Title: Sleight of Hand 12/14
Author: Magpie and Wolfling
Email: magpie@moracle.co.uk and wolfling@sympatico.ca
Show: Buffy
Rating: NC-17
Category: angst, hurt/comfort
Warnings: spoilers up to the end of Chosen
Pairings: Giles/Ethan
Series: Of Old Mystics, sequel to Smoke and Mirrors
Summary: It's behind the scenes where things get complicated.

Author Notes: Many thanks to Mad Poetess and Wesleysgirl for betaing :) This is the third story in the Of Old Mystics series; previous stories in the series can be found http://www.myarseisnotpansy.co.uk/piedm/mystics.html.

"So how long do we think the Travers have been skimming off Council funds then?" Ethan asked dryly, staring up at the six-storied Georgian townhouse with its pristine white paintwork and black cast iron accoutrements.

"Quentin wouldn't have skimmed Council funds," Xander argued. "Too 'common' for him. He would've had people who did the skimming for him."

"Ah, but his ancestors might have," Ethan pointed out, sorting through the keys in his hand. "Wouldn't that sound just like a Travers to live smug and comfortable on the profits of past sin, while proselytising order and tradition at anyone who'll listen?"

"Did you ever meet Quentin Travers?" Megan asked, sounding interested.

"Once," Ethan replied tightly, having no wish to go any further into *that* story. "Well, I think this is the front door key. I do hope Pammy's butler boyfriend has successfully managed to remove both himself and the other staff from the scene of the imminent crime. Are you both ready?"

"Ready and waiting to get with the law-breaking," Xander confirmed.

Ethan nodded. "Try to look like you belong here then. You have every right to be walking up to this door and going in." They were dressed as anonymously as possible, which in this part of Mayfair, meant smart and traditional. Ethan's collar was itching him already.

He crossed them over the road and straight up the steps to the front door, where he immediately noticed to his exasperation that there were actually two locks. There was a large keyhole, which was clearly for the long key he held ready in his hand, but also a small Chubb security lock.

"Damn," he cursed, a pleasant smile on his face. "Talk and joke in a subdued fashion, will you? I should have cloaked us, as I'd originally planned."

Xander looked over Ethan's shoulder. "Can't you just wave your hand at it and magic it open or something?"

Ethan laughed, as if Xander had told a funny joke. "What did I just tell you to do?" he asked peevishly through his smile. He had planned not to use magic until they were behind closed doors, as he and Rupert had discussed possible defences and decided magic-detecting wards outside the house were extremely likely. But it looked like Xander was almost right about what he'd have to do.

Megan, bless her, did what she had been asked and started talking about the neighbours' flower boxes, showing a surprising knowledge of chrysanthemums. Ethan studied his keys.

There were three Chubb keys, and he needed to quickly determine which to use. With the lightest touch of his magic he could manage, he felt into the lock, studying the pattern and quickly withdrawing. He was fairly certain he hadn't been detected. Five seconds later, he had the door open and was staring at a very big dog.

The dog stared back.

***

Everyone was staring.

Giles had expected that on this, his first visit back to the Council Headquarters since he'd been injured, and he was doing his best to ignore the stares. He walked through the halls leaning equally on his swordstick cane and Kat's arm, projecting an air of confidence and competence such as befitted the head of the Council.

Somewhere deep in his brain he was busy being amused at the irony of the situation -- that he was the one forced to wear a mask now.

"You ok, Giles?" Kat asked quietly.

"I'm fine," he replied, giving her a reassuring smile. "You?"

"Yeah, I just--" She stopped, apparently thinking better of something. "Yeah, I'm fine." Giles suspected she was worried about the others, which was understandable; he was too. Apart from anything else, this was the longest he and Ethan had been apart since that terrible afternoon and the trek across Hampstead Heath.

They reached his offices and walked in, Pamela immediately rising from her seat.

"Sir, do sit down while I collect together what you need. I have tea made for you. It should be just the right temperature."

"Thank you Pamela," Giles said dryly, wondering if Ethan had got to everyone with instructions on how to fuss over him.

He limped into his inner office and sat down with a soft groan in his chair, relaxing the official mask now that he was in private. He leaned back and stretched his bad leg out painfully.

