Title: Sick 'Em, Ripper! 3/? (Yes, it's another series, so shoot me).
Author:Jacqui
Rating: At the moment, G.
Disclaimer: They're mine! They're all mine! Oh wait, no, this is the real world, isn't it? I don't own squat. 'Cept, the old couple's dentures.
Spoilers: First three seasons, then I take control. Things were different in my Buffy college universe.
Feedback: You would not believe how much I want it...
Comments: The Council is evil. Do we all agree? Good, then you're ready to read on...

Frederick Reineger hated the rain in England. It was cold, relentless and held none of the beauty of his own country. He shuffled deeper into his thick, floor length woolen coat, his hands automatically searching the pockets for his cigarettes. Then he pressed his hands against his thighs, smoking would not be a part of this meeting.

The door was unobtrusive, it didn't even look strong, but Frederick knew it would be guarded by more locks and security than anybody had a right to expect. He had no idea how or where they actually found these meeting places. It was never in the same place twice and they only got word of the location a day in advance.

Security and secrecy was almost second nature to them all.

He dutifully stood under the scrutiny of the eyes behind the peep hole, answered the questions that came through the speaker. Inane as they were, only the select few would know how to answer them. Unless one of them talked. He saw no reason that they should, but you never knew.

The room was quiet, there were only two seats unoccupied and he grimaced, realizing how late he was. Setting his briefcase on the table, he sat down. Seven pairs of eyes were watching him closely, he looked at each of them.

Not one showed him a glimmer of why they were here. This meeting was different to all the rest. It had been called suddenly and without warning. Although, there was no question as to the validity of it. There was only one reason that could possibly be behind it.

Seven faces, trying to stay calm and blank, showed him much of what he suspected could be read on his own face. Fear, nervousness, a growing excitement, the knowledge that things would soon come to pass, but mostly fear.

"I think you all know why we're here." A strong, but quiet voice invaded the room. They all watched the man walk confidently to the only empty chair left, watched him sit down at the head of the table, pour himself a glass of water and then face everyone in the room. "It's time we stop meeting in secret. The ultimate game has begun, ladies and gentlemen."

Rupert Giles raised the glass to his lips and watched their reactions, a small smile raised the corners of his lips.

* * * *

"It's a miracle he even survived. We were shocked when he regained consciousness. Of course, since then he had made no more than a remarkable recovery."

The doctor's voice droned on as they walked along the halls. Buffy heard their footsteps echo crisply on the tiles.

"He's out of critical condition, but he's still in a great deal of pain. We've only just started weaning him off the drugs. His file says DNR, but it says nothing about stopping the pain. Make no mistake, if he asks for it, I will not hesitate to help, no matter how important you say these questions are."

"Understood."

Buffy walked into the room without knocking. Whatever courtesies this man had once had the right to expect, he'd long since given up any rights to them. The skin on her wrists itched as she pressed her nails into the flesh of her palms. In her mind, she could imagine piercing the skin, feeling the wet, moist blood well up and ooze through her fingers.

He was not alone. She did not know this man, the one who sat in the chair, his eyes peering at a folded back magazine, but she knew all about him, just by looking. All at once, she knew that the little old lady, with the blue knitting and oversized glasses in hall was his wife.

The top of his head was bald, shining red like his face, thinned out with age. They'd once gotten him to play Santa at the family Christmas parties, though he was too emaciated to continue that role. On a stand in his bathroom would be a little metal comb, with thin white hairs in the teeth, a slightly worn toothbrush and a half empty glass next to some denture tablets. His kitchen would hold the desperate neatness of aged couples who have trouble keeping track of everything else. They'd polish the benches until they gleamed, but they wouldn't notice the mould on the jelly jar.

She eyed Charles Bramston in the bed without emotion, though she could feel it welling up. He was almost unrecognizable. The bandages covered him like a mummy in a cheap horror movie. Tubes ran into arms, into his nose, wires ran in hectic little webs all over his head and chest. A machine was pumping breath into his lungs.

"You tried to kill me." Buffy had expected to be bitter, she wasn't.

