What happened? How had he gotten here? Giles vaguely remembered being at home, waiting for Anya. What was he doing here, with his guitar in his hands? He looked around to find familiar surroundings. Of course! It was that coffee shop in Chelsea, the one where he'd met Olivia. He hadn't been back in years, not since before he first went to America. Strange, it hadn't changed at all since then. Still the same stage he used to sing from, the same furnishings as when she introduced herself by showing him the sketches she'd made of him while he was performing. Even the faces of the help and the audience looked familiar. But when he looked again, they began to change. The eyes took on a reddish glow. The teeth grew into fangs, the hands into talons. Demons! They rose up from the tables and chairs and began advancing on him. He looked behind him and the stage had disappeared, the whole room had evaporated. All around him was a bleak, rocky plain, the only thing on it a great black building with darkened windows. He raced for it, hearing the screeching of his pursuers close behind. He flew through the open door, slamming and locking it behind him.

 

His back braced against the door as he prepared for an assault, Giles found himself in an immense empty room. "Good Lord, what have I gotten into?" he thought, then realized that the noise outside had ceased. Looking through a window, all he could see was an empty plain. No more demons.

 

But when he turned back around, the huge room was gone. Instead a long corridor stretched in front of him, with a multitude of doors on either side. It seemed to go on without end, and he wondered whether it might be better to go back outside. Then he heard it. The music. It was a theme from Brahms, played on the piano in a way he'd heard it a thousand times by... but how could that be? He walked cautiously down the hallway, listening at each door until he could tell where the sound was coming from. When he found the room, he entered and knew he was right.

 

This was a room that he knew would never change.  It looked the same when he went to visit just last Christmas as it had when he was a child. The long shelves filled with books, the table where the research materials were laid out, the piano in the corner. The piano! No one was sitting there. Where had the music...?

 

"I stopped playing when I heard you coming."

 

It was him. He hadn't changed either. It always seemed to Giles that he never changed. When he saw him a few months back he'd noticed that his hair was completely white now, but nothing else seemed different.

 

"Father, what am I doing here? What are we doing here?"

 

Giles Sr. spoke kindly. "This is the place for us, Rupert. Where else would we be?"

 

"What place? I don't understand."

 

"The place for failures, son. We failed, both of us."

 

"Failed? Failed at what?"

 

"I failed by making you become a Watcher.  Family tradition and all that. You didn't want it, but I insisted.  I'm sorry, Rupert. I can see it now. Your failure is my failure, too."

 

"I haven't failed."

 

"Haven't you? You've fought evil, killed vampires and demons, but what's really changed? Evil still exists, it returns over and over. There are always more demons, more vampires. The battle is futile, we should accept that. Instead, we break our hearts over a fight we can never win. I don't want that for you anymore, son, it hurts me to see it put you in so much pain. Don't you see that?"

 

Giles felt stunned. "I... I've never heard you talk like this before."

 

"I should have done it long ago. When you dropped out of Oxford, I should have let you go. It's too late now, too late..."

 

He walked out through the far doorway. Giles followed, but he was gone. He was out in the long corridor again, but it was different now: Smaller, dingier, yet somehow familiar. He could hear music again, more well remembered chords, this time a spacey guitar, coming through an open door:

 

[So, so you think you can tell/Heaven from Hell/Blue skies from pain/Can you tell a green field/From a cold steel rail/A smile from a veil/Do you think you can tell?]

 

Everything was just as he remembered it: The gray cinderblock walls, the never-made bed, the perpetual pile of unwashed dishes in the sink. And in the corner, the terrible shrine to Eyghon, the one where they'd...

 

[How I wish/How I wish you were here/We're two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl/Year after year]

 

"So, old man, are you glad to be home?"

 

He knew that voice, and it filled him with cold rage. "This was never home, Ethan. This was just a place I ran away to."

 

"Oh, come now, Ripper, that's not true. This was your real home. You were more yourself here than anywhere else. Both of us were."