"I don't remember it being quite this far to my office," he mentioned to Kat with a rueful smile.

Kat frowned. "Will you be ok in the meeting? You sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

"Oh, I would love to have you come in with me. If for no other reason than it would irritate the hell out of our dear Ms Travers." Giles sighed. "But unfortunately, we have to keep her lulled into a false sense of triumph until we hear from Ethan and the others."

"Are you..." She paused. "I mean, we kinda know... or at least we think that you two, um... talk in each other's heads?"

Giles smiled, bemused at the question and the observation skills it implied. "What makes you ask that?"

She perched herself on the edge of his desk and watched him sip his tea, which was indeed the perfect temperature. "Xander suggested it, 'cause he says he knows what people look like when they're doing telepathy, and you and Ethan look like that sometimes. So he told us the signs, and now we all know when you're doing it." She grinned cheekily. "Um, unless we're completely wrong."

"Ethan and I have discovered a certain mental... connection," Giles acknowledged after a moment. "That part is very new, and I'm not sure how reliable it would be over distance."

"That's so cool," Kat said, her grin even broader. "So like now you can say all that stuff in front of us that you used to have to send us out of the room for."

"Oh, we'll still be sending you out of the room at times." He smiled faintly. "There are some things telepathy doesn't work for."

"You should let us stay. Aren't we over here to be educated? Yeah, I know." She laughed.

A quiet knock on the door announced Pamela, and she walked straight over to Giles' desk carrying a fat folder and a leather-bound executive file. She put them both down in front of him. "The meeting starts in ten minutes, sir, but I thought you might like to get there a little early. The file contains your agenda, a jotter, and the index to the papers I have compiled in the folder. There's everything you asked for in there and a few other things that I thought might turn out to be useful. Oh, and there's this..."

She detached a tiny digital pager from her waistband and put it on top of the file.

"Ah, yes. Wouldn't want to forget that." Giles picked up the pager and held it in his hand for a moment; this was how Ethan would let him know the job was completed. Not as satisfying as having Ethan speak directly to his mind, but at this point more reliable.

Giles looked at his watch. According to his estimates, they should be inside the house by now.

***

They were still on the bloody doorstep. "Xander, talk to the nice doggy, would you?" Ethan asked urgently, backing up from the snarling monster. "I think he has foxhound in his ancestry, and I have to get inside to deactivate the silent alarm."

"So what -- I'm supposed to ask if he had an ancestor who was in a Disney movie or something?" Xander asked, staring at the dog with a wide eye.

"I thought you said you were going to bring sausages?" Ethan asked, increasingly concerned, despite the fact that the pony-sized dog hadn't moved from the doorway or done anything more than snarl a little. "Pat it or something. Do try not to let it eat you though; Rupert would never forgive me."

Bugger it, Ethan was going to have to use magic again. They should never have let him plan this or lead a damn team. Things were already going wrong before they'd achieved anything. He should have come on his own.

But rolling her eyes at the two men, Megan stepped forward, confidently saying, "Good girl!" and holding out her hand palm up to be sniffed, which the dog obliging did. Apparently Megan smelled good, as it started to wag its tail. After patting the monster's head a few times, Megan took hold of its collar and walked in with it.

Ethan hurried in, shutting the door behind them. The first thing he did was loosen his collar. Then he headed immediately to the alarm control box on the wall. Which key to use was obvious, it not being a door key, and he slipped it into the hole and turned. He now had thirty seconds to punch in a four-digit code he didn't know.

Feeling with his magic into the electronics of the box, it really was a laughably simple matter to sense out the correct pattern of circuitry that would cause the alarm to go dormant. With a small flourish of his hand, he pressed 1-8-1-2 and smiled as the flashing red light stopped and the green light came on.

"Da-dah!"

The other two obligingly clapped their hands very quietly.

Megan said, "Now you can tell *me* how clever I am." She took a small bottle from her pocket and threw it gently at Ethan. "Francesca's favourite perfume," she explained.

Xander stared at Megan and the dog for a long moment. "You're going to be a great Slayer." When she started to smile, he added, "Either that or the next international cat burglar."

