s pine needles in the carpet."

"This is a beautiful house," said Mera. "Nice to see you haven’t overdone it. People can get a bit ostentatious with places like these."

"Thank you." Rupert poured the tea and offered her some sandwiches. "I’m glad you agreed to come. I haven’t got to know people here yet, and I had a hankering for conversation."

Mera grinned. "And to show off your house and talk about that book."

He chuckled. "You’re very astute. Have you always lived in this area? You've a slight accent I don’t recognise."

"I’ve always lived in the south-east, but I’ve travelled a lot. Are you local?"

"London, originally. I’ve just come back from several years in the United States, and quite frankly I’m surprised I don’t sound like a Californian."

"Where do you work?"

"Near Brockworth," he said unguardedly.

"That little place?" Mera frowned. "But the only thing around there is the Council. Are you a Watcher?"

Rupert froze with his cup in front of his lips. "What?"

"Sorry. Doesn’t matter. This is a nice - "

"No, you said Watcher." Rupert stared at her in surprise. "How...you know about the Council?"

"Oh, so you are a Watcher!" Mera’s eyes lit up. "How fascinating!"

"How - "

"I’ve been around, like I told you. You’d be surprised what you pick up over the years. Well, it wouldn’t surprise you, of course." She bit into a sandwich.

"But - "

"Please, Mr. Giles. An organisation like that can’t exist for centuries without someone finding out about it. I’ve studied the supernatural for years. The Council of Watchers isn’t common knowledge, but there are people who know."

"Good lord!" Rupert sat back. "So you know about - ah -"

"Watchers and vampires and Slayers and demons, oh my incredible gosh-golly. Yes. The supernatural is fascinating. I dabble a lot. You might say it’s a hobby."

Rupert was astonished at what he was hearing. "Dabble! Have you any idea how dangerous it can be?"

"Yes," she said calmly. "That’s why I’m still alive." She picked up another sandwich. "These are very tasty."

"So when you said you’d tried those spells on vampires - "

"I was not being a looney." She grinned knowingly at him. "There are ways of trapping vamps, you should know that."

"Yes I know, but - that book’s all about control. Why would you want to control one?"

"I don’t. I wanted to know if they could overcome their affliction."

"Affliction? You think it’s some kind of disease? Some kind of handicap?"

"Well...yes, in a way." Mera frowned. "You do know they live like that with their original personalities intact? Terrible thing, really."

"But they kill - "

"No, no, no. That’s the demon, isn't it? Underneath it all, their real selves are still there - very well hidden. I wanted to know if it was possible to, er, control the demon and let the person loose."

Despite his offended sensibilities, Rupert found himself thinking about Spike. "So," he said slowly. "You think if the demon could be controlled, the person would take charge?"

"Why not?"

Rupert thought in silence while Mera started on a slice of cake, then he put down his cup and sat forward. "Let me tell you about a vampire I know."

*

Over the next two weeks Rupert continued to tackle his ever-growing report and discussed it every day with Quentin and Michael at Headquarters. He telephoned Olivia frequently and tried to arrange a time when they could meet again. He had recovered from the shock of her disclosure and found himself angry at the way the fates were treating the woman he loved and his old friend Michael. He felt a sense of frustrated helplessness which made him short-tempered and somewhat volatile and his e-mails to the Scooby Gang became infrequent simply because he had nothing good to say to them. He didn’t tell them about Olivia. He could barely think about it.

His only relief came in the form of frequent conversations with Mera. Her frank nature and occasionally blunt manner of speech attracted him and he found her easy to talk to. Very soon he told her about Olivia and her almost matter-of-fact sympathy was a relief to him. She was always cheerfully willing to natter.

On the fourth of February Rupert visited Mera yet again and spent a lively afternoon in her kitchen, always her kitchen, diverting himself with a discussion on the use and necessity of spell ingredients.

"It does seem to be mainly about concentration," said Rupert. "I know that most ingredients are crucial, but perhaps there are some that are purely for the practitioner to focus on - to help the concentration."

Mera disagreed. "No, that’s not it. I admit that it seems not all the ingredients are crucial but let’s face it - these concoctions work. And I know that there are recipes that require the removal of only one item for the spells to become something entirely different. One item, mind you, that you or I could easily think wasn’t important. I agree it would be fascinating to experiment but god, it would be dangerous."

"Yes, I suppose so. Can’t help thinking about it, though."

"Thinking’s fine. Not knowing when to refrain from acting on those thoughts isn’t fine. Which really is something the human race as a whole could do with learning."

Rupert looked thoughtful. "There’s one spell for tracing someone’s line back through thousands of years - the spell calls for Dragon’s Tooth.. You only get a few years history. That one never works."

"Well, it won’t. Everyone uses alligator teeth or komodo dragon, or bloody iguanas - when they should really be stealing dinosaur remains from the museums."

"What?" Rupert blinked at her.

"Well, what are you going to use to connect you to the distant past? Something that lived and died only recently? It doesn’t have to be dinosaurs, but it must be something that was alive a long time ago. How else would it take you back there?" She shrugged. "There’s a lot that’s been forgotten"

"I still can’t fathom how you know all this ‘forgotten’ stuff."

"I’ve had a long time to study." Mera stood up. "Come upstairs. I want to show you my collection."

*

Mera’s second bedroom was a mini museum and Rupert was staggered at some of the things she had in there.

He picked up a book in wonder. "And here’s another mythical book," he said. "I thought this was - ah - like Lovecraft’s ‘Necronomicon’. Fiction."

Mera nodded at it. "Well, there it is."

"Yes indeed. Good god, where did you get all of this?"

There were some truly outlandish pieces of magical paraphernalia and some items that looked too old for comfort. With a grimace he picked up a moonstone swastika set in gold and looked at the designs on the back. His eyebrows shot up.

"Is this Celtic? The old Irish gold?"

Mera nodded. "I had it specially made. It’s about eighteen hundred years old."

Rupert studied the priceless museum piece. "This symbol’s suprisingly common in Britain - gravestones, rock carvings - "

"Fylfots. Yes, I know. I’ve carved a few myself."

"Such a shame their true meaning is lost." Rupert held it up to the light and shook his head. "You couldn’t give this away now. Not to someone you’d want to call a friend, anyway."

Mera stood behind him, waiting. "Yes. One of the oldest good luck charms now thoroughly poisoned even though they used the reversed form. Still, perhaps in time - "

"Ha. A couple of thousand years, yes." Rupert looked around again. "I’d swear everything in this room is priceless! How did you do it? I know someone who would give both her legs to get her hands on this collection."

"I expect you do. This isn’t all of it, though. My home in Sussex has a cellar full of stuff."

"Oh, I thought you lived here. You’re - what, holidaying?"

"No, I’m here to meet someone."

Rupert looked closely at a carved stone. "Well, you met me," he said absently.

"Yes," agreed Mera, staring at the back of his head. "I did."

Suddenly Rupert became very alert. "What did you say?" He picked up the swastika again and turned to her. "Eighteen hundred - you had this made?"

Mera sighed. "At last. Let’s go downstairs."

*

"I’m much, much  older than I look," Mera said with a laugh. "How many women would love to say that?"

They were sitting at the table in Mera’s bright kitchen, Rupert cautiously drinking coffee and remembering the first time he had met her. He realised now that she’d planned this from the start, all of it. Christmas Eve in the pub - she’d brought with her just exactly the right book to attract his attention and he remembered her willingness to let him borrow the priceless thing - him, a complete stranger. The swastika also: a volatile symbol that only a blind person would ignore. He felt annoyed and somewhat betrayed at being so easily caught and he was sickened that he’d told her about Olivia.

Rupert didn’t know who or what Mera was and was feeling very wary, but he suppressed the urge to simply leave. He was curious. He studied her as she ate an apple, a coffee at her elbow and a silver cross at her throat. Close-cropped curly brown hair, a slightly peculiar but otherwise unremarkable face. Short, with a slender figure. Aside from the atrocious glittery green nail colour she was wearing, everything about her looked quite normal. How could this woman be eighteen hundred years old?

"I’m over five thousand years old," she said casually.

Rupert’s hand jerked and spilled hot coffee over his trousers. Mera quickly handed him a cloth and he dabbed at himself, thinking furiously.

Mera looked contrite. "Sorry, but there really is no gentle way to say something like that, is there?"

Rupert tossed the cloth onto the table, feeling angry now. "You could have said ‘Brace yourself.’ God!" He looked hard at her. "Five thousand years? Five?"

"Yes, and it seems to have gone in the blink of an eye." She took a deep breath. "I was born here in Britain. Judging by what I see in the mirror I believe I was about forty when I became, ah - what I am. My tribe didn’t count birthdays the way we do now."

"So you weren’t born this way? Then how did you become what you are?" He wondered how she would prove her words.

She smiled. "Ah. Now I introduce the only other person like me. Her name is Path and she’s a lot older than me."

"Older? What is she?"

"No. You’re going to hear the story of me for now, although it does include Path. The abridged version, mind you - there’s too much to tell in one sitting. You’ll hear Path’s tale later. Do you have the time for a story now?"

"If I didn’t, I’d make time."

"Curiosity overcomes dislike, eh? I’m not the most subtle person alive." Mera smiled at him. "Here we go then. I was born into a tribe that lived right down on the coast about thirty miles from here, around what is now the Sussex area. Quite uneventful lives we lived. We did the usual tribal things, nothing outstanding - but we knew all about ghosties and ghoulies and long-leggity beasties. Everyone did in those days; it wasn’t something we could ignore, not if we wanted to survive. It was only recently - by which I mean the last thousand years or so - that people began to suffer from this ‘selective memory’ disease that everyone has nowadays. So, between growing food and making clothes and having children, we fought these beasties and kept them at bay. We were quite good at it, as I recall."

