Fic: RFJ 0: Before You 2/6

[beccaelizabeth]

Ripper
Fools Journey
0
Before You

Part: 2/6

Rating: I'm aiming for a tone much like Buffy or Angel, which are 15 to 18 rated in the UK.
Pairing(s): None. Yet.
Spoilers: Post Chosen, post Not Fade Away. Deals with the fallout.

Summary: Rupert Giles, Head of the Watchers Council, and ghosts.

Disclaimer: Joss told us to "Write fan fic."
So they're still his toys, but he seems to not mind us playing with them.
No money, no harm.

Thanks to pinkdormouse for beta.

Author's notes and warnings:
Once upon a time, there was to be a series called Ripper.
It would star Giles, and it would be about ghosts.
Well, I'm still waiting.
In the meantime, I figured I'd write it myself.
Since ghosts are a central feature, character death is going to happen throughout the series. But that doesn't always remove them from the story. So sometimes the warning is character death, and sometimes it is more character transformation.

This episode is 0 because it is the setup, a transitional episode getting all the characters in the right place. Also because I used Tarot cards as inspiration for the 22 episodes, hence 'Fools Journey', and the Fool is card 0.

Part One here

*** *** ***




Ms Wayland, with her usual efficiency, brought the schedule and the morning briefing in with his first cup of tea. She slipped in the door quickly, shutting out the voices of the people already waiting in her office. She handed him the papers and waited for him to flip over the page and take his first sip before she offered any comment.

“Most of the day is as we arranged it yesterday, but I had to take a little of your lunch hour for our ranking man in the Metropolitan Police.”

“Again?”

“I'm sorry, sir. There was another murder. They're getting quite agitated.”

“I suppose they have cause. Alright.”

“The Academy Headmaster asked for another meeting.”

Giles winced.

“I scheduled it for a month next Tuesday.” Ms Wayland reassured him with a slight smile.

“Thank you, Harriet. That seems quite appropriate. After all we went through to get the Slayers to agree their school rules I do not need him weighing in again with another lecture on how things should be done.”

“All these American ideas,” Ms Wayland began sententiously.

“We do things differently here,” she and Giles finished together, then grinned.

“Leave the appointment where it is, and if he gets too obstreperous, well, I'm sure there might be something more urgent that comes up at the last minute.”

“Understood, sir,” Ms Wayland agreed, ticking something off on her list. “There's also the matter of the people waiting without an appointment.”

“Could they not wait until they had one?”

“It is a Watcher and two Slayers, just in off patrol. They've stayed up quite late to meet you. And they're getting somewhat agitated.”

“One of the field supervisors? Some new threat?”

“No sir, just a standard local team. The Slayer in question is having some difficulty with her Watcher. And vice versa.”

“Then she should report to her supervisor. The chain of command exists for a reason. If every Slayer with an opinion could bypass their assigned Watcher the whole system would fall apart.”

“Yes sir. But most Slayers weren't with you at the Battle of Sunnydale.”

“Oh. One of the, ah, veterans.”

“A Slayer Vi, with her partner Slayer Fiona, and Watcher Mrs Rafferty. I have the file here.” Ms Wayland passed it over, and again paused to let him skim through it. “The veterans – the other girls look up to them. The older two especially, of course, but everyone that was there. They are the reason all the rest exist, after all. Other Slayers follow their lead.”

“Which is exactly why they, of all people, should follow the rules.” Giles sighed, reading the list of disciplinary complaints Mrs Rafferty had filed in the few months they'd been working together. “And why I'll have to explain that to her. Now. I'll try and be quick. Don't reschedule anyone if you can help it.”

“Very good sir. I'll send them right in,” Ms Wayland said, and left to match action to words.