"There'll be two other pit ponies around somewhere," Ethan warned. "Perhaps you can persuade this one to come with us, Megan, as it might make the others friendly." He covered his gloved hands in the perfume, grimacing as he smelled it, then reached for Xander's hands, squeezing them and spreading the stink.

"Try not to enjoy yourself too much," Xander told him, his nose wrinkling as he caught hold of the scent.

"Yes, Xander," Ethan replied somewhat scathingly. "I'd better be careful unless the thrill of touching your hands makes me come over all unnecessary."

He looked around the hallway a little. If it were not for the pristine cleanliness, he'd say the place was unchanged since the Georgian era, such was the attention paid to traditional detail -- from the hung paintings to the plaster cherubs around the light fitting.

It made him nauseous.

"Well, I'd say we've made enough noise to attract attention to ourselves, so I will assume the house is empty bar the dogs as planned. We need the second floor... which is the third floor to you two."

"Yeah, because there needs to be a zero floor," Xander quipped as they headed for the stairs. Ethan was beginning to realise that the young man's nerves seemed to fall out of his mouth in meaningless comments.

"When in Rome, Xander," Ethan told him. "Put on a toga and shout for the new boy."

"Does he always talk like this?" Xander asked Megan. "Or does he save the innuendoes up for me?"

She giggled. "He does seem to make a special effort just for you."

"I am here, you know," Ethan pointed out, although he didn't bother denying the accusation. The first floor hallway was almost identical to the ground floor. Ethan resisted the urge to smear fingerprints all over the perfectly polished brass light switches and door fittings. Apart from anything else, he'd have to remove the light cotton gloves in order to do something so unwise.

There was another wolfhound curled up at the end of the hall. It raised its head and looked at them, but didn't seem very interested.

Ethan said sourly, "This house is so uptight and dull even the pets are bored and lethargic."

"But that's a good thing," Xander said as if speaking to a small child, his eyes still on the large dog, "for us intrepid trespassers. We don't want them all frisky, looking for new chew toys."

"I thought that was why we brought you along?" Ethan carefully stepped over the dog to the next flight of stairs, then turned and smirked amiably at the American.

Xander pulled himself up to his full height. "I'll have you know I graduated from being monster chow years ago," he said with utmost dignity.

Ethan chuckled. "And for the record, boy and girl, this is generally not how to break into a place. We're making enough noise to alert half of Middlesex." As he reached the top of the stairs, he located the door that Pamela's research of the blueprints had told her would most probably lead into Francesca's office. "Megan, sweetheart, I want you to stay out here and listen for any unwanted arrivals. The maid may come back early, or worse, a relative with a key could call."

Megan nodded, suddenly all business. "Right."

"So I'm coming with?" Xander asked.

"Yes." Ethan nodded. "I may need a second pair of hands. You will have to obey barked orders very quickly and without argument. Think you can do that?" He quirked an amused eyebrow at Xander in challenge.

"I'll take notes and argue later." Xander became serious. "You can count on me."

Ethan nodded. He rather thought he could.

Reaching out with his magic sense, Ethan felt around the door, but he couldn't feel any wards or other protections. He tried the door handle, but the door was locked. Looking at the keyhole, he decided the key he needed was one of four identical ones on the ring. Three attempts later, the lock opened.

After smiling reassuringly at Megan and squeezing her arm, he nodded at Xander and opened the door.

***

Giles took a deep breath as he stepped into the Council meeting room, his mask of professionalism firmly back in place.

There weren't many others there yet, which suited Giles just fine, giving him a chance to get in place without limping before all those eyes looking for a weakness.

Leaning heavily on his swordstick, he made his slow way to his seat at the head of the table.

There was a mumble of greeting from around the table, some of the faces genuinely friendly, others hiding dislike behind false smiles, and a more honest few just frowning. Giles settled himself in his chair, arranging the files in front of him, and turned to exchange pleasantries with Higgins, a dull but very worthy ally who had taken the chair on Giles' right.

He hadn't got further than, "How's your wife doing these days?" when the double doors to the meeting room were opened by a pair of nondescript suited types, and Francesca Travers strode in as if she were royalty.

Giles found it hard to believe Francesca had ever been a catwalk model; Ethan had more of the sensual confident strut to his carriage than Giles had ever seen in that woman's militaristic stride. She sat herself right beside him, opposite Higgins.