"I think I must have been about thirty when Path came to our area. I learned later that she’d been in Britain for a long time: she told me she’d come across the land-bridge from what is now France after the ice pulled back a good nine or ten thousand years ago - about the time the Council came here. When she arrived on our land she made herself a place in the woods and settled in. We’d never seen anyone like her and I remember the buzz her arrival caused. Her skin was black as jet, smooth as silk, and covered in dotted patterns. Her hair was wild and she put some kind of red clay mixture on it."

Rupert looked distant and opened his mouth, but Mera ignored him. "She was fascinating! Strings of beads all over the place. Dressed in woollen blankets. She couldn’t speak much more than a few croaks but she got along with sign-language very well. We’d creep up to the edge of her clearing and watch her. She was very strong and we could so easily have taken her for a demon of some kind, but we didn’t - she didn’t threaten us, you see, so we just watched, like children. Slowly we came to trust her and became friends. She helped us a lot against the dark creatures who were appearing more and more around that time. Path told me later - much later - that we’d had a hellmouth close to us all the time. It’s dead now, closed up. She grew plants we’d never seen before and she traded with the tribe. She knew a lot about medicine too, such as it was in those times, and she was a master mage. Anyway, she took a particular interest in me. I’d hover close by pretending to be collecting wood or food and she’d beckon me over. But it was a long time before I took up her offer. I was a shy thing in those days."

"You. Shy." Rupert was feeling less than subtle himself.

"Ha. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose. But I went to her in the end: curiosity, you see. She was so strange. I told her my name and she showed me how to talk to her with my hands - simple stuff but effective. Over time we became very good friends.

"As I grew older I noticed that she didn’t seem to change in any way. I’d puzzle over that but it didn’t worry me - I trusted her. Then I started to feel ill. I grew thin and there was pain all over my body. I’ve no idea what I had. Path became worried."

Mera paused and stared at her cup, smiling slightly. "One day I couldn’t leave my bed - my lungs were filling up, and Path came and handed me a long, scraggy piece of cloth with a series of drawings on it. She was tearful and very nervous. The drawings told me what she was, how she could help me. I was surprised but not as much as you’d think. I wasn’t frightened either." She looked at Rupert. "I’m an empath, you see. Like her. This is what she’d seen in me from the start. I knew her feelings, her innermost character. There was nothing bad in there and she’d been a good friend to me for years. She wasn’t one of the dark creatures, no matter what her drawings - anyway, I thought about her offer for some time and Path stayed with me. Then - oh god, I looked through the door of my hut and the sun was setting in the most beautiful pinks and oranges. I’ve always loved sunsets. I made up my mind right then and told her I didn’t want to die."

"Just like that? Because of a sunset?"

"Well, yes. Have you never looked at a sunset?" She sighed. "I knew I didn’t have a lot of time left to me and Path had just shown me a glimpse of a world I knew almost nothing about. Plus, I didn’t want to leave the one I did know."

Rupert saw that Mera was looking hard at him and he felt a little uncomfortable. "So how did she do it?" he asked. "With magic?"

"No. With blood. First she drained me of some of mine, then she gave me some of hers."

Rupert stared at her. "What?" His thoughts moving very fast, he looked at the cross she wore, the sunlight gleaming on her hair. She couldn’t be a vampire.

"You need proof," she said. "Watch."

To Rupert’s horror Mera slowly let her face change into the dreadful demonic visage he was so familiar with. He went cold and glanced quickly at the kitchen door. Mera smiled sadly, displaying long fangs, her yellow eyes crinkling at the corners. Rupert froze.

"I haven’t done this for a very long time," Mera said quietly. "It’s ugly." The smile dropped from her face. "I may look like one of them. But I’m not."

Rupert’s paralysis vanished and he surged out of his chair, knocking it over. "Jesus Christ!"

"Had sod all to do with it." Mera let her human face return.

"Bloody right, he didn’t! You’re a demon!"

"You know nothing about it."

Furious, frightened and utterly confused, Rupert said flatly: "I’m not sure I want to." He turned then and left the house.

Mera sat back in her chair and tapped her fingers on the table. "Now we’ll see."

*

Dear Willow.

Well, here is some news for you all, especially Buffy. Personally, now that I’ve calmed down a little I don’t know what to think.

On Christmas Eve Olivia and I met a woman. Her name is Mera. Today she told me what she is. I want to say right now that at no point have I detected any danger from her, although after her revelation today I was very disconcerted and left her house in rather a hurry. I feel now that I was somewhat rude. I *will* be going to see her again tomorrow.

This woman can walk in the sun, wear crosses, and I wouldn’t mind betting that if she chose to she could bathe in holy water.

BUT SHE IS OVER 5000 YEARS OLD AND *APPEARS* TO BE A VAMPIRE.

She eats human food. As far as I know she does not drink blood. She has a friend named Path. This is the woman who made Mera what she is. Path is over nine thousand years old!

Please ask Anya and Spike if they have ever heard of these beings. There must be *some* sort of popular myth about them.

Hope you have all had a less trying day than I have.

Love to you all.

Giles.

*

"Disconcerted. Yeah, right, Giles. I bet you ran out of there like a rabbit." Buffy sat on the sofa in her lounge and frowned at the message. "Vampires who aren’t. Wow. Looks like it’s all happening in England." She handed the paper to Anya.

"Do you think this Mera could have a soul?" asked Willow. "If she can wear crosses and everything?"

Buffy shrugged. "No idea. I’m starting to think I don’t know what the hell a soul is. I mean - look at me: twice dead and still upright. What about my soul? Urgh, no - don’t go there."

"Oh!" Anya said suddenly, waving the message. "This is familiar! Vampires who can walk in the sun. I can’t remember exactly but I know I’ve heard of it."

"Where did you hear it?" asked Buffy.

"I just told you I can’t remember."

"It’s the nine thousand years old bit that I’m having fun with," said Xander. "God, that’s - that’s before anything."

"Before me," agreed Anya.

Buffy stood up. "I’m gonna go find Spike."

"What can he tell you?" asked Xander. "Anya’s a thousand years old and she can’t remember much. Spike’s only a hundred and twenty-something."

"Anya wasn’t a vampire. Maybe vamps do have a ‘popular myth’ about it." Buffy took the message from Anya. "I’ll see you guys later."

*

"Oh, yeah." Spike leant against a stone coffin in his crypt and read the message again. "Yeah. There’s always stories about vamps that can go in the sun. I thought it was all crap. A myth, like he says."

"Alligators in the sewers?" Buffy was disappointed.

"More like the Grail. Put it this way: there’s always someone who knows someone who was sired by some idiot who says he saw one getting off a bus once. That’s as far as it gets." He looked at her. "You had your hair cut. Looks good."

"Thanks, you’re the only one who’s noticed." Buffy sighed. "I was hoping I could give Giles something, but I think he knows more than us."

"It’s interesting though." Spike frowned thoughtfully at the message. Then he grinned. "At least now I can say I know someone who knows a vamp that can go in the sun."

"That’s no help."

"Sorry. To make up for it I’ll do tonight’s patrol."

"Thanks."

 

Chapter Five

Revelations

 

 

Rupert spent the better part of the next day arguing with himself over what he’d seen, so it was well into the afternoon when he finally arrived at Mera’s house, and when she opened her door he looked at her standing in the weak sunlight and wondered again if he had dreamed it all.

"Well, that took you long enough." Mera waved him inside. When he hesitated, she sighed. "Don’t be an idiot. If I had a mind to kill you I could do it while I was having a shower. Come in."

Embarrassed and still a little wary, Rupert stepped across the threshold.

Mera let the door close with a slight bang. "Did you tell your precious Council about the terrible vampire who walks in the sun?"

"N-no."

"Well, that’s hopeful anyway."

Rupert turned to her. "You said you weren’t one of...of them. And you didn’t need an invitation to enter my house."

"Yes?"

He frowned. "And you’re very good at pushing me off-balance." He hefted a bag. "I’ve brought a tape-recorder to even the score. With many tapes."

"Damn good idea. Do you want wine or beer?"

"Wine please. Just how long did you and your book wait in the pub for me?"

"Every night for two weeks. It was very boring." She led him through into her lounge.

Rupert looked around. The room was bright with February sunlight, and on a table several African Violets sat clustered around a blooming slipper orchid. A tall oak bookcase held volumes on history, politics, art and house-plants, and several dog-eared science-fiction books lay on a coffee table. A few original paintings and a hand-woven rug hung on a wall. There was a marked lack of anything magical.

"History books?" Rupert asked.

"I like a laugh as much as the next person."

He thought about that and chuckled. "Written by the winners."

"Yes indeed." Mera opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of wine and some glasses. "Shall we sit by the window? I take it you’re expecting me to spill my guts today so you switch on your tape and I’ll just start."

*

"This immortality business, oh my. While it’s wonderful to know that, barring accidents, I will see the sun set a hundred or a thousand years from now, it all requires a lot of forethought and preparation. Especially now. It’s a pain. Give me the days when one could walk from France to Greece without anyone demanding to see little bits of grubby paper...as if this would prove you weren’t planning on killing anyone."

Rupert smiled. "Most people would be happy just to go back a few decades to their childhoods." He shook his head, amazed. "You want to return to the golden years of, what - the first century?"

"The old times weren’t all that golden and you, my dear, would choke on the body odours. Mind you, I did watch the Romans come. That was bracing - Boudica and the battles."

Rupert felt his head swim. "You knew Boudica?"

"No, I only saw her from a distance. Wild little thing, she was. Very angry. These feminists today could take a few lessons from her about being on top." Mera chuckled, her eyes distant. "Burned down Londinium, she did. Now, that’s a woman I’d like to have met."