The first one through the door was Vi, who stalked in looking like a thundercloud and immediately took a seat in front of his desk. Another girl, presumably Fiona, slipped into the room and stood by the door, in an approximation of parade rest. She tried to look neutral, but her eyes darted everywhere, skipping over Giles and back again. Last was an older woman, about Rupert's age, leaning on a stick and walking steadily but at no great speed. She walked up to the desk, planted her stick in front of her, and extended her hand.

“Watcher Amelia Rafferty,” she introduced herself.

“Rupert Giles,” he said, from habit, taking her hand. He forgot to add the title. It still seemed odd referring to himself that way.

The handshake was firm but brief, and she leaned on the stick with both hands as soon as they were done.

“Please, have a seat,” Giles said, and turned to the Slayer as the Watcher lowered herself into a chair. “Vi.” He held out his hand, trying to remember if he'd ever learned her last name.

“Giles,” Vi replied, sitting with arms crossed.

Mrs Rafferty glared at her briefly, then flicked out her stick to tap Vi on the leg. “She is corporeal, Mr Giles, merely ill mannered.”

Vi rolled her eyes, leaned forwards and grabbed his hand, then sat back and crossed her arms again.

“Yes, well... I hear you wanted to see me, Vi.”

“I had to. This whole thing is getting really ridiculous, and the man she works for is being no help at all. You know she's threatening me with some 'hearings' now? Like she's putting me on trial! You were with us in Sunnydale, you know me, and you're in charge around here. You can sort this out, and I can go back on patrol. What kind of sense does it make to suspend a Slayer anyway?”

Giles turned to Mrs Rafferty. “This matter has led to a suspension?”

“Not formally, no. I simply requested that Vi not go out hunting without me. Which she agreed to. In fact she specifically assured me she would not go out last night.”

Giles said, “Ms Wayland was under the impression you had all just come in off patrol. Was she mistaken, or..?”

“I went anyway.” Vi shrugged. “Big deal. I had to get her off my back somehow. She's completely unreasonable! Every time we go out she keeps trying to give us orders.”

“As though she were your assigned Watcher?” Giles asked dryly.

“As if we didn't know how to do our jobs! We've been doing this every week for years Giles, we know what we're supposed to do!”

“Mrs Rafferty, does your Slayer carry out her duties effectively?”

“Vampires are slain. She seems to believe this is sufficient.”

“It is what we do.” Vi said.

“Poor technique. Prioritizing, sub-par. You telegraph punches, leave blind sides open and take entirely too much time. Execution is adequate, if a bit bloody for my tastes,” Rafferty replied.

“I get the job done. Giles, we're Slayers. This is what we're built for. We have the instincts we need for this.”

“It is a Watcher's job to hone those instincts. Yet Vi refuses to even work on the basics. She has no respect for the lessons I can impart.”

“Throwing balls blindfold and studying vibratory stones? Please.”

“The blindfold is necessary to test your awareness in conditions of complete darkness,” the Watcher explained.

Vi shook her head, frustrated.

Giles intervened. “Mrs Rafferty, Vi... I understand. I had very similar conversations with my Slayer, in the early days. It can take some time to adjust to a routine, or to find out precisely how much a Slayer already knows. But there is a good reason that a part of each day is set aside for training...”

“A part? Try all day, every day,” Vi interrupted.

“That only seems to be the case because there are always lessons waiting for you. They would be done with quickly if you would only attend them,” Mrs Rafferty corrected her. “Really, Viola, I make allowances for your youth, but I expect a certain amount of responsibility. Lives depend upon you!”

Giles interrupted the impending lecture. “I'm sorry, but just to be clear – this is why you requested Vi should not patrol?”

“Yes!” Mrs Rafferty replied.

“No!” Vi answered at the same moment. “Giles...”

Giles held out a hand to stop Vi and addressed the Watcher. “Please, explain?”

“Vi believes herself competent to handle a routine patrol. And I agree, up to a point. We both know how quickly a patrol can lead to situations that are anything but routine.” She leaned forwards and tapped her hand on her stick's handle to emphasise her point. “I push these girls hard because I know what they have to face. If Vi has to find out first hand I am very much afraid she will not survive the night. Since she won't pay the proper attention to her studies, I must accompany her, to give her the benefit of my experience.” She sat back and nodded decisively, keeping eye contact with Giles.

He nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to the Slayer. “Vi, you believe otherwise?”

“Yeah. The only reason she keeps coming out with us is she can't get over the fact she was too old to get the power when we were all Chosen.”

There was a moment of absolute silence after that. Giles glanced at Mrs Rafferty. She was leaning on her stick as if to drive it through the carpet, and her lips were pressed so tight they were white. She took a deep breath and brought her head up high.

“I know that is Viola's interpretation of the matter. It is untrue. I have served a lifetime...”

“You married a Watcher and raised kids!”

“I have served a lifetime, raising three girls, none of whom were actually Chosen. Two went on to become Watchers. My own children attended the Watcher Academy. I have always believed that there are ways to be of value in this fight without super strength or killer instinct, and I am more sure of that than ever. My reasons for requesting Vi stay off the streets are precisely as stated, and no more.”

Giles nodded again. “Watcher Rafferty, of course the work you do is very valuable. I would never say otherwise. I simply wish to understand how Vi sees this situation. Now Vi, I can understand a preference for field work over study, but why exactly do you not wish your Watcher to patrol with you?”

“With us wouldn't be so much of a problem. But she's always behind us. A long way behind. You can see the stick, it isn't just for hitting people with. We've got all this super speed, but we can't use it. And if we get into a fight she's just one more thing to worry about.”

Mrs Rafferty looked down at her stick, then carefully picked it up and laid it sideways across her lap. She looked Giles in the eyes again. “Slayers should patrol at walking pace, in order to remain concealed and stalk their prey. If they need to give chase, I have never insisted that they wait for me, simply that they remain cautious. I have studied the martial arts since I was five years old, and I believe I am not yet a liability. If I am in fact unable to carry out my duties, I shall of course retire. But until then I shall do my best by my Slayers.”

Now came the part of his job Giles liked least. It was entirely possible that retirement would be best for her, in an ideal world. Many of the Watchers now supervising Slayers had in fact retired once, before the Horror. But these days there were many more Slayers than trained Watchers, and they were left trying to adjust working practices to compensate. So Giles had to, very politely, suggest alternatives. Even though that might further undermine the authority the Slayers already paid so little heed.

“Your devotion to your Slayers is not in question, and neither is your competence,” Giles assured her. “But Slayers can be very hard to keep up with. I remember times after training when I was very glad for a sit down. And some analgesics.” Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, his younger, fitter replacement, had similar problems too. But mentioning the man who was fired for failure to control his Slayer would not be helpful to the current discussion. “As Buffy's Watcher I did patrol with her sometimes, more so in the early days. But after we'd been working together for some time we patrolled together far less frequently. I found she could always come to me with anything unusual, and make a full report once the patrol was over.”

Mrs Rafferty replied, “I have found that on nights she patrols alone I can unfortunately write Vi’s ‘full report’ myself, in advance. It is always the same. I ask her to report, and she says 'You know, the usual. Went out, staked vampires, saved the world.' If she's working with Fiona I at least get numbers, and sometimes even a location.”

Giles looked over at the girl by the door. “Slayer Fiona?”

She jumped, brought a hand up in a half wave, then changed her mind and moved forwards to the desk. “Yes, sir. I'm...” she stuck her hand out abruptly, then pulled it back as if unsure of her welcome. “I'm Fiona. Atwood.” Giles took her hand gently and smiled. She hesitantly smiled back, then bit her lip and put her hands behind her back. “I'm a Slayer. Just recently. I mean, since everyone was, but I just got here... a couple months ago.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Atwood. Perhaps you have a fresh perspective then. What would you say about the way we work?”