"And you came to finish me off."

Charles Bramston used a lot of effort to speak, but he could do it. It was not a question, just a resigned statement. She was surprised at this. In fact, she had been surprised when they had found his records in the hospital.

"No, actually, I came to talk."

"Talk? To me?" His clipped English tones sounded their disbelief. "I am the enemy, am I not, Miss Summers?"

"Yes! You're the..." She stopped, breathed in, tried to ignore the man who sat watching them with interest. "I have no choice. I need to find Giles, you're the only one..."

"And what makes you think I'd tell you anything?"

Buffy looked him in the eye. It was hard to tell, through the white expanse of bandage that covered him, exactly how old he was, but his eyes were worn. They showed a tiredness that betrayed him. Buffy tried to keep herself expressionless. She didn't want to give him anything.

"They left you for dead. They're not your friends, Mr. Bramston."

He closed his eyes and lay still. It was several minutes before he opened them again, so long that Buffy had gotten nervous, she'd been considering pressing the call button. Her breath came out in a long gust, she hadn't realized she'd been holding it.

"What do you want to know? Do you even know what you're asking for?"

"What is Giles involved in? Who is the 'us' he threatened the Council with? Where has he gone?" She had to stop herself from raising her voice, so close and yet so far.

"Ah." He tried to smile. "I see you do know. Rupert always said we underestimated you. I do believe he was right."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a gem, get on with it."

"We're not bad people, Buffy, not all of us." He sounded so sad. "But there are members who feel that the Council have overstepped their boundaries, that we no longer serve a higher purpose, that we're drunk on the power."

"Gee, ya think?"

"Do you want me to continue?"

Buffy began to count to ten in her mind.

"You weren't supposed to live, do you know that? That's why we sent Rupert, he was supposed to fail and come back, proving us right. But you were so stubborn."

"Giles is a good watcher! Damn you, he's..."

"Yes, I know. Quite surprisingly, really, but he came back time and time again, so full of ideas. He had all the answers, telling us what we'd been doing wrong for centuries, how we needed to change. Let me tell you something, things don't need to change."

"Don't. Need. To. Change?" Buffy gritted the words out between her teeth, she was so angry. "You destroyed Faith! And, not happy with that, killed her while she lay in a coma! Now you're scaring Fiona into becoming a fugitive and you're trying to kill me. You don't think you need to change?"

"The Council has survived for centuries, control... watching over the Slayer." He tried to cover up his slip, but it was useless, the word hung in the air.

"No. Say it. Control. Giles, and whoever else is in this group, is right. You guys are power hungry and it has to stop!"

"You don't know!" Little flecks of spittle shot out of his mouth. "Your precious Giles and his followers, you don't know what they're doing!"

"Making the world safe for habitation?"

"He's going to get himself killed, him and every other renegade who tries to subvert the system. You want to save him, you better act fast."

"Then tell me how, damn it!"

Buffy felt like a hamster in a maze, running into dead end after dead end, yet knowing the exit was just around a corner somewhere. What she wanted to do was hit him, or walk out, something, anything rather than standing there, helpless as he held the power.

* * * *

Giles lay close to the ground, almost hugging it, one foot in front of him sat a fence. He could swear that he could hear the hum of electricity, even though he knew it was impossible. His breath came out in short, shallow gasps as he tried to make as little sound as he possibly could. The little pocket flashlight he held flickered once, then twice.

He waited.

Two answering flicks appeared about a kilometer to his left. Almost immediately, another two flickers of light appeared a kilometer further on. Eight lookouts, a kilometer apart, two kilometers on each side. He recited the numbers in his head, taking comfort in the reassurance. A whole circle of imperceptible lights. Giles let himself smile, if only for a short instant. So far, things were going to plan.

The building was exactly half a kilometer inwards of the fence, all the way around. There were precious few trees in the space between. Low coverage, easy to police. There were eight guards, two on each side, armed and hidden from sight. Even in daylight they would be hard to place.