Rupert realised that he was staring at her with his mouth open. He shook himself. "One thing that’s confusing me."

"Only one?"

"Ha. How is it you’re so, ah, ‘with it’? Considering when you were born - I mean, you seem to fit so well into this time. True vampires just seem to stop when they’re turned."

"Whoo, that’s a strong one. Happily, however, it’s one I’ve thought about before so I have a ready answer. All right, look - given a big enough brain and the opportunity, everything alive will learn and mentally evolve. For god’s sake, there’s even gorillas who communicate with pictures."

"Now, with your vampire - their personalities are ruled by their demons but given the chance...well, look at Spike. If he survives another hundred years and manages to keep his demon at bay he will have gained attitudes and ideals that he doesn’t have now, just like an ordinary human. Better than that, look at Path. She’s so much older than me that she wouldn’t even be able to communicate if she wasn’t able to learn and grow. She may have been born way back down the evolutionary scale but she’s just as capable as you or me. She does all her communication through sign and telepathy."

"Telepathy?" Rupert asked, surprised. "True telepathy?"

"Yes. Being turned enabled me to hear her. I imagine if you were turned by Path or myself, you would be able to hear the two of us."

"Vampires don’t have this ability."

"No. The poor sods are completely alone. But to get back to Path - she’s very eloquent in her ‘speech’, but also very direct: the way of her people. She gets her message across, believe me. Doesn’t let herself get sidetracked. She understands the modern world but doesn’t like it, and who can blame her? These times literally stink. She lives far, far away from everything, quite happy, and if she could I swear she’d live on Mars. Now don’t mistake me, Path is a primitive. But, like me, she moves with the times as much as she’s able, or wants to."

"Does she never get weary?"

"Nooo. Path has her own very special primitive view of life. She lives for the Now and the future and doesn’t give much thought to the past; she doesn’t let it hang on her. She’s probably the most uncomplicated being in existence."

"We’re all products of the times we live in. I just happen to have lived in quite a few and they’ve all had an influence on me. For instance: there was a time when I stood by the scaffolds in France and thought nothing of watching the heads fall and the blood run. I didn’t necessarily cheer, but I wasn’t disturbed. Times have always been violent and death is the norm, no matter how much people nowadays like to think it isn’t. Death and violence amongst the paintings and poetry. Once, in London, I held up a little girl so that she had a better view of a multiple hanging. Good grief! It’s possible that before I attended the hanging I’d read a sonnet or done some needlework or something equally bloody dainty. Public executions, huh. It was just the way it was. We truly didn’t know any better."

"But now, for just about the first time in history most educated people frown upon this sort of thing, and I frown too. I have learnt, you see. It’s not so much when we’re born as when we live that shapes us. First, I was shaped by the time I was born in; it gave me my stupendous lack of subtlety. Later, I was shaped by the Celts, then by the Romans. I was shaped again by eleventh century Britain - I went all French - and up through the years, and now the twenty-first has me in it’s teeth. I could add something here about cycles, population explosions, power-fuelled arrogance and the fall of civilisations, but I won’t."

"Some opinions I hold now will change in the future - I know this. But the fundamental things I’ve come to know throughout all these years will not dissappear, no matter what happens. For example, I did not believe in the Church’s persecution of witches, no matter how vehement they were on the subject, because I already knew - one: witches were not what the church was pretending they were, and two: it was all hypocrisy anyway. So you see, if public executions ever become popular again in this country - and televised, written up in newspapers, cheered at, betted on - no matter what the pressure to conform, I will most definitely never attend one again. Ever. You see? I may have been born over five thousand years ago, but the brain I was born with is the same as yours, more or less, and I'm not controlled by anything except me. I hope all that made sense."

Rupert nodded, a little boggled by her long speech. "Are you going to tell me how Path came to be?"

"I am." Mera looked at him thoughtfully, studying his face. When he began to fidgit, she smiled. "Now we start the journey. You, I think, may not like it very much. But I’ve taken your measure and I don’t think you’ll actually reject it, not when you’ve thought about it."

Rupert looked bemused. "Well, I-I...I’ll try to keep an open mind."

"Of course you will. That’s why I’ve approached you. But be warned: I’m rather impatient with knee-jerk reactions. I’ve seen too many of them through the years and they piss me off something chronic."

*

"Imagine a demon, the last demon. With a capital ‘D’. Colossal, the colour of bronze. Alone. Desperate. Lifting his fists high and bellowing out across the night with the bodies of his victims around his feet."

Rupert gaped at her.

She shrugged. "Sometimes I can’t stop myself."

"You’re going right back to the beginning?"

"Yes. That’s where Path’s story begins."

"Pardon?"

"Oh yes. That Demon was responsible for a lot more than just vampires."

"Good lord! She’s that old? Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. Now let me get on with it. We have a Demon standing all alone and one thing is certain: there must have been at least one near-dead human close by him."

"That he’d bitten. To make a vampire. Yes, I know this part - "

"No you don’t. You haven’t a clue as to what really happened. He may have bitten the poor sod, but that’s immaterial. Now, as few interruptions as possible please." Mera re-gathered her thoughts. "So. His people had lost. Humanity was the victor. In a desperate bid to retain a place on Earth this last Demon attempted to gain a hold on the burgeoning human race. He couldn’t breed to increase his number and there were too many humans to fight. So he tried the only other way he could think of - the ‘spiritual’ way, if you like. Using what must have been extremely desperate measures, he left his body behind and entered the dying human. But something went wrong: he didn’t fully succeed. In the act of transferring himself his spirit split. Into three separate parts, each containing an aspect of himself but not one of them retaining all his features. One split became the vampire - yes, what?"

Rupert was shocked. "Good god!"

"No. Bad luck."

"He split? I’ve never heard of this!"

"I know."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

"But - but why did it go wrong?"

Mera shrugged. "Accident? It’s almost certain he was desperate and rushed the whole thing. No-one knows - except the Powers, I expect."

"Perhaps it was them, intervening."

"Them?" Her voice was suddenly full of contempt and Rupert’s eyes opened wide. "Them? Do me a favour! Have you ever known them to lift a finger to prevent anything bad happening? Those smug bastards aren’t inclined to shift their asses for any reason. Oh, they’ll give people visions, gift various poor sods with strange talents, but actively help? Did they help you with Glory? They make me sick."

Rupert stared at her.

"Don’t look like that," she snapped. "I can be an - an ‘atheist’ if I choose. An unimpressed-by-the-Powers person. And I do choose. Unless they actually prove me wrong at some point, I can think of only one thing less useful than a vampire, and that’s the Powers. We’re supposed to respect them, look up to them in awe, and for what? What do they do? Nothing truly useful that I’ve seen in five thousand years." She sighed hard. "No - it wasn’t them who stepped in. I’m sure if they’d wanted to they could have stopped him cold and we wouldn’t have this problem now. Unless, of course, they wanted to play with us. That wouldn’t surprise me." Her voice was acid.

"Perhaps it’s all a test," said Rupert carefully, stunned at her reaction.

"Ha! Yes, lab-rats."

"No, I mean - perhaps they’re watching, waiting for us to learn, to grow - "

"Yes, as I said. Lab rats. Twitch it a little here, nudge it a little there and watch as we scurry. Pah!" This was obviously a touchy subject with Mera. She forced herself to calm down. "Path doesn’t agree with me on this one, by the way. We’ve had some very, um, interesting arguments, the sort that make the fangs appear. I think she knows more about what actually happened back then than she’s told me. All she’ll say is that she learned, right back at the beginning, that the Three - the three splits, that is - can never come together. What that means exactly she’s never made clear. Personally, when I think about it, all I can imagine is some kind of revolting, well-timed, three-person orgy. Now that’s something that’ll never happen."

"Perhaps the Three should never meet?"

"Well no, because there was a time when a Slayer, a vampire and myself were all together in a room in Australia and nothing happened except the vampire was killed. It may mean the Three can never come together spiritually and become the Demon again." She straightened up. "Anyway, one thing we can be sure of is that this split was not the Demon’s plan because he lost himself in the process, and we now have this whole mix-up with vampires and Slayers and whatever you want to call Path  - and I’m sure that wasn’t what he intended. It was all a monumental, cosmic balls-up."

Rupert rubbed his temples. "All right. He split into three. So that’s vampires and - and Path?"  When Mera nodded he shook his head in wonder. "So what else? What became of the third split?"

"I just told you."

"You did?" Rupert frowned, thinking, and slowly his face drained of colour. "Oh no," he said quietly. "No. No, that can’t be."

Mera gave him no more time. "Your beliefs and preferences matter not one whit. This is what happened - " Rupert stood up and made a wide gesture, ready to give vent. Mera simply looked at him and said flatly: "Sit down." To his surprise, he fell back into his chair. Emotionless, Mera continued: "You asked the questions. These are the answers. You assured me that you would try to keep an open mind and you now have an idea of how much effort that will take. But I am not going to repeat myself and you are going to listen. I am in no mood for an argument. If necessary I will bind you to that chair and I will not have to move one muscle in order to do so.  Do you understand me?"

Stunned, Rupert could only nod. He was beginning to realise that it was far too easy to forget what this woman was.

Mera relaxed and gave him a sympathetic look. "I’m sorry about that. It’s just that I don’t want to have to go over this again. And again." She sighed. "Now, this is the long part. Attend. Three-way split. Part number one, containing all the Demon’s desire for vengeance against the human race, and all his malice, venom and evil went as planned into the unfortunate human who became the first vampire. It took him over completely, his personality enslaved."

"The other two parts flew wide, unguided but still looking for someone to - ah - infect. Part number two, containing just about everything the vampires have minus the evil side and without the need for blood or the instinct to kill, went into Path who was ill at the time and close to death."