Fiona looked rather like a deer in the headlights. She glanced over at Vi, then at Mrs Rafferty, back to Giles, then down to stare at his desk. Giles looked down too, then flipped Vi's folder closed. Fiona looked up guiltily, then ended up staring at something over his left shoulder. She only hesitated a moment, then began to speak.

“A couple of weeks ago, on one of those hot nights in the middle of August, we were out on patrol, and Mrs Rafferty was with us. And we found something. Not a vampire. It was about the size of a transit van, and green, and dripping something. Vi grabbed her stake and would have gone right in. But our Watcher called out that it was acid. The dripping. We couldn't get that close, we'd burn. And it didn't have a heart anyway, so I didn't know where to aim. But she gave us the sword from her swordstick, and we put it through the thing's eye, right up into the brain. The sword went all wonky, kind of floppy even, and then it fell right off the handle. And I thought, if we'd been alone out there, that would be Vi. Her arm would have done that. And we wouldn't even have killed it. So... So I think she was right. Mrs Rafferty I mean. I think we need a Watcher.” She paused, and then forged ahead. “But the other thing is, it was me that stabbed it, but only because Vi was busy getting Mrs Rafferty out of the way. I mean it charged at us, and I jumped out of the way, but Vi saw Mrs Rafferty wouldn't make it. So she grabbed her and got her away. And I was left with the sword, and I stabbed it, while it was busy chasing after her. So Vi is kind of right too.”

“I don't believe that action was necessary,” Mrs Rafferty corrected stiffly. “If we had simply stood our ground we could have killed it before it got to me.”

Fiona looked Mr Giles in the eye again, then shook her head, ever so slightly. He nodded just as slightly in return.

“Perhaps an alternative is needed.”

“Cellphones,” Slayer Atwood offered.

“Cell phones?” Mrs Rafferty queried.

Fiona took a step back so she could face her and Giles. “I was going to say – but then Vi wanted to come here, and everyone was busy... Well, I've got a cellphone. Vi could get one. If we always take them with us, well, that's just like having you there to talk to us. I can only talk on mine, but if we got an upgrade we could send pictures of things, or a video if you need it. We could even get one of those hands free sets, and stay online all night, if you want.”

“Could we? Really.” Mrs Rafferty looked across at Mr Giles. “Modern technology. I'm afraid my expertise ends with the printing press. It would never have occurred to me – I mean you can't rely on finding a phone booth conveniently, and I had no idea...”

“Vi? Would that work for you?”

Vi still looked put out, but shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess. Why not? That could work.”

Mrs Rafferty didn't look terribly reassured, but Giles was fairly sure that was the best they were going to get.

“Well, it looks like you've solved this without me. Wonderful.” He hoped he'd kept any trace of sarcasm out of his voice. “Slayer Atwood, it was a pleasure to meet you. Watcher Rafferty, likewise. Vi, I'm glad we could sort this out. But perhaps next time you could bear in mind that I am a very busy man, and that there are established procedures for such things? Alright? Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe there are people waiting.”

Fiona fairly scurried for the door, then held it open waiting for the other two. Vi looked at Giles for a moment with her mouth open, then snapped it shut and stalked out. Mrs Rafferty stood up – not, Giles noted, using her stick, but not quite steady either – and started to walk towards the door.

“Oh, Watcher Rafferty,” Giles called. “Could you take this out to Ms Wayland?” He opened Vi's folder and flipped to the back, picked up a pen to make a note. Mrs Rafferty came back to the desk, standing carefully and trying to keep her face neutral. But Giles hadn't called her just to run menial errands. He glanced up at the door, where Fiona was hovering in the outer office, and reckoned her out of earshot. He lowered his voice anyway. “Mrs Rafferty – these charges. You should be aware that a disciplinary committee is usually reserved for cases where the Slayer has harmed an innocent. It should not be used as some kind of threat. Slayers respond to threats quite predictably.”