Thank goodness Leeds had been able to provide them with heat sensitive goggles. The guards glowed like fireflies. Giles looked at his watch, wishing he could speed the time along, wishing things could be over.

To his right, a light flickered again. Once, twice. Giles breathed in deep, please, once more, just once more. There it was. Three times. He crawled forward, pliers in his hands. They'd have half an hour before the electricity was returned to the fence.

* * * *

"Tell me," Charles Bramston spoke as if they had all the time in the world. "You had your little hacker friend check the telephone records, didn't you? What did you find?"

"What?" Buffy was almost crazed with impatience.

"He made two calls, didn't he? Before he left? Each to international destinations. Except, they transferred, didn't they? From Holland to France, to Germany, to New Zealand until the trail went cold." He didn't even wait for her to nod. "That's the way he always does it. We've tried for three years to break his code, to find out who his followers are. They're very good at hiding."

"You don't know who they are?"

He gave her a look.

"If we did, don't you think we would have taken care of them by now?"

"Oh, right." She frowned.

"You can tell your hacker friend..."

"Willow."

"Of course, Willow, to stop looking. You'll never trace the calls. He's already organized a meeting, of that you can be sure. My guess is they're in England, London, planning to, if they're not already, attack the main Council square."

"What? They're just going to go in, guns a'blazing? If there are so many of these 'renegades', why don't they just stop taking orders from the Council? Why don't they just outnumber the old guys?"

Charles gave a weary sigh.

"The Council doesn't work like that, Miss Summers. Watchers are never just 'selected' for their brains or acumen or skill. They're born with it in their blood, it's part of their DNA, very much like Slayers."

Buffy could hear Giles' voice, years ago 'I was ten years old when my father told me I was destined to be a watcher.' His father, she thought, his grandmother... generation after generation. A lot of things were becoming clear as he spoke.

"If Rupert wants to gain control of the council, he needs to gain control of the Council's power source. It's a very difficult task, one that will most certainly lead to his death, if you don't stop him."

"How do you know that? He might do it! He..."

"You think this hasn't been tried before? You think the Council leaves it's one weakness unguarded? We may be many things, but we are not foolish."

"Then, again, I ask you, how do I stop him?"

He closed his eyes and sighed.

"I'm tired, I'm so very tired."

"You tell me!"

"I need my rest."

"Damn you, you owe me!"

"I owe you nothing more than I've given you."

"Listen to me." Buffy leant close to his ear. "If you'd done your research, you'll know I don't like being killed. Those who try usually end up dead. The Master. Miss Post. I'm letting you live. Don't forget that."

"Aren't you forgetting Angel? He nearly killed you, if I'm not mistaken, after you let him drink from you."

Buffy bristled.

"After you refused to help us! You left me no choice, you practically forced me into it!"

"He's a vampire."

"With a soul. Where is he now?" She waited and when he didn't say anything, she gave a smug little smile. "You can't even admit it, can you? He's helping the Powers That Be. He's saved the world many times over. Doing more good than the Council ever has. What do you think would have happened if I'd let him die?"

He had long since refused to meet her eye.

"I hope Rupert realizes what he has in you."

Buffy had all but forgotten the man who had sat in the corner, until he coughed lightly, set down the magazine and pulled himself into a standing position. He wavered slightly on his feet, but soon steadied himself.

"Young lady, would you be so kind as to help me and my wife to a taxi?"

"I don't think..." Buffy stopped herself. She looked at Charles Bramston, lying back, eyes closed, knowing he would not talk to her further. Their conversation was at an end. "I'll be happy to."

"You're so kind." His hands were like thin, wrinkled leather as they held her outstretched elbow, it was faintly unpleasant. "So kind."

Buffy smiled at the woman as she slowly rose to her feet, in the cautious way that people who are used to having arthritis do. They both reminded Buffy of her grandparents. Not because they looked, or even talked, like them, but because they were old.

"Charles was my student." The old man talked as they waited for the elevator. "He used to be so cocky. He thought he knew everything."

"Hush Cecil." The woman glared at him. "She doesn't want to hear your rambling."

