TITLE: Rayne of Chaos 7/7
AUTHOR: Jaydn Michelle
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Giles, Ethan, Buffy, Willow, Xander, Angel, Cordelia,
Jenny Calendar, Quentin Travers, Randall Scott, Merrick and Eyghon are the
property of people bigger than me. In other words, it's not mine, never
will be mine, yada, yada, yada.
FEEDBACK: Always welcomed
"...What, no hug?"
- Ethan Rayne
(Halloween).
_________________
PRESENT DAY
"Ethan! I know you're in here! You can come out, Giles told me everything!"
"Oh, I doubt that."
Buffy spun, startled, heart in her mouth and stake raised high. Willow and Giles were generally the only people who could do that, approach her unawares, and Ethan made three. She shifted position, noting the pointed expression, and very deliberately lowered her stake. Almost as deliberately, Ethan smiled.
It annoyed her, dislike for the mystic mounting with every second spent in his company. Buffy couldn't say what it was about him that riled her so - Halloween was a good start - but it was his connection to her Watcher that unnerved her the most. Ethan was a threat, unidentifiable, but true - and he raised her hackles on every level. "Look, Eyghon's coming to get you."
"And you came here to protect me. I'm touched."
His sleeves were rolled up, sweat on his forehead and the faint smell of incense burning in the air. It seemed to be coming from the back room, and Buffy wondered if he'd been casting, if so, what? She could see the black edge of his tattoo on the left arm (the mark of Eyghon), and noted, for the first time really, that Ethan was built. Cowardly demeanour aside, his body was pared down to a lean hunger, like a predator - the sharp edge of a contradiction. "Don't worry, it's nothing personal. To protect Giles, I have to protect you."
He appreciated the dryness of her tone, responding in kind: "How does Ripper *inspire* such goodness?"
"Because he's Giles."
Black eyes slid past her, focusing on something abstract, "And I'm not. Still, lucky me."
"Mmmm, lucky you." She dismissed him, sweeping the room, looking for points of weakness, and just itching to see what he'd been doing behind the curtain.
His drawl interrupted her: "Well we can't run, Eyghon will find us, this mark is like a homing beacon."
A flicker of distaste swept across the young features, "I'm not into running."
//So that was her grand plan, to sit here and duke it out like Butch and Sundance//. His tone went dour, "Well, aren't we manly."
"One of us is - you're going to hide."
"*Excellent* plan."
She frowned, still trying to get a handle on him, "Is there a way in through the back?"
"Well, there's a back door, locked, I think it's solid."
Buffy stared at the curtain and nodded, curiosity burning. "We'll set up there. Let's go."
Ethan smiled, eyes not warming an inch as he made a grand gesture. All British manners and gilded honey. She proceeded him and dropped like a puppet when he struck her from behind with a wrench. Hard enough to fracture a human skull - hard enough to render the Slayer unconscious, voice goading as he muttered: "Ladies first."
___________________________
1981
Giles jerked awake, body jack-knifing. A pressure on his chest snapped taut and he stumbled from the bed, fumbling for the dresser. The hallway light was on, burning brightly every night because he couldn't sleep in the dark yet. Finding the atlas instantly, he turned pages at random, fingers tracking across North America to California, settling on some unknown town in one of its provinces, tasting the unfamiliar word - Hemery.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The stranger had been nursing his cup of coffee for two hours. Gaunt, high cheekbones, a face cast by shadows. Not the normal clientele. He looked to be in his mid-forties and sounded American, or maybe Canadian, Giles had difficulty differentiating between the two. The coffee was half drunk, a film of milk resting on top and definitely cold. Wisely, the stranger hadn't sipped from it, content to curl his hands around the mug as if seeking warmth from the English chill.
Giles placed the last chair on the table, tossed a cloth toward the bar and headed toward the final customer; at least he wasn't drunk: "Pub's closed."
"Rupert Giles?"