“I understand that, Mr Giles. But,” Mrs Rafferty lowered her voice in turn, “part of a Watcher's job is to remain in control of their Slayer. If Vi won't allow me to supervise, I cannot rightly say that she is, well, safe.”

“I understand your concerns,” Giles replied, Faith with all her complications very much in his mind. “But you must realise, all Watchers are having to cope with similar issues right now. If we try to impose too many restrictions, the Slayers are likely to just walk away. Please, try to work within the new guidelines.”

“Yes sir,” she replied quietly, then held her hand out for the file.

Giles shook it briskly instead. “Thank you. Take care,” he told her, pressing the Slayer file into her hand.

She nodded, then turned and walked out, her stick tapping steadily along beside her.

Once the door closed, Giles sat back and sighed. If Mrs Rafferty did stick to the guidelines, she'd be about the only such Watcher in England. Giles had been fired for ignoring the old, outdated handbook, and far too many of his new subordinates still considered that the right decision. Too many of the rest turned out to have been fired for... other reasons. Frankly any Slayer dispute that didn't involve sexual molestation or misuse of magic was something of a relief these days. But he could hardly tell them that. He was the voice of policy, and policy couldn't be reduced to 'It could be worse'. Not officially, anyway.

The rest of his schedule proceeded in the usual orderly, repetitive way until lunch time. Everyone needed a decision from him, and everyone had to explain at length why things had to be done a certain way. Just like yesterday. And every day since he got this job. Thankfully the last meeting of the morning was with the man from the Armoury, who always came right to the point. When he left Giles walked him to the door, intending to head out for a bite to eat.

“Keep the schedule as it is and buy whatever surplus we need. And look into acquiring more forests.” Not an order he'd ever anticipated giving, but what in this job was?

“Forests?” came a surprised voice from the outer office.

“Yes. Coppicing schedule isn't up to the spike in demand,” Giles replied absently.

He turned and found the head of Accounts, holding a thick stack of folders and looking very unhappy.

Armoury tried to reassure him. “Think of it as a long-term investment. They'll pay back eventually.”

“Yes, I'm sure,” Mr Charlesworth replied absently. “Mr Giles, could I have a moment of your time please?”

“Actually I was just...” Giles saw Ms Wayland nod, and changed tack. “Done for the moment, so I'm all yours. Something urgent?”

Mr Charlesworth nodded grimly. “I believe so, sir.”

Giles waved him into the office and closed the door behind them. He took a seat behind his desk as Charlesworth placed his folders there.

“So, what have we got here?”

“The quarterly reports for the English regions.”

England? Of all the parts of the world the Council was still operating that was the last place he'd expect to have any problems. The local hierarchy here was made up of retired Watchers, supervisory positions filled by those who had retired from Headquarters with full honours. Most of them managed the areas around their own homes, and therefore paid particular attention to detail.

“There were some irregularities in the use of discretionary funds in the last quarter.”

Charlesworth handed him a slim folder, and Giles flipped through to the bottom line. And tried to keep his jaw from dropping.

“Fifty thousand dollars? In three months?”

“And that is just the amount spent that was never allocated to that office.”

“Just the one office?”

“Yes sir, that of Mr Roger Wyndam-Pryce. If you recall, they were very well staffed.”

“If by that you mean that the man employed every Watcher too... traditional to be comfortable with the new guidelines then yes, that office was very well staffed indeed.” Traditional, stubborn, hidebound, inflexible... Giles realised what the other keyword was. “You said 'they were'?”

“Once the first irregularities showed up we tried to contact someone who worked on those books for an explanation. We had a great deal of difficulty. Initially we could contact secretarial staff but no one with any authority. Many people we were familiar with appear to be off sick, or possibly on holiday. Some of them seem to have been let go last month, but the paperwork remains incomplete.”

“And their salaries are still being paid?”

“I'm afraid so. But the truly strange part, and why I believe this is urgent – when we tried to get in contact today, we got no one. The phones just ring. And the home phone number for Mr Wyndam-Pryce is engaged, and has been for many hours. We think something may have happened to him.”