She took a sip of her drink. "Now, part three is in a different class to the other two. It isn’t possible to pass it to others in the manner of vampires because this third part is still out there, flying free all the time since this began. This is the famous ‘Source of the Slayer’ you have heard so much about and in its freedom is so very much stronger and bigger than the other two parts. Path believes that if it had done as the others had and entered a host, that human would have expired immediately. Exploded, probably. It has a measure of intelligence; the intelligence that the other two lost when they joined with their hosts, so it probably made a conscious decision to remain free."

"The Source has none of the Demon’s evil or malice. The vampire got all of that. But it still has a sense of his original purpose, you see, so it lends it’s power to a human. I imagine that the first Slayer was very surprised when she was taken over: I know Path was. We were of the opinion that it was single-minded, moving this power to a new host only when the old had died, but Buffy has proved us wrong by refusing to stay dead. Obviously once a Slayer, always a Slayer - no matter how often she comes back. Even though a new Slayer has been called, it is still lending Buffy the power."

"The longer a Slayer lives the more this power works on her, making her stronger. It contains a good portion of the Demon’s strength and gifts the Slayers with his sense of duty and a very little of his dark attributes except his immortality, and, like Path and I, Slayers retain their souls - for all the difference that makes - and their true selves. Their personalities are not compromised."

"But the Source’s power is enormous. It is also very - testy. It does not appreciate being interfered with. You truly didn’t know what you were doing when you invoked it. If you rolled everything that has ever happened to you and Buffy into one dangerous whole it wouldn’t touch the peril inherent in your actions that day. I imagine it sent you a warning never to do it again. If so, I hope you took it to heart?"

"We - received a message to that end, yes." Rupert had found his voice. "Ah - his sense of duty?"

"Oh yes. This Demon was very loyal to his kindred. Slayers are instilled with a duty to their own kind. I’m sure Buffy has done a lot of complaining during her short life but she’s still gone out there and done her job, hasn’t she?"

"Y-yes, she has. But why should the Source fight vampires? If it is, as you say, kindred." The word made Rupert’s mouth feel dirty.

"The Source isn’t evil. Simple as that. Perhaps, being on the good side, it simply wants to fight the good fight. Or maybe it sees vampires as some kind of reflection of itself - it’s evil siblings, which in fact is what they are - and it doesn’t like what it sees. Think about Angel. Now think about Angelus and his tastes. Do you think that if Angel could somehow confront a physical Angelus, he would fight him? Of course he would. He’d try to kill him. He wouldn’t stop until he had killed him."

Rupert frowned. "How do you know about Angel?"

"Oh, Path and I keep an eye on things. When something like Angel or Buffy occurs, we know about it. We feel it. Mind you - Spike was a surprise, probably because the source of his change is science, not the supernatural. I knew nothing of his transformation until you told me."

"Did Path ever tell you what it was like when she was changed?" Rupert had decided to avoid thinking about Slayers for the moment.

"Yes.  It was unpleasant and terrifying, and she thought her death had come. She was quite pleased when nothing of the sort happened."

Rupert frowned. "Nothing of the sort? But don’t you - "

"It isn’t necessary to die in order to become one of us. The candidate must be weak, obviously, or it won’t take hold, but there’s no dying involved. That’s another difference between us and vampires." Abruptly, Mera stood and picked up the empty wine bottle. "Well, you’ve heard the basics. I know where there’s a whole stack of manuscripts that will confirm all of this for you. Time for a refill, I think, while you inwardly digest." She left the room.

Rupert stared at the far wall, not knowing what to think. Something deep inside him knew the truth of what he’d been told: it made so much sense and explained such a lot about Buffy. But it warred with everything he had learned as a Watcher; all his training and the reason for it, his whole purpose. He felt a need for sleep and knew that this was nothing more than his mind attempting to shy away from information it didn’t want to think about.

Mera spent some minutes in the kitchen, giving him time. When she returned he had his chin on his hand and was looking blankly out of the window.

"I put together some munchies." Mera handed him a plate."Well, Mr Open-Minded? What do you think?"

"I’m trying not to. Although - um, I have to admit it’s fascinating."

"It’s a bloody tragedy."

"Yes. Yes it is." Rupert switched off his recorder and slowly ate a sandwich. Then he looked at Mera. "This Demon. Was he really the colour of bronze?"

"God knows. Slice of cake?"

 

Chapter Six

Communications

 

 

Dear Willow.

Please tell Buffy to get a computer! If I can cope with one, so can she!

This is an update for Buffy about Mera and Path. For all of you really, but mostly for her.

Yesterday Mera told me how Path came to be. I taped it all and a report is in the attatchment. I think you’ll find it interesting to say the least.

I’ll say again, I believe I have no reason to fear for my safety. Mera allowed me to test her last night and there is not a trace of evil in her.

I’m sure she has her reasons for telling me but she hasn’t disclosed them yet.

I must go now, it’s very late and I am exhausted. It’s been a trying few days.

Very much love to all of you.

Giles.

*

A series of phone-calls from an excited Willow brought the Scooby Gang together in Buffy’s lounge.

"Wow." Xander stared at Rupert’s long report.

"I second that," said Willow. "Path is as old as the first vampire! I mean, do we even know how old that is?"

Buffy shrugged. "I have no idea. I think it’s a research party, folks."

"Research?" asked Tara. "But - do you think there’s even a chance these people are mentioned in the books? There’s only the two of them."

"Right," said Dawn. "And I bet this Path has kept a low profile."

"Well, we have to look," said Buffy firmly. "We have to be able to say we’ve looked. If Giles gets into trouble the smallest thing could help."

"What trouble?" asked Xander. "What’s to worry? They’ve got their souls, they’re not evil -"

Buffy cut him off. "Okay. Then we worry about the fact that they’re almost perfectly normal humans who have incredible strength."

"Telepathy," put in Tara.

"Control," said Willow. "Mera made Giles sit down just by using words. That’s powerful."

"They probably have great wealth," said Anya. "Vampires don’t usually have money, but these two aren’t really vampires, are they?"

"That’s a point." Buffy frowned. "And they’ve had thousands of years to build up a fortune. The biggest fortune. They could probably buy anyone."

"Except the Council," said Tara.

"I don’t put the Council in the non-bribable category," said Buffy flatly.

"Oookay," said Xander. "Research it is, then."

Anya was looking thoughtful.

"Anya?" asked Buffy. "Have you heard of this?"

Anya shook her head and shrugged. "It sounds familiar. Vaguely. Something about The Three,"

"Three?" Buffy looked at her, puzzled. "What three? There’s only two - Path and the first vampire."

"I just keep thinking of three. It’s very vague. I can’t..." Anya looked at Buffy apologetically. "I’m sorry."

"It’s okay." Buffy picked up the report. "I’ll go show this to Spike, see if it rings his bell."

"Why?" asked Xander. "He’s already said he doesn’t know anything. And don’t think you’re getting out of the book party."

"This is new info. I have to ask him. I’ll meet you at the Magic Box for the - book party."

*

The gang were deep into the books when, an hour later, Spike burst into the Magic Box with Buffy at his heels.

"What is it?" Buffy sounded exasperated. "Why won’t you talk to me? For god’s sake - "

"Willow." Spike’s voice was a little shaky. "I need to send a message to Giles. Can I use your computer?"

Willow rose uncertainly from her seat. "Well - yes, if you need to. What’s up?" Her eyes grew wide. "Is it Giles? He’s in danger - "

"No!" said Spike. "No danger. I just - I just need to talk to him, that’s all."

"But -" began Buffy.

"Buffy." Spike’s voice was sharp. "Just leave this one will you, love? No offence, but the only person I want to talk to right now is Giles." He looked at Willow.

Willow glanced around at the others, shrugged, and picked up her coat. "Okay. Let’s go."

The door of the Magic Box closed behind them.

"All right, Buffy." Xander shut his book with a snap. "What was that?"

Buffy seemed unable to look away from the door. "I don’t know. It’s like he exploded. He read the report. Then he read it again. Then he sat in a trance. Then - pow - he left the crypt and came here." She frowned. "I had to run to keep up."

*

"Mera."

"Oh. Rupert. Hello. And thank you for ruining my wonderful dream."

"Yes, sorry it’s so late. Look, have you any idea why a vampire would read about Path and instantly become very agitated?"

"Who are we talking about?"

"Spike. Ah...he’s read a report about you and Path that I sent to Buffy, and now he’s asking if I can arrange a way to get him over here quickly. He wants to speak to you."

"Does he, now? Are you going to do it?"

"I don’t know. Quite frankly, I’m rather surprised. All I know is the cheeky sod is expecting me to pay for it. What do you think?"

"I think William may be one of the most fascinating creatures on this planet. I’d like the chance to talk to him."

"Fascinating? Well, there speaks someone who’s never met him."

"Perhaps."

"Well? Again, what do you think?"

"It’s entirely up to you, Rupert. But I will say this: according to you he’s been unable to tear himself away from the Slayer virtually since he first met her. If he wants to put several thousand miles between them when he’s only just got her back from the dead, well - he must feel it’s important."

"Important to whom?"

"Himself, obviously. He is a vampire, after all. Anyway, it’ll be good to see inside a vamp who isn’t governed by his demon. See what’s really there." Mera paused. "Did you tell Buffy all of it?"

"Good god, no! She’s had a hard enough time coming back to life! How on earth can I tell her she’s related to the things she’s spent her life killing? Spike’s the only vampire who’s ever shown anything resembling humanity. Apart from Angel, that is, and I don’t really put him in the same category - his apparent humanity isn’t a natural thing. I don’t know if any others vampies were chipped - "

"She’s going to find out, you know. Most Slayers don’t live long enough to learn how to be human, never mind anything else. The longer Buffy lives..."