"What would you know, you old biddy?"

"A lot more than you've forgotten, you senile old fool."

Buffy tried not to laugh out loud at their jovial bickering.

As they waited for a cab, the lady leaned into Buffy.

"Marion Hopper." She whispered.

"Excuse me?" Buffy looked at her, confused. Cecil turned to her.

"Rupert's mother. It was her maiden name. Marion Hopper."

Then they both looked forward, as if they hadn't said a thing. When the cab drove up, Buffy helped them into the back seat, though she was beginning to suspect that they really wouldn't need help if they didn't want it.

* * * *

"What the hell does that mean? I mean, why the hell tell me his mother's maiden name?"

Buffy paced from one side of the kitchen to the other, absent mindedly picking up a cup of coffee and then placing it back down again. On the counter sat Willow's lap top, recently shut down, being given a much deserved break after days of tracking down phone traces. Willow's eyes followed Buffy, her shoulders gave a resigned, little shrug.

"What are we going to do, now? I mean, short of going to London to find Giles, there's nothing we can..." Willow caught sight of the look in Buffy's eyes. "Oh no. No. We can't go to London!"

"Why not?"

"Uh, guys?" Fiona sat at the counter, quietly stirring her coffee.

"Why not? Do you know how big London is? You can't just fly there and look for someone, without knowing where to look! Ever heard of a needle in a hay stack? This would be a needle in a hay country! Especially since he doesn't want to be found!"

"Guys?" Fiona raised her eye brows.

"What do you suggest? That we just sit here and wait? Hope he gets through it okay? I'm sorry, Willow, but I can't do that! I have to go after him, I have to do something, I have to..."

"We need some sort of a plan, that's all I'm saying."

"Excuse me?!" Fiona finally yelled.

"What?" Buffy and Willow turned as one.

"I may know where we need to go."

Buffy sat down, her attention captured.

"Do tell."

* * * *

Giles held the stethoscope to the wall, keeping his breathing shallow and silent, as he carefully turned the dial. His ears were tuned to the little clicks and he could feel a trickle of sweat run down his spine. He almost wished he had Willow here with him.

The door hissed as the air seal was broken. He swung the heavy metal handle and heaved the door open. To his left lay a temporarily stunned guard. Giles wondered if he had ever seen what he had been protecting.

It glowed softly, calling to him, he could barely take his eyes off of it. He wanted to touch it, the desire almost unbearable, run his fingers over it, know it, but there was no time. There was only five minutes to reach safe distance and he was falling behind.

He never heard the steps that came up behind him, nor did he hear the whoosh of air as a club was brought down on the back of his skull.

* * * *

"When we were in London," Fiona didn't miss the slightly narrowed eyes that Buffy gave at her words, but she wisely ignored them. "Giles told me about his mother's house. You see, the council, they had control of Giles' house, Giles' father's house, his grandmother's, but Giles' mother had an estate that they couldn't touch. It was entailed through the Hopper family."

"You..." Buffy paused, recognizing her jealousy for what it was, then not caring. "He took you there? You saw his house?"

"Oh no, no." She rushed forward, suddenly realizing her error. "We never went there! We just talked about it, I mean, when he was here didn't you guys talk about his family? That's all it was."

Fiona faltered as neither Buffy, nor Willow, met her eyes. Things were becoming all too clear, all too late. She wanted to take her words back. Despite her earlier bitterness, she was beginning to understand Buffy and Willow, was beginning to realize the truth of the situation.

She knew they'd been close, the whole group of them, that Giles knew every intimate detail of their lives and would remember them fondly at all odd moments of the day. Some, she knew, were not so fondly remembered, but they'd been known. Surely the intimacy had stretched to encompass Giles as well?

What Fiona didn't know, what she could never realize by herself, was the differences with which her and Giles, and Buffy and Giles, had met, the changes that he had undergone before he'd come to her. He was so warm and friendly and immediately she could confide in him. It didn't occur to her that he'd been shy and reserved and more like the council members she was running from, that having started out that way, he and Buffy's relationship had been set in a groove that allowed them both to stay on the 'safe' track.