“Like him leaving the country with a substantial chunk of our budget?”

“The locator spells tells us he is still at his house. Sir, we don't believe the matter is solely financial. The facts available are few, but worrying. The money was listed as 'Expenses, Miscellaneous', which doesn't tell us much except that they did not want to tell us anything. It was withdrawn last week in one lump sum, cash, which is what got the account sent to us. And it was drawn in US Dollars, from a bank close to what is left of Los Angeles.”

Giles bit back the urge to swear. “The US Army has Los Angeles sealed.”

“Yes sir, and the Council is assisting them. Which could become a problem, if someone with sufficient authority wanted to make it so.”

“If anything is getting out of that hell pit it is a very large problem. And if it only took fifty thousand...”

“That we traced, sir. It is possible there were other funds diverted to the same cause. Of course we cannot prove that the money went to LA. However, that city has been the focus of all documented research from that office since the day the demonic incursion started.”

“The day Wesley Wyndam-Pryce died.”

“And Wolfram and Hart went down, yes sir.” Charlesworth moved the rest of the folders on the desk in front of him, “These contain a full record of our investigation, but our only substantial evidence is as I just informed you. If we are to do anything further, we need your authorisation. It wouldn't be a criminal investigation, of course, we would deal with it in-house, but any further measures would have to be a lot less discreet.”

“And would cast a bad light on someone no matter what you found.” Giles observed. Of course, Wyndam-Pryce would call it political. And he would have his supporters, no matter what the facts turned out to be. It would leave every Watcher in England choosing sides, trying to take their Slayers along with them. And that could get very messy, very fast.

He looked at the stack of reports, and the anxious man standing in front of his desk, and made a decision.

“Don't worry. I'll take full responsibility.” Charlesworth looked relieved, until Giles continued, “I'll talk to him myself.” He started to put the files in his briefcase to take with him.

“Sir? I thought... perhaps a team, with Slayers...”

“We cannot start using Slayers to police Watchers.”

“I realise it could undermine our authority...”

“We already lack authority. The girls all know we can only do our job with their cooperation. We just give advice based on superior knowledge. No, the real issue is that Watchers are human, and the Slayer has no jurisdiction over humans.”

“I realise you don't want Wyndam-Pryce staked, but if anything came out of LA already...”

“Then it would have had a week to do whatever it was planning. We have missing Watchers, reports of illness, and no concrete information. What we need here is investigation.” Giles got up and headed for the outer office again.

Ms Wayland was just hanging up the phone. “Still no answer from Wyndam-Pryce, on either office or home numbers. Mrs Wyndam-Pryce has been located. She left for Australia two weeks ago, to stay with cousins there. They say everything is fine, and they have no idea why Roger would be out of contact. She was going to try and arrange a flight home ASAP.”

“Try to get her to sit tight, if you can. We're going to emergency plans C and D.”

“Contagion and Doppelgänger? Oh dear. How widespread?”

“That is very much the question right now. It could even be a false alarm. But start with the area around the Wyndam-Pryce home and offices, anyone who worked with him since the Los Angeles event, and of course the troops around Los Angeles.”

“They're always on high alert, sir, but I'll pass that on.”

“Make sure HQ is secure, and keep minimal contact between regions. Hold off on the most disruptive measures until we have more information. I'm going out there myself. I'll need transport and something from Wards to detect tampering.”

Ms Wayland was usually unflappable, but she hesitated a moment at that. “Sir. And will you be needing anything for your personal security?”

“Harriet, I realise everyone would rather I stay here. But I have survived many years on the Hellmouth, and retrieving Potentials hunted by the First. I have some relevant experience in these matters. And what if the matter is entirely mundane, and the man simply considers himself above answering for money? I'm the only one in the organization we can hope he would acknowledge as a superior, or at least the designated authority. It has to be me.” And of course, these reasons would be entirely sufficient without factoring in how very much he wanted to take on something face to face. Or take the traditionalists down a peg or two. “Now, please.”