"I know. And I want to be the one she hears it from. I just don’t know how to tell her."

*

Hello Willow.

Can you tell Spike that against all the good judgement in existence in the entire universe I’ve decided to arrange for him to come over. God help us, Mera thinks he’s fascinating.

You’re going to have to conjure some kind of false ID for him, or make him invisible or something. Give him someone’s passport, perhaps, and put a spell on him. It’s that or have him go as freight, which would make *me* laugh if nothing else.

Let me know what you decide and I’ll set it up. I may not be able to pick him up from Heathrow, so I’ll arrange a taxi. What a performance this is!

I won’t be mentioning this to the Council. Quentin probably wouldn’t have a problem with it, but best not to say anything.

And now that my disbelief at what I’m doing has reached unmanagable proportions, I’ll say goodbye.

Love to you all

Giles.

*

"I’m not giving him my freakin’ passport!."

"Do as Willow asks, Harris, and be a good boy. If I’m going to let her do the mojo to make people think I’m you - which is bleedin’ tragic if you ask me - it’s the least you can do."

"No, the least I can do is not give you my passport and set fire to it instead."

"What do you need it for? You’re not going anywhere. Think of it as a favour to a friend."

"The day I think of you as a friend I’ll kill myself."

"Oh, Harris. Now, you know you don’t mean that."

"Why can’t he go as freight? Why does it have to be my passport? Willow, this is your idea - give him yours."

"I’ve already told you I can’t make people think Spike’s female. It has to be yours, Xander. I’m sorry."

"I ain’t going in a crate, mate. Anyway, Buffy agrees - don’t you, pet?"

"Xander, give Spike your passport."

"There, see? That’s the Slayer talking. Hear that little edge in her voice? You don’t want to mess with her - she hits hard when she’s cranky."

"Agh. I hate everything."

"Good Xander."

*

"He’s coming over."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"You mean the Council? Good lord, no. Some of them want to kill him just for having the presumption to love the Slayer. If they knew he was here Quentin wouldn’t be able to stop them."

"Why would Quentin stop them?"

"Well, I’m not sure. He’s told me that nothing is black and white any more, not to him. Apparently he had a ‘wake-up’ call. No idea what he meant."

"A wake-up call. Ha!"

"What’s so funny?"

"I’ll tell you later. So when does the Wonderful William arrive?"

"He’ll be here on the sixteenth."

"Oh, good. Can’t wait."

"You are very strange."

*

February 14th.

Giles! Buffy here, hello hello hellooo!

Spike got his flight to New York tonight.

You *have* to tell me everything! Once you know it, that is. He wouldn’t say a word before he left so we have no idea what’s going on.

Let us know how everything is with you - we worry, you know. How’s Olivia? Have you seen her lately? Are you still working on your house? Are you planning your garden? I want all the little details, Giles.

The Hellmouth has heated up a bit. We put down a group of scraggy-looking demons the night before last but it wasn’t much of a fight. I’m still amazed at my new strength, takes some getting used to. Willow is getting better and better at the witchy stuff.  Tara’s improving too, but she’ll never catch up with Will, not now. Xander and Anya are still okay and still together. Dawn can be a pain in the ass as usual, but it’s improving. She’s well into boys now.

Anyway,  better go.

I still miss you.

Love always,

Buffy.XXXXXXXX

*

"Hello Mera."

"Hello, my dear. I hope life remains quiet for you?"

"It does, thank you. Are you going to tell me about our candidate?"

"I am. He is a complex man - very intelligent, as we supposed. The last six years have mellowed and strengthened him. He took my disclosure well. He thinks that he is finshed with fighting but our story has fired him - I feel his fascination. He loves a woman but has learnt that he cannot be with her. This gives him great pain."

"Why can he not be with her?"

"She will die soon."

"All mortals die soon."

"She will die sooner."

"Ah."

"She is worthy, Path."

"You have met her?"

"I have. They have been separate for a long time - his work made it necessary - but the spark has remained true. She has a feisty centre and there is no badness in her. Theirs would be a fiery union if it came to be."

"Very well. I agree."

"Good. Of course, he may not accept."

"He knows vampires. He knows you. Do not push him. Is he an empath?"

"No, but he has powerful insight."

"That is also a talent."

"Yes."

 

Chapter Seven

Spike

 

 

It was late in the evening on February the sixteenth, and Rupert was wondering why he bothered watching television at all when his doorbell rang. At last. He opened the front door and looked at his visitor standing tensely in the cold darkness. He spent a moment studing the pale, wary face in front of him before stepping aside.

"Come in."

"Thanks." Clutching a small canvas hold-all, Spike stepped into the warm light of Rupert’s entrance hall.

Rupert shut the door on the night. "Drop your coat and bag and come in here." He went into the kitchen.

"What, no warm greeting?" asked Spike as he followed him. "I was Harris all the way over here. You’ve no idea how depressing that was."

Rupert snorted and opened the fridge door. "I’ve got in a supply," he said, pointing to the packets of blood. "I don’t know how long you’re going to be here so there’s more in a fridge in the garage."

"Thanks." Spike took a packet and bit into it hungrily.

Rupert sat at the huge oak table and pointed to a chair opposite him. "Sit."

Spike sat down and they stared at each other.

"I’m assuming your chip is still working?" asked Rupert finally, his face stern.

Spike gave him a tense grin. "You bring me all the way over here and now you’re asking?"

"Well, is it?"

"Dunno. Haven’t tested it for ages."

"All right. I don’t have to warn you - "

"No." Spike closed his eyes wearily. "No. I know."

"Right." Rupert sat back. "So why are you here?"

Spike studied his fingernails. "I think Mera might be able to give me something."

"Ah. What are you after?"

"I think she may be able to turn me."

"Turn you - "

"Into what she is."

"Good god!"

*

"I’d dismissed what you first wrote about Mera," said Spike. "Well, not dismissed as such - more like ‘Oh, so there really are vampires that can walk in the sun. How nice for them.’ But then when you sent that report about Path I remembered something - a really vague vamp legend about ‘Siblings’. I heard it a long time ago, must have been shortly after I was turned, and when I remembered it the other day it really got me going."

"Why? Where did you hear it from?"

"Oh, there was this really old vamp I spent some time talking to once. She was this raggedy mop-doll of a girl, all wild hair and ribbons and wilted flowers - lived in a system of caves in France. Face like a bag of lemons. If I hadn’t already met Dru I’d have thought this vamp was off her rocker. Full of stories, she was, well up on the old legends and myths - real ‘Golden Bough’ stuff, mostly about humans. But this Siblings one was about vampires, which is why I remembered it. More precisely, it was about the very first vampires. Interesting, eh?"

Rupert frowned slightly and Spike glanced at him.

"One of these Siblings," he continued. "Was a ‘Sister’ who ‘Held in her hand the gift of the gentle sun’. Now, let me tell you, the words ‘gentle sun’ are bound to get a vamp thinking no matter how big a moron he is, and I thought about it quite a bit after I heard it. When I read your report about this 'vampire' who could wear crosses and walk in the sun, I thought quite hard and put two and two together.

"That’s when I got excited - that ‘gift’ word - and asked you to bring me over. I thought this could be my chance to be something that...well, anyway." Spike shrugged.

"Let me see if I’ve got this right," said Rupert. "You had me bring you all the way over here on the very slight basis of a legend about a vampire who had the gift of - "

"No," said Spike. "Held. Held the gift in her hand. I always thought the wording was deliberate. If you hold something in your hand you can do whatever you like with it. You can put it on a shelf, or you can drop it, or bloody bury it…or you can give it to someone. I’m hoping she can give it to me." He put his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling. "But there’s more. After I asked you to bring me over here, I went back to my crypt and thought about it again. I was sure - no, I knew you were talking about one of the Siblings but it was strange, y’know, ‘cause something didn’t fit."

Rupert shifted uncomfortably.

"It didn’t fit, Rupert." Spike shot a look at him and spoke deliberately. "You see, the Siblings are triplets. Get that, Giles: triplets. Number One is the first vamp, an ordinary bugger like yours truly. Number Two is the sister with the gift, and I think we can safely call her Path, can’t we? And Number Three? Well, that’s interesting. Number Three kills Number One as soon as they meet."

"Well - "

Spike gave Rupert a calculating look. "Everything fitted except for that third Sibling. You wrote about twins. So someone’d got it badly wrong, or was lying, and you know what? I came to the conclusion that was you, mate."

Rupert shifted again. "Why?"

"Because when I thought you might be lying I tried to think of a reason why you’d do that, and pretty quickly I came up with a spectacular one, Watcher."

"I - "

"The Third kills The First," quoted Spike. "The Third Sibling’s the bloody Slayer, ain’t it? This head on my shoulders ain’t just pretty, so don’t lie to me, Giles."

Rupert gave up. "Then I won’t," he said quietly.

Spike slumped in his seat. "Bloody hell."

"If you mention - "

"Oh, I’m not going to tell her. That’s your job, mate."

"That’s right."

"Yeah, and if you don’t do it soon she’s going to work it out on her own. I’ve seen her reading that report of yours, seen her frowning over it. She must have read it thirty times by now. And I know about those dreams - that run-in you lot had with the first Slayer. If you wanted to keep this from her you shouldn’t have given us Mera’s description of what Path looks like."

"I don’t want to keep it from her."

"Well, you better tell her soon, that’s all."

Rupert watched in silence as Spike got up and took another blood packet out of the fridge. He put it in the microwave and warmed it up.

"Got any beer?" the vampire asked when the microwave pinged.

"Yes."

"Good. Now I’m going to hear those tapes you made."