 

"This is where we killed a man!"

 

"Randall? He knew the risks. We all did. Eyghon took him and that was that. No point in feeling guilty. All you have to do is accept it. I have."

 

"Yes. And look where it's gotten you!"

 

“We're both here, old man. How do you account for that?"

 

"I... I can't. But I don't have to stay here."

 

[Running over the same old ground/What have we found/The same old fears/Wish you were here]

 

"Suit yourself, Rupert. Run back to your books, the way you always did. You'll find them across the hall.

I'll stay here and tidy up a bit until you get back. Be seeing you."

 

Giles walked through the open door that led to the long rows of bookcases. Wandering through the stacks, again there came the sense of familiarity, and before he reached the end, he knew what he would find there: The short stairway and, at the bottom of it, the Sunnydale High library. The surprise was the woman waiting for him.

 

"I wonder why I never came here before. It's nice here. Quiet. No wonder my daughter spent more time here than at home."

 

"Joyce, I wasn't trying to take her away from you. I had the best intentions..."

 

"I understand that. I understand a lot of things now. Good intentions, we know where those lead, don't we?"

 

"She misses you. Terribly."

 

"And I miss her. But I don't blame you.  I would have died anyway.  You were doing everything you were supposed to do.  But did it help me?  Or her?  Or you?  I was alone at the end. Just like she's alone now. We're always alone when the worst happens. You remember what that's like."

 

"Remember?" 

 

"Just go up those stairs."

 

Giles turned to look, and the stairs had changed. They were no longer the library stairs.  On each step was a glass with a candle burning in it. He could smell the aroma of the rose petals and hear the music, Puccini's La Boheme. His throat tightened at the thought of what he knew was upstairs. A new voice stopped him.

 

"Rupert, don't go up there. You don't have to see it again."

 

He couldn't turn. He couldn't look at her. She came to stand in front of him, looking solemnly up at him.

"Jenny... I'm sorry... I loved you... "

 

"And I loved you. But that didn't change anything.  What happened to me wasn't your fault. You were doing the best you could do.  But that didn't change anything.  I would have been murdered anyway. Don't you see? Nothing we do can change anything. All you have to do is accept that. That's what this place is all about."

 

"Then I can't stay here. I can't accept it. There has to be a way out!"

 

"You can't leave, Rupert. This place was made for you. Everything you were, everything you are, is here. You can't escape from it anymore than you can escape from yourself."

 

"No. There has to be a way." He pushed past her and out the door. Rushing out the corridor, he looked for a familiar door. And found one, white with 1630 on it. His hand shook as he took hold of the knob and turned it.  He found himself in the Summers living room. A wave of dread washed through him at what she'd say. There she was, standing in the kitchen doorway. She looked small and worn.

 

"I thought you left. I thought you weren't coming back."

 

"I know you're not real. I know you're just a demon's illusion."

 

"I'm real enough. I'm what you expect."

 

"No, you're what I fear."

 

"Isn't fear real? It is here."

 

"You mustn't give up."

 

"Mustn't I? Didn't you give up on me?"

 

"No. You know I didn't. I could never give up on you."

 

"You should leave now. You were right. You can't help me anymore than I can help you."

 

Buffy retreated back through the kitchen door. His legs heavy and unsteady, he followed, even though he knew she wouldn't be there.

 

*****

 

"Where to now?" Xander wanted to know.

 

Buffy's frown intensified as she struggled to think. "When we came here, we assumed we were looking for some new threat, but now we know that's not the case. If Giles knows this vampire from the states, we know her."

 

Anya shrugged. "Well, there's Harmony, but personally I always spent all of my time trying to avoid her. And that was when she was still a human."

 

"Yeah," Willow chimed in, "and we know that Darla's not around anymore, seeing that she went 'poof' with the self-stakage and all."

 

"Darla would have been a better guess, since she spent so much time here in England with Ang..." Buffy drifted off. "Oh my god!"