“Yes sir. The helicopter will be ready by the time you get there.”

“Fine. Reschedule my meetings. Except the police, make sure somebody sees them. Reassure them again, we do all we can do. Not that human murders are really our field.”

“Ritual murders, sir,” she corrected absently, then informed him, “The car is ready at the back gate.”

“Very good. If anything else comes up, call me.” He checked his phone was in his pocket and headed for the door.

The helicopter ride was swift and uneventful. Also something Giles decided not to duplicate any time soon. Far too much of the thing was made of glass.

The first sign of trouble came when they were descending onto the lawn in front of the Wyndam-Pryce house. There was an increasing heavy feeling, and then a tingling in his extremities. By the time Giles recognised the signs they were almost level with the top of the house, and the pilot's hands were shaking.

“Pull up!” Giles ordered, but the man didn't seem to hear him. “Quickly, up again! The house is protected, magically! If we hit the wards in this thing – can it land itself if you pass out?”

For a moment they continued to sink, until Giles could actually see sparks just under them, but then with a nasty lurch the helicopter responded and shot up again.

“Sorry sir,” the pilot said, the headphones turning the man's voice tinny but not masking his fear. “I don't know what... I mean I've never felt...”

“It's alright. Not your fault. Magic doesn't always announce itself,” Giles reassured the man, then told him, “Land well outside the grounds. I doubt he has much more than just the house covered, but it wouldn't hurt me to walk a bit further.”

The man found space in a field down the road. Quite a long way down the road. Giles had no complaints.

“Wait for me here. Keep in touch with HQ for further instructions.”

“Yes sir.” The young Watcher nodded, and started checking his machine over for damage.

Giles started walking towards the house.

He saw the Slayers on the gate from a hundred yards away, standing one on each side, stakes in hand and paying attention. He vaguely recognised them, had probably met them once, but right now he couldn't remember their names.

“Mr Giles, sir. Is something wrong?”

Thankfully they had found him a bit more memorable.

“There may be. Report.”

The Slayer came to attention and said, “We were assigned to guard this gate by Mr Roger Wyndam-Pryce, our Watcher, at 2300 last night. We have orders not to let anyone in or out, sir!”

“We were expecting replacements a bit before this,” the other Slayer added, much less formally. “I don't suppose you brought anyone with you?”

“Nairi!” the first girl hissed, still at attention.

“It's only Mr Giles,” Nairi replied. “Hey, do you think we're meant to keep him out?”

“I am the Head of the Watchers Council, and Mr Wyndam-Pryce's immediate superior. I also, incidentally, sign your paychecks.” And it was interesting which part of that got to which girl. “Now, is that all you know?”

“Yes sir. Sorry sir. Mr Wyndam-Pryce doesn't like it when we ask questions, sir.”

“Mr Wyndam-Pryce is supposed to be teaching you,” Giles muttered. Then he said, “Apart from that, have you noticed anything unusual?”

“No,” replied Nairi.

“Just that light,” her partner corrected her. “At midnight, sir. Really bright. But we're not sure where it was from.”

Nairi glared at her. Giles decided to ignore this.

“Alright. Your orders stand. No one else goes in, and no one comes out. Until further notice from HQ. And that includes both myself and Mr Wyndam-Pryce.”

“Yes sir,” they replied together, returning to their vigil.

Giles stepped forwards, up to the gates.

Now to see if he could actually get in.

The gates themselves were tall, wrought iron, and very strong. The wards just beyond them were complex and carefully worked. Getting through them would be a formidable test of skill.

So Giles tried the easy way first. He looked up into the camera and pressed the button for the intercom.

He was about to press it again when it was answered.

“Yes?”

“Rupert Giles, on official business.”

There was a short pause, then the gates silently swung open. They closed behind Giles as he walked up the drive to the house.