Rupert hesitated, then nodded and fetched the tapes from his desk in the study. He took Spike into the lounge. "Music centre’s over there, and headphones. It’s a long story though, and I’m quite tired-"

Spike looked around the room. "Yeah, well. You just leave me down here and go to bed. Where’s my room, and - " he pointed to a large drinks cabinet. "Are the drinks cold in there?"

"Yes, there’s a small fridge. Your room is third on the left at the top of the stairs."

"This place is just full of fridges. Right." Spike looked at Rupert pointedly. "’Night then."

"Yes, er- goodnight." Rupert left the lounge in a daze, amazed at how swiftly to this cocky vampire had apparently taken control.  On the stairs he looked back through the lounge door and saw Spike crouched in front of the drinks cabinet with the fridge door open, looking at the cans of beer. Wondering what had just happened, Rupert continued up to his room.

*

Rupert left his bedroom door open when he went to sleep, reasoning that if Spike was going to go bad he’d have no trouble getting through a locked door. Therefore when he awoke the next morning he heard a loud and enthusiastic rendition of "Friggin’ in the Riggin" rising above the sound of the shower in the guest bathroom.

He groaned, checked his throat and looked at his watch to find that most of the morning was gone. He dragged on some crumpled clothes and went downstairs to call Olivia. He had been keeping her up to date with all the developments, holding nothing back, thinking that it might for a time divert her thoughts, so this morning he told her about Spike’s arrival and his reasons for coming.

They talked for a few minutes and then, hopelessly, he asked her when they would be able to see each other again. As he knew she would, she claimed a prior appointment - with her doctor or the hospital, or the bank, or any one of a large number of things that she simply had to deal with. He knew what she was doing; trying to separate herself from him and spare his feelings, and he was torn between wanting to be with her and respecting her unspoken wishes.

He said goodbye to her with a familiar ache in his chest.

*

Avoiding shafts of sunlight, Spike came into the kitchen as Rupert was eating his breakfast and reached across the sink to pull down the window blind and shut out the sun.

Rupert glanced at him. "Before you ask, there’s Weetabix in the larder - and please keep the vile concoction that I know you’re about to make out of my sight while I’m eating."

Spike grinned and made his breakfast. He placed his bowl on the table next to Rupert’s plate and sat down, stirring the thick bloody mess in a way that made it slurp. With slow deliberation he filled a spoon, lifted it, and let the contents fall back into the bowl with a splat. Little dots of red appeared on the table top.

Rupert gagged and left the table to spit his last bite of breakfast into a piece of tissue. "There’s no reasoning with you is there?"

"Oh, come on, Rupes. You’ve seen it before." Spike pursed his lips and sucked in a loud mouthful. He grinned at Rupert with red teeth. "Tell you what: you don’t comment on my breakfast and I’ll not mention your - " he studied the remains on Rupert’s plate. "Very healthful fry-up. Yeah, with fried bread, too - how’s your arteries, mate? Doing okay?"

"You keep your mind off my arteries." Rupert made himself some coffee. "I see you left an artistically overflowing ashtray in the lounge. I appreciate the stale air in there, by the way. Open a window next time."

"Prissy."

"Or you can stay in the garage," said Rupert with a smile. "Or perhaps I could buy a kennel. I know a pet shop - "

"All right, all right." Spike wiped blood off his chin. "From now on I’ll tidy up and open windows."

"Thank you." Rupert left the kitchen.

There was a small television on the work-top and Spike turned it on and watched a few minutes of daytime television with a look of wonder on his face.

"What is this shit?" he demanded when Rupert returned. "Haven’t you got satellite?"

"No."

"Bloody hell." Spike turned the television off. "When do I see Mera?"

"Tonight at her house - I’ve just called her. I’m going to Headquarters now and I’ll be back after dark. I don’t want to hang about tonight so if you go wandering don’t go far."

"I won’t. Are you going to tell them I’m here?"

"No. They’d kill you if they knew."

"Kill me? I thought this Quentin guy - "

"Not him. Others. You offend them. I can’t imagine why."

"Oh yeah - thanks for that, mate. After all the help you’ve had from me." Spike put his bowl in the dishwasher. "Where’s your computer?"

"In the study."

"Any games on it?"

"No."

"Typical."

*

Spike stood on Mera’s doorstep and tried to see the immortal in the woman standing in front of him, but all he saw was a grinning face and bright, acquisitive eyes as she looked him up and down appreciatively and invited him in.

"He’s heard the tapes I made," said Rupert.

"Oh yes?" said Mera, still staring at Spike. "And what did you think of ‘em, sweetie?"

Never having been called ‘Sweetie’ before, Spike felt a little unbalanced. "Er, good," he said. "Yeah, they were good."

"Good," mimicked Rupert as they entered Mera’s lounge. "You listened to a sweeping story that runs the length and breadth of human history and all you can say - "

"Oh, Rupert," interrupted Mera. "Shut up and get some beers from the kitchen, would you? Take your time." She waved Spike to a chair. "Like an old woman he is, sometimes."

Rupert snorted and left the room.

"So." Mera looked at Spike. "What’s your question?"

*

Rupert entered the lounge to find Mera sitting on the sofa with her eyes wide and her mouth open.

"You want me to try to turn you?" she asked slowly, stunned.

Rupert smiled.

"Yeah." Spike sat on the edge of his chair. "Is it possible?"

"Christ, I don’t know!" Mera stood up and started pacing. "That was the last thing I expected. It wasn’t even on the list!" She turned to Spike. "And you got this idea from the legend? Just because of the word ‘gift’? Oh, lad. That’s a hell of a long arm you’re reaching with."

"Don’t I know it." Spike was earnest. "But it’s not - it’s not totally impossible, is it?"

"Whooo, bloody hell!" Mera dropped onto the sofa again. "Um - I’ll have to think."

"Congratulations, Spike," said Rupert. "That’s the first time I’ve seen her fuzzled. Trust you to accomplish it."

"I don’t have an evil demon, you know," said Mera to Spike. "You do. You needed an invite to come in here, which tells me your demon is still alive and well even though you don’t behave as if it is. It’s a problem."

"Oh yeah," said Spike. "It’s still there. Live an’ kicking." Feeling that the name ‘Sweetie’ had diminished him somewhat, he felt a need to remind her of what he was. "I can still cause mayhem if I want to." He pushed out his chin with a cocky smirk. "If I could bite you, love, I probably would."

"Don’t be an idiot," snapped Rupert. "If you want Mera to try this, cut out the bad-boy rubbish." 

"Yes." Mera looked hard at Spike’s face. "You’re a pesky one, aren’t you? But I’m peskier, so watch it."

Suddenly acutely aware of how stupid it would be to alienate this woman, Spike backtracked fast. "Sorry. Habit."

"Yes, I think everything about you is habit. C’mere." Mera patted the sofa. Spike sat beside her and she grabbed his face in her hands. "What a pretty face. Now stay silent." She closed her eyes. "I’m not as good at this as Path is."

Spike looked at Rupert from the corner of his eye, but the Watcher was staring at Mera.

After several minutes Mera let Spike go. "I thought as much. You know what people are feeling, don’t you? You know their emotions."

"Er, well," said Spike, a little surprised. "I - yeah, I suppose. It don’t work with me, though. Took years to find out what was going on in my head."

Mera looked away with a little smile. "So that’s why you didn’t leave," she said quietly.

Rupert frowned. "Leave what?"

"Never mind." Mera turned to Spike. "You, my pretty one, are an empath."

"Er - yeah?"

"Yes. It explains everything. This is good."

Rupert stared at Spike. "Good lord. Why didn’t I see that?"

"Because when you looked at him all you were expecting to see was a vampire. You saw no reason to look further." Mera sat back. "Well, this is interesting. Empathic vampire with shackled demon, wants to lose same demon and walk in sun."

"Lose my demon?" Spike was startled.

"Well, yes love, of course. You don’t think I’d even consider doing this if you were going to keep it, do you? Don’t you want to lose it?"

"No, no, that’s not what I meant. Is it possible? Lose the demon?" It was Spike’s turn to stand up and start pacing. "All I was thinking was it’d be good if I could sit in the sun with - er, and not burst into flames. But if I could lose my demon - god!" He looked around wildly.

At last, Rupert realised Spike’s motivation. "This isn’t about you, is it?" he demanded. "This is about Buffy."

"Of course it’s about Buffy," said Mera, smiling. "Greatest motivation of all for this particular vampire. Ain’t it, sweet thing?"

Spike stared at her with wide eyes and she realised that the voice of calm was needed. "Careful, love," she said quietly. "We don’t even know if there’s a way. Don’t you go getting all het-up. Not at this stage"

Spike chewed his lip.

"You hear me?" Mera asked. "I suggest you go home and read something boring. Rupert and I will confer. All right?"

Spike nodded and left without another word. Rupert and Mera looked at each other.

"Do you think it’s possible?" asked Rupert.

"I’ll talk with Path. But that’s not what I want to ‘confer’ with you about."

"Oh?"

Mera took a deep breath. "Now, I don’t want you to fly off the handle, all right? I want you to think, as calmly as you can. I want you to take your time and look at it rationally."

"All right." Rupert was mystified.

Mera stood up and faced him. "Path and I have considered this ever since you were called as a Watcher. It’s mainly why I contacted you when you came back to England. We’ve been aware of you for years. We watched you panic over your calling and descend into darkness and we watched you overcome it and come back up stronger, a lot like the Slayer has."

Rupert felt a little cold. "How did you - watch?"

"As I told you before, we feel things. If it’s anything big concerning the Three, we feel it. It comes of being so close to the - the source, if you like. Path’s source. Our source. There aren’t any thousands of years between us and the Demon. There’s Path, and me. It’s strong, and you are connected to one of the Three. We’re always aware of Watchers but when you were called you stood out like a beacon."

"All right." Rupert suddenly knew what she was about to say and felt even colder. "What is it you want?"