"Hello, Rupert," she said with a smug smile.

"Francesca," he replied as neutrally as possible. It was either that or lean over and snap her neck. Somehow he didn't think the latter would be the proper way to open the meeting.

"How's your leg?" she asked, completely ignoring one of her suited lackeys as he put a cup of coffee before her -- a lackey who shouldn't even in the room. "Are you quite certain you shouldn't have it raised?"

Perhaps up your backside my dear? Giles thought, then wondered when he had started channelling his lover. "My leg is healing," he said aloud, with his most insincere smile. "Thank you for your concern."

She nodded. "It just goes to show that everything they say about public transport is true. I certainly won't be giving up my driver anytime soon, I can assure you. I trust you received my letter of condolence?"

Giles' smile became tighter, and he was sure some of his real feelings were visible in his eyes. It was impossible to totally contain the anger he felt without some of it leaking out along the edges. "It arrived."

"Good." She smiled again. "I wouldn't want you to think that I didn't care. And how is Mr Rayne? Looking after your needs, one would hope. He does seem to have a certain talent for that. His kind often do, I'm told."

"Ethan has many talents that have come in useful," Giles replied, adding silently, 'as you're going to find out.'

***

Ethan looked around the office with pursed lips. It was absolutely exactly how he would have expected Quentin Travers' home office to appear -- all burnished leather and antique oak. There were age-darkened portraits in oil on the walls, volume upon volume of rare occult tomes on the shelves, and a glass-fronted display cabinet full of unusual, if not unique, mystical items in the corner.

There was magic everywhere.

"Don't touch anything," he said in a muted but urgent voice. "Levitate if you can."

"How 'bout I just step where you step?" Xander replied in an equally hushed voice, looking around the room like he expected something to jump out at them any second.

"I never expected *you* to want to follow in my footsteps," he answered, chuckling slightly. "The floor seems safe, just don't touch anything else. See if you can spot the apparently hidden in plain sight number for the safe."

Ethan walked carefully around to behind the desk, his magic senses on full alert. The very expensive laptop on the desk seemed entirely free of spells however, so he made the most of that and quickly wiped the harddrive -- a stupidly easy thing to achieve with pattern magic. Kat and Pamela were going to be doing something similar in Francesca's office, but they had a high tech instrument to achieve the same thing. It was another present from Thackery, the Council's equivalent of Bond's Q, who was, it seemed, yet another of Pammy's increasing list of conquests.

The area around the painting that covered the safe radiated strong wards and alarms, and there seemed to be an electric current running underneath the portrait which would set off a conventional alarm if the painting were moved at all. It was still live, and so obviously not part of the house's main security circuits. The trick would be disarming the physical defences without setting off the magic sensors.

He sucked air through his teeth. "Well, this will be easy peasy," he said with strong sarcasm.

Xander turned in a slow circle where he stood. "It would be easier to spot the hidden in plain sight number if there wasn't so much stuff in plain sight. Never would have pegged good ol' Quentin as a packrat."

"Oh, I would," Ethan argued distractedly, following his sense of the electrical current, looking for a control box. "The man was the very epitome of Freud's anal retentive type."

Xander nodded, then frowned. "Does that have anything to do with cigars?"

Ethan sniggered, the combination of phallic symbol and things anal too much to resist. "That depends entirely on how *bisexual* you really are, Xander," he said, smirking over at him.

Rather than bristling or protesting, Xander just rolled his eye. "I had one guy back in high school convinced I was, y'know? I even talked him into coming out. Of course, I'd thought he was a werewolf, and I was talking about being a hyena, and the wires just got crossed in the conversation. This is what comes of going to high school on a Hellmouth."

"Would you rather have grown up somewhere more normal?" Ethan asked. He'd found the control box; it was a fake thermostat on the wall near the window.

"I dunno." Xander shrugged. "I can't really imagine it. Being somewhere and not knowing about the monsters in the night. Or helping save the world on a regular basis. I don't know who I'd be without all that."

"Once we've bitten into that juicy apple, it's hard to imagine ignorance again. Shh a few seconds now. I need to concentrate and do this very, very fast." Ethan took a deep breath, opened the fake thermostat box, felt inside for the pattern, and pressed four buttons. All in under two seconds. He could only hope it was fast enough. "Hurry up and find that number, Xander. We can't afford to waste time here."