"You talked about his family?" Buffy's voice was small, she was afraid of the answers to her questions. "Did you ever meet them?"

Fiona was relieved to be able to say no. There was a silence that hung heavy in the kitchen for several moments.

"Okay!" Willow fired up her laptop. "So now we know what we're looking for!"

* * * *

Giles woke suddenly. There was no slow awakening, no fuzzy reemergence to consciousness. One minute he was asleep, the next his eyes were open, his mind cruelly aware of where he was and why. They'd failed. Damn.

"Rupert."

One word, from a voice so calm, could not possibly engender this much terror in a man who'd seen so much. The instant he heard it, Giles felt a cold chill inch down his spine. He wanted to run, to throw himself out of the window, anything, to get away from the voice. From what it represented.

He couldn't, though, could not move any part of him. He was paralyzed. Not even for an instant did he entertain that it had occurred when he'd been knocked out. No. That would be preferable to this. He had never seen it happen, but he'd heard stories.

Not when he'd started out, not when he'd been so eager to please the Council, no, not then. It was later, when he'd started to have his doubts, when he'd started to see between the cracks, that the stories had come to him.

"I do believe we have some work to do with you."

He wanted to remember. He wanted to remember. He wanted to remember.

* * * *

"Is that all you've got?"

Buffy brought her head back up, after ducking a rather nasty punch aimed at it. She grinned as she spun around, bending her right knee and keeping her left leg perfectly straight, sweeping Fiona's feet out from under her.

At least, it would have swept her feet out from under her, if she hadn't leapt into the air at the last moment.

"Nice move."

"Thanks." Buffy continued drawing her foot around and completed the circle, tripping Fiona when she landed, Buffy stood up and smiled. "Giles and I worked on that one."

"Oh really?" Fiona used her position on the floor to scissor her legs, using the momentum to flip herself up whilst simultaneously twining her legs with Buffy's. The result: Fiona standing, Buffy not so much. "He said it needed work."

Willow ignored the two of them training. They'd been at it for an hour, already, and it was clear that they were pretty evenly matched, in puns and witty barbs as well as fighting. If anything, Fiona was still a little shaky and Buffy held the upper hand in that respect, but it was not a noticeable difference.

In front of Willow sat her laptop, the screen whirring through several files at dizzying speed, at her feet sat Ripper, his head in her lap, his brown eyes staring up at her, begging her to play. The phone rang to the right of her and Willow reached over to pick it up, not hearing the muffled 'oomph' that came from the mats.

"Hello? Oh my God, Xander! How are you? How's Anya? We're fi..." The lies were almost automatic to her, we're fine, no worries here, but then her eyes caught the screen and she paused, her voice calming down. "No, actually, we're not fine. How close are you guys to Sunnydale?"

* * * *

"Good morning, Rupert, did you sleep well?"

He opened one blood shot eye and flinched at the sudden light that invaded his conscious. The cotton of the sheets felt cool against his skin, his pillow was damp and smelled faintly of his sweat. Giles wondered what they'd given him. He looked up at the voice, his eye pleading, his throat barely managing a croak.

"I want to remember."

"Of course you do." Quentin Travers was calm and almost sympathetic. "They all do."

Travers pulled a tray, much like the ones in a hospital, closer to the bed. Immediately Giles could smell the food and felt his stomach tighten with hunger. He eyed Travers, watching his every move, the man was entirely too smug, too sure of himself.

"I've brought you breakfast. And a newspaper, censured of course." Travers winked, as if sharing a joke with him. He spoke as if this were normal, as if there were no reasons for hostility. "There's a bathroom through that door over there. Someone will bring you your lunch at noon and dinner at six, the trays will be collected half an hour after they've arrived. If you want to keep your privileges, everything that came on the tray will leave with the tray. You can keep the papers until the following meal. Understand?"

Giles fought back the urge to ask what privileges Travers thought he had at the moment and duly nodded his head.