"It’s time to extend the family. Spike has already offered himself. If we find a way, I think he’ll make a fine addition."

Rupert held his breath, tensing up.

Mera swallowed. "We offer it to you," she said quickly. "Unlike vampires, you get a choice."

*

Dear Willow, Buffy, et al.

Just a quick word to help straighten my mind out. It’s all very amazing.

We know Spike’s reasons now - he wants Mera to turn him. He wants to be like her, whatever that is. If you think about it, Buffy, his motivation is obvious. Mera is going to talk to Path about it. She says he’s an empath, which actually makes a lot of sense. She also says he has to lose his demon but I don’t know if that’s possible without killing him. This is utterly unique, never been done before.

Bit dizzy at the moment, sorry for the shortness. Anyway, I’ll keep you informed as always.

Love to you all,

Giles.

*

"Sounds like Giles is on overload." Buffy was in Willow’s room. "And Spike wants to be like Mera! God, I wasn’t expecting that one."

Willow took the message and read it again. Then she put it down and frowned at Buffy, her mind working very fast.

Buffy began to squirm uncomfortably. "What?"

"An empath," said Willow. "He’s an empath. Buffy - he knows what we’re feeling…"

"Yes, I - "

"He knows what you’re feeling," said Willow seriously. "When you rejected him and we were all so horrid to him - Buffy, he wouldn’t go away - "

"What are you saying?"

"I’m saying that any other man, or vampire, would have packed his bags and left. Spike didn’t." Willow’s eyes bored into Buffy’s. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don’t have a clue."

"Yeah, right."

"I don’t!"

"Do you miss him?" Willow asked slyly.

"No! Well, yeah, a bit. I mean - he’s missing, isn’t he? He was always around and now he’s not. I don’t get it, Will. What are you - "

"This thing he wants Mera to do," interrupted Willow. "It may kill him, you know. We may never see him again." She kept her eyes on Buffy. "Ever."

Willow watched her friend think about that. A faint look of surprise appeared on Buffy’s face and she became very still.

"What are you doing, Will?" Buffy demanded suddenly.

Willow turned to her computer and switched it off. "You need to think, Buffy."

"About what?"

"About the fact that Spike’s always known what you’re feeling. And about the fact that he refused to give up. And when you’ve done that, ask yourself this: What Do I Want?"

 

Chapter Eight

Cogitations

 

 

Early the next morning Rupert stood in his garden, thinking. His shock of last night had faded and now he didn’t know what to feel. The only thing that pleased him was the memory of leaving Mera’s house calmly this time, saying goodnight and walking slowly throught the village to his home. He knew he hadn’t fooled her for a second.

He remembered only vaguely the conversation they’d had about her offer. He’d tried to talk rationally, questioning her about why they’d chosen him, telling her what his initial feelings were; how even if he wanted to he couldn’t think of considering it when Olivia was about to die before her time. He clearly recalled Mera’s response to that one: "That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in a long while." Then she cut off his spluttering protests. "Don’t fret about Olivia, Rupert. Path agrees that if she wants to she can come too. She’s a worthwhile woman."

Rupert had sat stunned after that and Mera had smiled at him. "To add three more to our family is, for Path and I, a wonderful thought. But don’t worry - I won’t push. I won’t mention it until you do, even if that means never again. All right?"

Now, shivering in a chilly wind, Rupert found himself thinking about how old he was. He was shocked at what he was doing, but, like an understanding psychiatrist, he knew why he was doing it. Nothing like an offer of immortality to get a person thinking about death, eh? To get them thinking about age, about how the years fly past faster and faster as you get older until it reaches the point where you barely have time to get used to a year starting before Spring and Summer are gone and the leaves are falling and woosh! you’re putting up Christmas tinsel again. The nineties? Where the hell did they go?

Faster and faster, and here comes the big five-oh, see it? Standing just over there, grinning and waving at you?

If you’re lucky you might have another thirty or forty years - which will pass by like five, you stupid bastard - and you still have a thousand things to do and a million books to read and you’ll never. have. time. The places in the world you’ve always wanted to see - stop.

And the tragedy, the incredible tragedy that’s bad enough to make you want to cry? When your body is fifty your mind will be thirty. Now, isn’t that just precious?

Mera said her five thousand years had gone in a blink. Of course they had, she lives in the Now just like everyone else, even Spike. "Now is when we live," Michael Greco had said - Michael who was not afraid to die, who had done all he wished to do and was happy just to ‘go gentle.’

But what if you weren’t finished with living? Olivia wasn’t finished with it, that much was obvious. She hated the thought of dying. What would she say to Mera? Would she agonise about it, or just grab the chance with both hands and burst into tears?

Oh yes, there’s nothing like an offer of immortality to get you thinking….thinking too much. Vampires had it easy; all decided for them. Spike - William hadn’t gone through this. One bite before he knew what was happening and it was Hello Spike, have a nice immortality. Lucky sod.

Lucky? What in god’s name was he thinking? Damn Mera!

He realised he had his hand on the sundial and he looked at the bronze gnomon. There was no sun and the unicorn’s horn couldn’t tell Rupert anything - but he knew what time it was anyway. It was late, that’s what it was. Bloody late. Almost too late.

Just think, if you agreed to her offer you’d remain like this, in this late forties body for all time. What would that be like? Well actually, thinking about it, it wouldn’t be too bad. Late thirties would be better, but the forties weren’t so terrible. Minimum aches and pains and Olivia liked the body. Down the endless years together, never changing, never weakening. Never getting ill - cancer; heart attack; brain tumour - stop. Stop, you moron.

What if life became boring? What if it became so boring you felt it was time to go? You couldn’t take the nicer way out and down a bottle of sleeping tablets. Wouldn’t work. You’d have to stake yourself. Oh god, what a thought. Would it ever get boring? Mera wasn’t bored.

Those little aches and pains are going to get worse - stop.

And when you did finally die, where would you go? Which one of the two aiches would you end up in? No - think about Buffy. No evil equals heaven.

Buffy would have a fit just to hear about Mera’s offer, but then Buffy was young and incredibly healthy and had never expected to live long anyway. She didn’t plan to get lines on her pretty face and gritty noises in her joints.

Come to think of it, the old knees clicked a bit. Shut up.

Rupert ran his hand over the unicorn and sighed, looking around his wet garden. Then, once more: Olivia was smiling. Rupert gasped. Spike leaned back on his elbows in the sun, talking lazily with Tara and Dawn.

"Oh my god." Rupert stood frozen. "That’s why he’s in my fantasy."

*

The door to Spike’s room stayed shut all day and not a sound came from inside. Rupert spent his time moving from room to room, unable to settle. He tried to read but his mind wandered. "Damn you, Mera!" he muttered over the frugal lunch he had put together and had no appetite for. "Damn you, damn you!"

He stood by the phone for a long time while his mind raced, then quickly he picked it up and called Olivia.

"No. No, Olivia - I’m coming over. I need to see you. I need to talk to you. Yes, it is all upside-down here at the moment, but I’ll come on whatever day you say. Now give me a date, Olivia."

That evening Rupert felt completely exhausted and went up to bed early. He saw that Spike’s bedroom door was open, and he looked in.

The vampire was flat out on the bed, on his front with his face in the duvet and feet on the pillows. Raising his head, he caught Rupert’s gaze and sat up. "Blimey. What’s happened?"

Rupert slumped against the door frame and rubbed his face wearily. "Nothing. I’m tired, that’s all."

Spike sighed. "Bollocks, Watcher. I told you before I’m not just pretty." He looked hard at Rupert’s face. "What’s got you in a whirl?"

"I said it’s - "

It hit Spike suddenly. "Oh" he said in wonder, his eyes wide. "Bloody hell! She offered it, didn’t she? You lucky bastard - I never had a choice!" Rattled, Spike patted his pockets and fumbled a bent cigarette out of a crushed packet. Then he chuckled. "You look like shit, Rupes. Better get some sleep." Dropping the cigarette, Spike fell back onto the bed. He grabbed a pillow and slammed it over his face, holding it there with his arms as he began to groan.

Rupert continued on to his own room. As he entered he heard another chuckle. "Good luck on the sleeping bit, Rupes."

"Funny," muttered Rupert, and slammed the door.

*

"Frankly, I wasn’t expecting to see you for a while." Mera looked curiously at Rupert.

Rupert grimaced. "Yes, well I spent all day yesterday in a daze - cursing you, actually."

She laughed. "I’m good at making people do that. What brings you over?"

"I want to know if you’ve decided what to do about Spike."

"Oh." Mera waved him to a seat. "I’m all for trying it, if we can find a way. I’ve thought about it and I’m going to talk to Path today and see what she thinks."

"Do you really think it’s possible?"

"I see no reason why it shouldn’t be. I just can’t think how to do it. It’s his demon, you see. I think it’ll fight like the - ha! - like the devil if I try to turn Spike in his current condition. I’m going to have to get rid of it beforehand. Anyway, if he keeps it he’ll still be a vampire."

"But it’s all that’s keeping him alive, isn’t it?"

"Yes, at the moment."

"If it did fight, would it win?"

"The vamp demon has one of the strongest survival instincts in existence. It’s full of the old Demon’s determination, you see, even though it has no intelligence of it’s own. It won’t let go. It might even gain the upper hand again and Spike’ll end up being what he was before. No, it needs to be killed."

"God. What about the chip?"

"Oh, I can get rid of that, no trouble," said Mera airily. "You know the faith-healers - those swine who pretend to remove tumours and suchlike without making incisions?"

"Yes."

Well, they have no idea that it’s actually possible. If you know how, you can remove almost anything from a body. And I know how. It was my tribe’s speciality."