"It's not like I haven't been looking," Xander grumbled, as he moved around the room. "But it's the proverbial needle in a haysta--" He broke off, moving closer to the far wall where there was a portrait of Quentin, Ethan remembered. "I think I found it."

"Don't touch it," Ethan reminded. "Whatever it is." He had the safe door revealed now and was halfway through the relatively complex series of permissions that Rupert had taught him for the traditional Council defences. "Two down, two to go, then I'll be right with you."

Xander remained silent and still, but Ethan could sense the young man's tension as he watched what Ethan was doing.

Twist and tug, tug and cajole, cajole and pet... Ethan one by one persuaded the spells to ignore him. He made it seem that he, like Francesca, was someone permitted to be here, touching the valuables. Once it was done, he reached forward confidently, not allowing himself to feel any insecurity about how successful he might have been.

He touched the dial of the lock.

Nothing happened. The magic remained quiescent. Thank God. Turning, he walked over to see what Xander had found.

Xander pointed at the portrait he was still standing in front of. "There," he said. "On the bindings of those three books his hand is resting on."

Tipping his head, Ethan looked. There, in tiny little figures, three numbers were indeed painted. It was a large and very detailed painting, and he wasn't sure that he would have spotted the numbers himself. "Ah yes. For a man with one eye, you have exceptional observation skills. Well done." He smiled warmly at Xander, genuinely impressed.

Xander smiled very slightly and shrugged. "I'm the guy who sees."

Ethan studied Xander briefly. That had seemed to mean more than just the sum of the words. He'd like to ask more, perhaps get the lad to talk about what had happened to his eye, but now was probably not the right time for it. Nonetheless, as he headed back to the wall safe, he asked in a casual tone, "Should I not have done that?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean mention the..." Xander gestured at the eye patch. "Nah, s'okay. Not like it's an easy thing to miss."

"There can be a certain satisfaction in war wounds," Ethan said, continuing in the casual tone. "Much though I'm sure you'd rather have both eyes, as battle scars go, it's a good one. You can't get it back, so might as well accentuate the positive, don't you think? Or I may be talking out of my arse." He chuckled, turning to grin at Xander, before putting a hand to the dial and pressing his ear to the safe door.

He heard Xander shift nervously behind him, but he remained silent, letting Ethan concentrate on the safe cracking.

"You can talk," Ethan assured him. "I don't really need to do this listening as I know the numbers; I just want to study the patterns of safe locks, then in future I can do this without the combination. So, feel free to correct me on my many misapprehensions."

"No one got out of Sunnydale unscarred," Xander said softly. "As scars go, yeah, it could've been worse."

Ethan knew Xander had worse scars, unseen scars, as Rupert had told him. But this certainly wasn't the right place to mention the dead and sorely missed. Ethan was quiet as he turned the dial right three times, left twice and then right again, studying the patterns as he did so. The door clicked open, but Ethan left it ajar for now. Standing, he said, "Perhaps the Watcher who sees would care to come look into this then. But don't touch, or even put your hand inside. Only I can do that."

Xander moved to his side, peering at the safe. "What exactly am I looking for -- or at?"

"Let's see." Ethan pulled the door open and looked in. The space inside was largely empty. There were files, computer discs, a selection of the small videotapes used in cameras, and interestingly, a small coffer, which he instantly recognised as a Mallon's Chest -- an item used for storing toxic or 'leaking' magic items. "Hmm, shall we just take the lot? Rupert would probably prefer us to be selective, but..."

"Better to grab everything and sort through it later," Xander agreed. "Somewhere safe, that doesn't have huge dogs wandering around or magic alarms for us to trip."

Ethan nodded. The Mallon's Chest was not something he was prepared to leave behind anyway. Francesca should certainly not be in possession of the kind of magical item it might hold. Taking out the folded plastic bag he had in his pocket, he opened it, and gave it to Xander to hold. "Yes, let's get out of here. These clothes are trying to smother me."

"Yeah. I think we got gypped. We didn't even get to wear cool black breaking-in clothing."