No one met him at the door, so after a short wait he rang the doorbell. And kept ringing, until eventually the door began to open.

Roger Wyndam-Pryce stood just within, looking crumpled and apparently using the door for support.

That was such a contrast to his usual demeanour that Giles spoke without thinking. “Roger! You look like death warmed over!”

Wyndam-Pryce scowled and drew himself up, then stepped deliberately into the sunlight. He only winced a little.

“I'm perfectly all right. Just... a little worn down. I was sleeping. Whatever was so urgent you couldn't just phone me?”

“Your phone has been engaged all day. Your wife is worried.”

“My wife... called out the Council on me?” Roger blinked incredulously.

“No, no. We called her. We've been trying to contact you.” Giles paused, then asked him, “Can I come in?”

Roger stepped out of the way and pushed the door open, and Giles stepped past him. The careful dance of Watcher families. Even in daylight the habit remained.

“Come into the study,” Roger said. “Official business, you said? Something important?”

“Yes.” He had the files ready in his briefcase. He had to push a long dagger and a stake out of the way to reach them. “The Head of Accounts came to me about a rather serious problem with your finances.”

“Money? This is important enough for the Head of the Council? Really, Giles, we used to have a little more dignity.”

“We used to have a lot more money,” Giles muttered. He told Wyndam-Pryce, “The problem is the amount, and the possible uses for it. Tell me, what did you get for fifty thousand dollars, from Los Angeles?”

From behind him in the doorway, a rough voice answered, “Me.”


***
Part Three here
Part Four here
Part Five here
Part Six here

completed, 30890 words

Comments

[julia-here.livejournal.com]

be, I'm loving the way the story moves, the characterization and the growing sense of dangerous times.

I especially appreciate the scene with Vi and her watcher, which has a nice build-up of tension, and an uneasy sense that the conflict hasn't really been solved so much as diminished for a brief interval- and with that, the understanding that may be as much as Giles can expect to accomplish in any given situation.

But I've got a quibble about "alright"- not just because of the dictionary stuff, but because, if anyone is going to say it, it won't be an educated member of my generation. I'm American, and working class to boot, and it jangles my nervous sysem to hear Giles say "alright", and makes my head hurt to "hear" it in the mouth of Roger Wyndam-Pryce, whose speech patterns were excessively correct in canon.

Your story, and what sounds right to you; if it were Vi who was saying it, or even Mr. Charlesworth, it would be OK, but not Roger Wyndam-Pryce (who I perceive to be someone for whom "OK" itself would be excessively slangy) and who is a generation elder than Giles and me.

Julia, across the gap of those who remember the seventies

[beccaelizabeth]

so I'm really outnumbered about alright
*sigh*
have swapped one. am being stubborn about the others.

glad you like the story :)

Yay!

[(Anonymous)]

Nice continuity to have Giles having to deal with both the old-time Watchers and their ways and the new breed of Slayers. Helping to set the rules and being more in charge than before. **snickering over the "American ideas" line** Giles is still getting teased about being "too American" isn't he?

Loved the scene with Giles drawing out both Watcher Rafferty and Vi (nice job of characterization with Vi, by the way - it's a more subtle role than one might think) and using Fiona to ... show each of them there is a middle ground they need to move toward. And letting them "solve" it themselves. ;-)

Hmmmmmm. Roger Wyndam-Pryce, eh? Somehow, I'm thinking . . . robots? ;-) But the hints of "illness" could also spin the plot another way. And I like the seemingly non-connected ritual murders. Just another problem for Giles or are they connected?

This is very interesting and fun, be.

Lola

Re: Yay!

[beccaelizabeth]

yup, 'too American' I'm sure would come up regularly, from a certain faction.

I'm glad you like Vi. I don't know if I should admit this but she sort of acquired a name after she got all that stuff to do so, er, wasn't sure she had the right name...

RW-P is full of fun possibilities.

And do you really want me to answer that here?

thanks :)