 

The group looked from one to another, realization hitting at the same moment.

 

"Drusilla." The name jumped out of all of them at once.

 

Dawn was confused. "What? What's the big about Drusilla? All I know is that she's Spike's ex-whatever..."

 

Xander looked like he'd just bitten into a bad Doublemeat Burger. "Dawn, she's insane. And she can hypnotize people. She helped Angel..." he stopped to glance at Buffy, "er, Angelus torture Giles. She's also killed a Slayer."

 

"Oh."

 

Starting strong, Willow’s voice dwindled down to a whisper, “This explains why Giles didn’t mention the vampire he was hunting by name.  This explains why he would hunt a nest of vampires alone.  Drusilla used Giles’ memory of Jenny, his love for her, to torture him.”

 

Suddenly Buffy was all business. "Come on. We're going to get some information one way or the other."

 

"Where are we going now?" Anya inquired, "Because I wore my Ferragamo boots, and frankly they're beginning to pinch."

 

Buffy just kept walking. "We are going to confront the Watcher's Council. They must know something."

 

*****

 

The group crowded into the entryway of the tall, elegant brownstone. Buffy strode to the desk and didn't wait for the matronly woman sitting there to speak. "I need to see Quentin Travers. Now."

 

The woman raised a condescending brow. "I'm sorry. Mr. Travers only sees individuals who have an appointment." She looked at a ledger. "There is no entry today for a rude American."

 

Buffy slammed her hand on the desk. Her hand sinking into the hard wood just enough to form small cracks, "I am not just any rude American. I am The Rude Slayer, and anger is riding piggy-back on rude right now."  Buffy glanced down at the cracks in the top of the desk and pushed until the wood groaned under the pressure.

 

"I'll buzz Mr. Travers now."

 

"Thank you."

 

*****

 

Twenty minutes later, Buffy's ire was continuing to grow.  Twenty minutes and Quentin Travers had offered no help.  He didn’t intend to offer any help. In order to stave off the impending explosion from Buffy, Xander placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back a few steps. Willow stepped forward uncertainly. "Mr. Travers, I... I don't understand why you aren't more concerned about the disappearance of one of your Watchers. Don't you want us to find him?"

 

Travers leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together across his bulging waistline.  “You are one of the Slayer's little witch friends, aren't you? I see no reason to answer to you, but if it will clear you all out of my office I will explain."

 

He sat forward with his elbows on the desk and his fingertips steepled together. His face held profound disinterest. "The role of Slayer in our world, while necessary, is inherently temporary. The girls usually expire every two to three years and are immediately replaced. That is the way it works. Watchers are even more expendable. For every Slayer the Council has many potential Watchers. We simply provide the one who is most convenient. Since Miss Summers has outgrown her need for a Watcher, we can't really be overly concerned that she has misplaced hers."

 

"Misplaced?" Buffy surged out of Xander's grasp and leaned over into Travers’ face. "I'll give you misplaced, you arrogant gas bag.  Giles was worth more that the entire group of you, you overstuffed..." Buffy paused, rage and frustration at war inside her.  "WANKER!"

 

Buffy turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The others paused uncertainly inside the office, unsure of what to do next.

 

Willow glanced at Tara and noticed her little smile. "What Tara?" She inquired softly.

 

"I can't believe she just called him a 'wanker'." The two wiccas giggled, not noticing Xander's look of confusion. Anya leaned over to offer the meaning of the insult to Xander.  He turned bright red and burst out laughing. He glanced back at Travers' outraged expression, then laughed even harder.

 

"We'd better go." He was still snickering as he held the door for Anya.

 

Willow smiled too. Standing in the door Willow turned to Quentin. “You should know that Drusilla is loose in your city.  She took Giles.  If we don’t stop her that reservoir of expendable Watchers is so going to run dry.  Bye, now.”