Ethan chuckled, carefully slipping everything from inside the safe into the bag, apart from the coffer. "I'll make sure I demand full black ops gear for you for our next assignment together then. Tight-fitting, of course. I'll tell Rupert it's my newest kink."

Xander rolled his eye. "I don't know what's more disturbing -- your continued interest in my ass or your implication that you could talk Giles into having the same interest."

Ethan carefully lifted the coffer out and then shut the empty safe, turning the dial. "You have a very nice arse, Xander. But you do know I'm only teasing, don't you? I only have eyes -- and hands -- for one person these days." He turned and grinned evilly at his companion. "Heterosexuals are fun to poke with big sticks."

"Well, you can keep your sticks outside of poking distance of me -- and that came out way more phallic than I wanted it to."

Ethan's grin fell, and he stared uneasily at Xander, suddenly feeling guilty, and he wasn't even sure about precisely what. He started to say something a couple of times and thought better of it. Shrugging apologetically, he got on with things, returning the picture over the safe, and then turning the physical alarm back on. "Let's go."

Xander reached out and grabbed Ethan's arm, holding him in place. "That wasn't-- Look, I'm not offended or anything. It's just that... I'm *not* offended, and I kinda get the feeling that that's the whole point."

"Offending you?" Ethan asked. "It was to start with. You weren't exactly happy about my existence in Rupert's life, were you?" He met Xander's eye defiantly, but then looked down. "My reaction to disapproval has generally been to live down to it. Meet people's worst expectations of me. I've long since lost any desire to offend you, Xander."

"I'm glad." Xander paused, looking down himself, before meeting Ethan's raised gaze seriously. "I wasn't happy about you and Giles when I first heard. But that had nothing to do with you being gay. I just didn't want to see my friend hurt, and I'd seen you hurt him in the past."

Ethan didn't have an answer for that. He gave Xander a rueful look and gently tugged his arm free. "Let's go," he said again, quietly.

"I don't worry about that anymore," Xander said, as he followed Ethan across the room. "You know that, right?"

Ethan didn't know what to say to that one either. He was, it seemed, just as capable of hurting Rupert now as when he'd done it deliberately in their murky past. He gave Xander a ragged smile and led him out of the room.

***

"Let it be noted that the minutes of the previous meeting have been ratified as correct by all present," Higgins said. He was chairing the meeting for Giles as he was so very good at the traditional formality, seemed to enjoy it even, despite being decidedly on the side of policy reforms.

The minutes-secretary scribbled some shorthand on his pad, and Higgins turned uncertainly to Giles, probably seeking permission to continue.

"I believe we go on to agenda item number one now," Francesca said, in a faux-helpful tone. "There being no matters arising."

"Yes, thank you, Miss Travers," Higgins said, irritated. He turned a page on his clipboard. "Item number one on the Agenda. Mr Giles' report -- 'Broadening the Slayer remit - non-combatant Slayers and their role in the modern Council'. Passing the floor to you, Giles."

"Thank you, Higgins," Giles said, deciding at this point to go forward with the presentation as he had planned. With any luck, the pager would go off, letting him know Ethan and the others had been successful before he had to start... extemporising.

"With the surfeit of Slayers that now exist, we have to begin to consider that there may be more than one path for them to follow. Indeed, trying to fit them all into a cookie cutter training program is wasting their potential -- both for the girls' personal development and the more practical view that the Council has traditionally taken."

"I'm sorry, Rupert," Francesca predictably interrupted. "I don't quite understand your point. Are you suggesting that there's a shortage of suitable work for our Slayers? I didn't realise that demon numbers were actually decreasing. Has there been a new report?"

"That would be beside the point," Giles said, keeping his irritation out of his voice with effort. "With more than one Slayer we can look at letting them -- encouraging them -- to develop whatever talents they're blessed with outside of actual Slaying. Talents that can then be put to use along with the Slayer's more martial abilities."

"Frankly, Rupert, what *is* the point in this?" Francesca asked, clearly addressing her point to the whole table. "A Slayer never lives beyond her twenty-fifth birthday at the very most. While this statistic may be regrettable, it is also undeniably true. And we can't afford to hide from the hard truths..." She looked at him with a nauseating expression of false sympathy. "However attached some of us may get to the gals. The best we can do for them is ensure that they have the most thorough training possible -- in the appropriate martial disciplines."