"Good god," Rupert gasped, his heart suddenly beating hard. "Could you - "

"No. I said almost anything. The cancer’s all over her. I’d have to remove her blood."

Rupert sank back, shaken.

"I’m sorry, Rupert. There’s only one thing I can do for her."

"Yes. It’s all right." He forced himself to relax. "You said you were going to talk to Path?"

"Yes. You can listen in if you like."

"What? How?"

"Me how. Do you want to?"

Rupert was suddenly intensely curious and at Mera’s invitation he joined her on the sofa.

"I haven’t seen Path for several decades," Mera said. "But we talk often."

"Decades!"

"We think of time differently. A decade seems to go in a blink."

"A blink? Then there isn’t that much difference." Rupert looked sad for a moment. "But you know you’ll see the sun set a hundred years from now."

Mera tactfully didn’t answer that. "Path thinks in words," she said. "She just can’t say them very well. But she thinks very clearly." She raised a hand and paused. "If you wish to say anything to her, think precisely. Don’t say ‘don’t’. Say ‘do not’. Speak aloud if it helps. Understand?"

He nodded. Mera placed her hand on his head and closed her eyes - and suddenly Rupert was drifting, isolated from the world. When he heard Mera speak it was as if she was talking from inside his bones. He shuddered.

Mera: "Path?"

Path: "Hello, Mera."

Rupert’s mind reeled under the force of the thought. Deep, strong and unstoppable, like - like a river of thick warm mud, or toffee.

Mera: "Path, Rupert is here with us. I have asked him our question. He is considering."

Path: "Welcome, Rupert." primitive tattooed smiling face.

Rupert hadn’t expected the visual. He found he was holding his breath. He had just met what was probably the oldest living creature on earth.

Mera: "She is looking into a mirror, Rupert. Do you wish to say hello to her?"

Rupert: "Oh, er, h-hello Path. I’m - um - I am happy to meet you at last."

Path: smiling, deep brown eyes creasing.

Mera: "I will tell her now what has occured with Spike. Path, William the Bloody has arrived here. I have spoken to him."

Path: "What does he want?"

Mera: "He wishes to know if it is possible to become one of us and if we would agree to it."

Path: eyes widening "This is unheard of."

Mera: "Yes. Very unusual. I have heard his past story from Rupert, as William himself relayed it to the Slayer. I have doubts as to its truth."

Rupert’s brow creased and before he could stop himself he said: "You do?"

Mera: "Wait, Rupert."

Path: thoughful frown "Why do you doubt?"

Mera: "William is not the person he pretends to be. Deep, deep inside him lives someone else: the one he was before he was turned."

Path: "Why does he pretend?"

Mera: "This hidden person has no malice in him. William changed himself to appear more - dangerous. He may have done this in order to survive, given the family he was ‘born’ into. Or it may have been simply a reaction against the times in which he had been living. It may have been all these things."

Path: sad face "Who is he now?"

Mera: "If we ignore his demon parasite, he is now an energetic, pleasant mixture of gentleness and violence, recklessness and care. With an acid tongue on him sometimes. He is also, without doubt, an empath. His talent was probably only latent during his human days and it may have mislead him somewhat. I imagine it was fully released and greatly reinforced when he was turned. It has allowed him to fall in love with the Slayer."

Path: wide eyes "He loves the Slayer?"

Mera: "He is a man who, with his enhanced talent, will always be drawn to the most worthwhile women. Drusilla was a worthwhile woman before she was turned. I expect a remnant of this still lives deep under her madness and he has probably always sensed this. His demon is now controlled. William is in charge. He has rejected Drusilla and fallen in love with his enemy, a much worthier woman - sane, for a start, and strong, volcanic, with a deep well of feeling inside her. Perfect for him. She rejected him, of course, but he pursued her nonetheless. Even if I could not sense his empathic talent, this alone would be enough to inform me of it’s presence. He knows the Slayer’s innermost feelings." Rupert jumped and Mera tightened her grip on him.

Path: "Do you believe we should attempt this?"

Mera: "Yes. We must find a way. He would make a fine addition to our tiny family."

Path: "How is his demon controlled?"

Mera: "Ah. This was a happy accident. I will tell you his recent story as Rupert knows it."

*

When Mera took her hand from his head Rupert spoke immediately. "What did you mean about Spike knowing Buffy’s innermost feelings?"

"I’d have thought it was obvious. Think about it. Why would he pursue her with such determination if he knew that she truly couldn’t stand him?"

Rupert’s mouth was open. "You’re saying Buffy - oh, good god!"

Why call on god? Come on Rupert, her human lovers have been disasters. She hasn’t killed Spike but she has no hesitation about killing other vampires. The only other person she’s been in love with is Angel."

"But - "

"No. There’s no ‘but’. She’s connected to them, you know that. Why do you think the Council works so hard to make Slayers into virtual machines? Kendra - lord, I felt sorry for that girl. Talk about indoctrination. And segregation. I don’t know what the Council does or doesn’t remember but they know that Slayers and vamps must remain strictly separate. There was a terrible accident once, back when the Council was young. I don’t know all the details - Path doesn’t like to speak of it, it upsets her. Basically, I think a Slayer let a vampire try to turn her. I’m not sure, but I think it was someone she knew before he was turned, someone she was in love with and of course the human part of him still loved her. From what I gather, the Source went berserk and I would not have liked to have seen that. The Council took steps to try and make sure it never happened again and their methods were successful for a long time. But this world we live in now - it’s impossible to keep Slayers down. Unless they’re virtually kept in purdah, they will meet people and they will fall in love. Or indulge their bad tendencies. Given a chance, Slayers will always be attracted to the most unusual vamps, like moths to a candle. It’s like a fascination. They’re from the same mould."

"Are you attracted to vampires?"

"In a way, but I never get emotional apart from feeling sorry for the poor buggers. A Slayer always has huge appetites, you know that, and the nature of their work - it would never succeed with an ordinary human. It never has. Face it, the best mate for a Slayer is a vampire who has overcome his demon. Enter Spike, who has been around Buffy for a long time and has shown her  - and you - his true self. And what a fine self it is too. Plus, there’s chemistry. Put it all together and what do you get? Of course, it doesn’t happen often - apart from the one time I’ve mentioned, I think Buffy and Angel were the only other occurrance. But Buffy is in a spectacularly unusual position; she’s never been indoctrinated with the agreed rules and she was on her own for a while before you came along. She slipped past the Council’s net. They can’t catch every potential Slayer, they’ve missed some before now but they always catch up with them and train them. Buffy - I don’t know, you’ll have to ask Quentin why they left her out there and didn’t bring her in. I’m sure it was deliberate, perhaps an experiment concerning her family and friends and it looks like they did the same with Faith which, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, was a huge mistake. Now, there’s a girl who needed proper care."

"Whatever their plan was, it worked with Buffy and failed with Faith. I hope to god they’re more careful next time. Maybe, having done it the same way for thousands of years, they’re trying something else now - pehaps a situation where the Slayer forges her own ‘mini council’, people who help her in the fight and who are free to make their own decisions. Because that’s what your Buffy has done; made her own mini council, and the Watchers have let this happen."

Rupert sat quiet, remembering Quentin’s testing of Buffy’s friends.

"Sorry," said Mera. "I got a little off-track there. The point is, Buffy is in a unique position as a Slayer - she’s bound to break the rules and think her own thoughts. And so we come full-circle back to Spike and his empathy."

Rupert shook his head. "I’m never going to remember all this. I should tape every conversation I have with you."

"I can go over it again as many times as you like."

"You’ll have to. There’s something else - you mentioned a parasite, Spike’s parasite. Is that what you have?" Rupert hesitated. "What are you, Mera?"

"Don’t know. Human, I suppose."

"Human? But - you aren’t. Are you? You can’t be."

"Excuse me, I was born of human parents. I think I’m qualified."

"Yes, but you’ve been changed haven’t you?"

"No, I’m exactly the person I would be if I’d lived this long anyway. If you’re trying to compare me to vampires, stop now. I’m immortal, yes. Extra-human strength, yes. But I do have a heartbeat, did you know that? I’m not dead. Path definitely had the best deal. Listen - "

She sat forward, concentrating. "Symbiont. That’s the most fitting way to describe it. Vampires - well, they have a parasite. Living only for itself, it latches on to a nearly dead body and uses it. It takes them over. It may only be an instinct, but it’s a very strong one - one that’s impossible to resist. Until one of them is given the means to resist, that is. It rules their lives, ruins their lives in the true way of a parasite."

"Now me, I have a symbiont. You can call it a demon as much as you like but it hasn’t taken the sun away from me and it doesn’t make me do what I ordinarily wouldn’t. I still have my soul, whatever the hell that is - I mention it merely because you Watchers seem to place so much importance on it. Whatever I decide to do, good or evil, is down soley to me, nothing else. I take the blame. It hasn’t ruined my life - it has enriched it. Symbionts benefit the guest and the host and what I have might as well be called symbiotic because there’s no other word that fits." She sat back. "I’m happy with the way I am. That’s more than most of the world can say."

"This is why you have sympathy for them, isn’t it? For vampires?"

"For the poor things trapped inside, yes. Like the First, they hardly ever have a choice, they don’t know what’s going to happen and it isn’t their fault."

"But while the demon is in control - "

"Yes. We have no choice but to kill them."

"All right. Parasites and symbionts. So what does Buffy have?"

"Think about it. Has it taken over her life? Did she have any choice? Has it made it virtually impossible for her to function as a normal human being? Does it use her? I know what the answers are. Her part is an aspect like mine but it also functions as a parasite. It uses her because the Source has chosen to foist this thing upon her. And you know I’m right."

"I’ve never thought of it that way. It’s incredible."

"Like I said before - it’s a bloody tragedy. From start to finish."

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