 

*****

 

"Well, that was helpful, not." Dawn snorted. "What now?"

 

Everyone looked at Buffy. Tired, exasperated Buffy. "Oh, god." she groaned. "I don't know. Let's go back to the house and talk with Olivia. She must know something."

 

Olivia greeted them kindly, but could offer no help. She offered to make them supper.

 

Buffy was frustrated. “SUPPER!" she snorted. "Look, someone put Giles in that painting.  I," she caught the glances of Xander, of Willow, "we, need to know who. And we need to know now!"

 

Olivia erupted. "You really believe I would do something like that?!! Let some monster or vampire or demon take him?! Or, dear God, send him off to some horrible place where he would suffer God knows what kind of torment! What kind of a woman would do that to a man she loved?!"

 

The artist looked around the room. Xander was looking intently at the floor. Willow had a worried stare, fixed, not at her, but at Buffy. The Slayer's rage had suddenly disappeared.

 

Buffy sighed, turned her head. Gently, she said, "No, I don't think you're the kind of woman who would do that."

 

The Slayer and the Painter regarded each other coolly. "But what about these pictures?  I thought you didn’t believe in monsters, but there are five canvases right here that seem to deny that."

 

"I, I don't know what to tell you. I don't paint or sketch because I want to; I do it because I have to. If I don't, I feel incomplete, not, well, not whole. Do you have any idea what that's like?" The withering stare gave her an answer. "Yes, I guess you do..."

 

"My painting, the sketches are a way of connecting to Rupert. His work is so important to him; he nearly eats, sleeps and breathes demon lore."

 

Buffy smiled in spite of herself. "You do know him, don't you?" she said, and Olivia tried to smile back.

 

"When he describes these, these monsters, I see them, I can put them to paper, to canvas. It helps him with his research, him and his, um, allies I guess you would call them, the Council. Getting him to sit for that," she started weeping, "for that water-color, was so hard, and now it's gone, corrupted, it's sick."

 

Olivia sat heavily and buried her face in her hands. Buffy took a step toward her, then hesitated, unsure of what to do. Tara rescued her. Sitting down next to Olivia, she gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze and offered her a handkerchief. "Don't worry. We'll find him. It's what we do." Tara looked up at Buffy. "Right?"

 

"Absolutely," said Buffy, hoping it sounded more convincing than it felt.

 

Olivia dried her eyes. "That's what he always said about you. About all of you. You never give up, no matter what the odds."

 

"Never say die," said Buffy, "That's the Scooby motto."

 

"We never say die," said Xander, and gave Buffy a big Xander grin. "One of us does it occasionally, but we never say it."

 

Buffy grinned back. "Thanks. Any ideas on what we do now?"

 

"Isn't it obvious?" said Xander. "Drusilla."

 

Anya rolled her eyes. "Are we back to that again?"

 

"I never left." Even when speaking to her, he couldn't look at his ex-fiancée.

 

"But Drusilla is just a vampire," said Willow.  "She's not a witch or a sorcerer. She doesn't cast spells."

 

"Do I have to remind you that Drusilla is no ordinary vampire? She can see the future, hypnotize people, get inside their minds. She's been set on fire, had a church fall on her, not to mention living with Spike for 100 years. Plus the fact that she's insane!  There's no telling what she's capable of."

 

"We do have all of Giles notes and maps and things," said Willow. "He thought she was feeding in one East End neighborhood. He was planning to stake it out when he, ahh... well, you know."

 

"We have his weapons. I say we saddle up."

 

Buffy considered, then decided. "It's the only lead we have. If we can find her, maybe we can get something out of her."

 

"Too bad Spike's not here," said Dawn. "She might talk to him."

 

Buffy grimaced. "We can't worry about that now. You stay with Olivia. No arguments." Dawn pouted, but didn't object. "We may be out all night.  If Dru's the one who cursed Giles, she'd better be ready. She's gonna get more than she asked for."

 

*****