Swallowing the retort he wanted to give, Giles instead argued mildly, "When there was but one Slayer fighting alone, or even two, perhaps. That situation, as you're aware, has changed."

"Change is not always a good excuse for more change, Rupert, as I'm sure you'll realise if you let yourself think about it." Francesca's voice was becoming more rabble-rousing in tone; Giles half-expected to hear her talking about fighting them on the beaches. "The way we train Slayers is grounded in not just centuries but millennia of tradition. It is somewhat arrogant, is it not, to think that we know better than all our forefathers?" She looked around the table challengingly. Many heads nodded in agreement.

"Our forefathers only had to consider one Slayer at a time. They were able to provide the weight of the entire organisation to support her. Now," Giles gestured at the table, the building, the city around them. "It's quite likely there are more Slayers than Watchers."

Her eyes flashed at him. "Then we surely need to be spending more money training graduates of the Academy up to field standard rather than unfairly allowing the gals to believe they can escape their destiny."

"I am not against expanding our number of Watchers," Giles said carefully, treading the thin line between directly challenging Francesca and staying true to his own beliefs. "But surely that is an entirely different issue."

She glared at him. "Rupert, I do believe you are forgetting the agreement I thought we'd reached about the regrettable consequences of your... of ill-thought out policy decisions."

Giles ground his teeth and glanced down at the pager in his papers. Ethan better contact him soon or there was going to be murder committed at this meeting.

***

"Megan, shut that dog up before I commit canine murder." Ethan scowled at the huge beast which, now they were back downstairs, was whining, scraping and barking at a closed door leading from the main hallway. There were some similar noises coming from the other side. "We need to get out of here, and I'd rather not leave to a crescendo of barking."

"Maybe, if we let her out," Xander ventured then shook his head. "What am I saying. Opening doors without knowing what's on the other side is usually of the bad."

"It's the stuff of hapless heroes," Ethan agreed. "And while that tends to work okay for those the gods have smiled upon, that's hardly us."

"I thought I had a destiny to be a hero?" Megan asked, trying and failing to get the massive dog to quieten.

"There's being a hero," Xander pointed out, "and there's being puppy chow. Just try to keep that distinction in mind."

"They want to be together," Megan pointed out, over the increasing din. "This isn't about eating us."

Xander sighed. "All right. I vote for opening the door, but being ready to run like hell if they start looking at us like filet mignon."

Ethan really wasn't keen on that idea, but on the other hand, he couldn't claim to be getting any fonder of the 21-woof salute either. He stepped back. "Ok, let Fido have its family reunion then."

Megan and Xander exchanged a look, then Megan opened the door.

Another wolfhound, one that seemed -- impossibly -- larger, was on the other side. The two dogs did the sniffing and boisterous play that friendly dogs normally engaged in and then settled down out in the hallway. Which was when it happened.

Megan said, "Awwww," her eyes wide, and three puppies came scampering out, the claws skittering on the polished wood floor. Of course, being wolfhound puppies, they were already the size of a more user-friendly dog, but Megan clearly found them adorable nonetheless, dropping to her knees to cuddle and play with them.

They hadn't time for this.

Ethan opened his mouth to try to encourage more business-like Slayer and less cooing girl, when one of the puppies detached itself from the group and trotted over to him, looking up with big brown eyes. Ethan stared down at it. "Oh."

"Uh oh," Xander said knowingly.

This was... not good. Not good at all. Ethan was looking at the young dog and seeing things he really didn't want to see. Patterns. Threads... Somehow, even though it made no sense at all, even though nothing quite like this had ever happened before, Ethan knew -- knew with utter certainty -- that this animal belonged to Rupert.

The puppy felt... well, like other things connected to Rupert felt. It had the same threads, he suddenly realised, that he knew from Xander, and from the girls, and yes, from himself. The threads that marked them all as belonging to Rupert Giles in one way or another, some more actual property than others.

"Bugger," he cursed, almost under his breath. "So I'm to be a dog-thief now?"

The puppy, who had continued to regard him solemnly, yipped at him as if answering the question.

"Oh God," he moaned, resigned to his fate. "Rupert's going to kill me. Megan, look around and see if you can find a puppy-sized collar and lead."