"There is no possibility to leave these quarters and no contact with the outside world. Though, you know this already, don't you? Keep in mind, Rupert, it could be worse, it could be a lot worse."

Giles managed to draw himself up to a sitting position, his muscles screaming from an extended period of misuse. He eyed the tray, it almost looked welcoming. A plastic plate of scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast, buttered and sliced into neat triangles, a plastic glass of juice and a freshly made pot of tea, complete with milk in a mug and sugar in packets.

A completely absurd and inappropriate touch was added with a single daisy in a plastic bud vase. Giles wondered whether Travers was ignorant of the fact that they were Buffy's favorite flower, or whether it was a small trick of cruelty on his part. A harsh reminder of what he'd soon forget.

"How could it be worse, Quentin?" Giles looked him straight in the eye, it was not lost on him that Travers was the one who looked away first. "If I have things right, you're going to make me into a robot with false memories. Tell me how it could possibly be worse?"

* * * *

"We just got here!" As if to prove his point, Xander gestured helplessly to the bags that they'd dumped by the floor.

"Well," Willow put on her resolve face, they'd seen it before, they knew what it meant. "You can just keep travelling, mister, we're all going and we need you!"

"I've never been to England." Anya grinned. Xander glared at her.

"So, tell me, why exactly are we going again?"

"Because we have to infiltrate the Council's head facility." Willow answered airily. That was all she'd told them so far. She got the feeling that Buffy and Fiona should be here when the larger explanations were given out. They were out patrolling.

"Oh." He said. "Right. You know, I just missed the mortal danger we used to just throw ourselves into."

Though his voice was high with sarcasm, there was a hint of emotion behind his words. He grabbed Willow into one of the several bone crushing hugs he had been giving her since they'd walked in the door ten minutes before.

Anya coughed and looked about nervously.

"Where's that dog? He's not gonna hump my leg again, is he?"

"No." Willow huffed, indignant. "We've had him done since then."

"That's lovely." Both girls missed the way Xander had winced. "But let's get back to the point. I know the Council is bad, but why go after them now, after so long?"

"Because." Buffy walked into the hallway from the kitchen, having come in the backdoor, Fiona a few steps behind her. "They kidnapped Giles."

Xander's eyes grew wide as the implication sank in, Anya's mouth formed a little 'oh'.

* * * *

"Mom?" Buffy twirled the cord of the phone in the fingers of her right hand. "How are you? Great. Can you do me a favor? Look after Ripper for a few days, maybe weeks, for me? Please? No, nothing's wrong. No. Ok, something, but not big. Mom? Listen... no... Mom? Calm down..."

Buffy rolled her eyes as she tried to make Joyce listen. Granted, it probably didn't sound too great, calling up and asking her to take the dog like that, in fact, given the circumstances of her life, it must have sounded extremely suspicious, but if Joyce would just calm down and listen...

Across the room, Willow was typing at her laptop, suddenly she looked up and began waving frantically at Buffy. She received a confused look, a dismissive wave and the turning of Buffy's back as an answer. Willow frowned, walked over to Buffy and stood directly in front of her.

"It's okay," She whispered. "Tell her not to worry about it, she doesn't need to watch him."

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Buffy's eyes widened. "Oh, no, not you, Mom, hang on." She lowered the receiver to her shoulder and looked at Willow. "Talk."

"I'll explain it in a minute, just tell her it's okay."

Buffy did so, assuring Joyce that nothing was wrong, but failing miserably. It did not help that she ended the conversation with "oh, and we'll probably be in England for a while, so don't call us."

"Here's the thing." Willow waited until she had everyone's attention. "Thanks to some devious computer errors, the Council has graciously paid for five first class airline tickets for us to England."

"Will," Xander grinned. "You've been naughty again."

"What about...?" Buffy took both of Ripper's ears and ruffled them.

"The dog? Well, funnily enough, the Council has a special agreement with the airline that allows them to transport live animals without the usual quarantine. I figured we may need a trained dog with us, if it comes to that."

"Then I guess." Xander grinned. "It's a waste of time unpacking then. We're going to England."