"We're really going to steal a dog?" she asked, nonetheless standing and looking into the room from which the puppies had come.

"Do you steal a dog or kidnap it?" Xander asked, frowning. "Dog-nap?"

The puppy, meanwhile, was up on his hind legs, leaning against Ethan's leg, wagging his tail so hard his entire rear was wriggling.

Apparently unable to resist the urge, Ethan bent down to pat its stupid head and somehow found himself rising again, lifting the pup up into his arms. "You better tell Rupert what you told me," he told it. "Otherwise he'll think I'm certifiable."

The puppy's answer was to enthusiastically lick Ethan's face.

Megan returned empty-handed, but Ethan smiled at her as he tried to keep his face out of tongue's way. "I think we'll manage. For God's sake, let's get out of here before we decide to take the family silver as well."

"Actually I could use some new dishes..." Xander began teasingly as they headed for the door.

"I'll take you to John Lewis and buy you some," Ethan said dryly. "We go now. You drive us somewhere while I check our haul. Then I text-message Rupert's beeper without further delay."

The big dogs didn't complain as Ethan took the puppy outside and made no attempt to follow. The pup itself wriggled up enough to look over his shoulder, but then was still. As they crossed the road to the car, Ethan was still trying to think of ways he could explain this development to his husband.

He didn't think any of them were going to wash.

***

Giles had retreated into silence, it being the only way he could keep from either contradicting Francesca or compromising his own beliefs. That wasn't stopping him from having increasingly violent daydreams about what he wanted to do with her though.

With the floor to herself, Francesca was going to town, speech-making like a Tory politician at an election year conference. "... and further more, I believe that now more than ever it is essential to stick to the tried and true. We can have no idea what the full ramifications of having so many Slayers may be; it is far too early to be presumptuous. Rash decisions will lead only to regrettable outcomes. As I'm certain Mr Giles, our *current* leader, now realises, radical and adventurous policies such as untrained Watchers and non-combatant Slayers may seem, what is the term? Politically correct on paper, but these young gals are far too vulnerable and valuable to play such games with..."

Giles finally exploded. "So it's better to just use them as weapons, ignoring the fact that they're human beings? I suppose you want to bring back the Cruciamentum as well, barbaric as it is."

She glared ice daggers at him. "Really, Rupert. Is such an outburst strictly necessary? I'm beginning to think the committee might be interested in seeing my special report after all..."

Really, there couldn't have been a better time for the pager he'd sat at the side of his files to start to vibrate. Pressing the appropriate button, Giles read the message as it scrolled across --

'Vids and other loot secured, inc. Travers accounts. Need Pammy to look, but think Travers have been leeching CoW funds for generations. Kiss. Don't be cross when you see what I have for you?'

Relief coursed through Giles when he read that, and a fierce exhilaration. With the freedom to now speak as he would, Giles sat up straighter and gave Francesca his best Ripperish smile. "I think you might want to double-check your sources of information for that report before you present it," he told her smoothly. "I wouldn't want you to end up looking foolish, my dear."

She hesitated -- it was slight, but Giles saw it, noted it, and smiled more broadly. "I can assure you my sources are quite sound," she said, full of authority and confidence again, but Giles knew she had her doubts now.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he told her with false sweetness. "But we've drifted from the point. Which is my intention of implementing training for Slayers who want it in secondary disciplines. Beginning with Katherine Sato apprenticing with a Healer in Devon."

"That is categorically out of the question," Francesca said angrily, rising to her feet. There was a murmur of discontent around the table. One didn't talk to the Council Head that way, whatever the provocation. "I will not permit you to destroy the work of the Watchers before us. My father--" She stopped as the door opened in a hurry and one of her lackeys scurried over to her.

There was a whispered conversation, Francesca becoming increasingly and obviously alarmed and angry.

Finally, she turned briefly to the meeting to say, "You will have to excuse me," before sweeping out of the chamber, leaving her lackey to pick up her files and papers from the desk.

Giles allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at Francesca's abrupt departure while a general murmur went around the table. Then, smiling, he took control of the meeting again. "You've heard my proposal and have a more detailed explanation in the papers provided. If there aren't any *serious* objections

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