Merrick watched as the young man tensed. He couldn't be more than twenty-four and already had the worn edge of someone familiar with myriad forms of pain. He looked about ready to flee. "I'm Merrick."
The boy shifted, ignoring the out-stretched hand, eying the door surreptitiously, and Merrick deliberately held still. Natasha was outside, the Russian Slayer under strict orders to knock Giles flat if he bolted in her direction - though Merrick was hoping that it wouldn't come to that.
Moments ticked by, then the youth shifted, "What do you want?"
"Masters sent me."
"Masters," a bark of laughter, "I thought he wanted me dead."
"Unlikely, if he did, you *would* be." Merrick shrugged, tone odd when he continued, "Actually, Masters wanted me to ask you a question."
That caught Giles by surprise, frowning slightly as he leant against the bar, "About what?"
"We seemed to have misplaced a Slayer, in point of fact, *your* Slayer."
Giles stared at him, incredulous, and then laughed - he couldn't help it. "Oh, that's embarrassing."
"Tell me about it. The seer *knows* she's been born, but for the life of us, we don't know *where*. Masters was hoping that you might."
The door to the pub opened, Natasha walking in, shaking rain out of her hair and glowering.
The two men stared at her before Giles answered, voice soft: "If I did - I wouldn't tell."
Merrick raised an eyebrow.
"You said it yourself, the Watchers don't know where she is and if they don't, then neither do the 'bad' guys," Giles' voice turned bitter as he looked away. "Let this Slayer of prophecy have her childhood, or what little of it she can enjoy - I won't help you."
"You think it's kinder to throw the destiny thing onto her shoulders unexpectedly?" There was a question in Merrick's voice, but no real antagonism.
"Maybe... I don't know... it's not my problem. I gave up on the Watchers a long time ago."
Merrick stared at him, intensity shining as he dug one hand into Giles' arm, "And who's going to teach her now, boy?"
Giles jerked free, anger flaring, "I don't care! The Watchers are a thousand deep, find a bloody replacement! They don't need me and they don't need a pre-destined Watcher who's given up on magic. Any fool will do."
"I don't give a tinker's damn if you've given up on magic or not. It's not about magic, it's not about you, and it's not about the bloody Council! It's about her," and Merrick jerked his chin at the girl at the far end of the bar, "and all the others who will follow, and you, you're smart enough to *know* that. Do you know why I tracked you down, boy? Watchers are dragged from their homes when they're ten or twelve years old, indoctrinated into an organisation that has them chained to a desk for the next twenty years. Watching isn't about 'naming-the-demon', or knowing the right incantation to a spell, sometimes it's as simple as knowing the right thing to *say*! How can we do that when most of us are as removed from reality as the damn Slayer that we're meant to be guiding? How can we convince her that life is worth living when half of us haven't even *experienced* it. You have that, boy, you've *lived* - no matter what the consequences, and maybe, just maybe, it'll be enough to help her too. So that she'll survive past seventeen." Merrick released him, watching the youth carefully.
Giles was pale. "They killed Emma, Merrick, I'm not going back to them."
//Emma? The Slayer?// He'd heard about that, and Merrick nodded slowly, "You don't have to... not yet."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Merrick hesitated, then entered with a cursory knock and a smile for the old coot behind the desk. Still alive and kicking - Merrick might have suspected him as a vampire except that Masters had aged, visibly.
The senior Watcher scowled at him, "Do the colonials not wait for permission?"
"Don't have the time, I'm heading back to Romania tonight and by the way, I found your runaway Watcher."
The old man froze, "Rupert Giles? Where?"
"Safe."
"Does he know where the Slayer is? We have to find her, have to train her properly."
Merrick's grin was rueful, "He wouldn't say, but I'd wager a small fortune that he knows *exactly* where she is."
"Then bring him in, we need him, we need *both* of them," there was a feverish light to Masters' eyes, an energy that was almost gleeful.
"No."
//What? Did he just say no?//
"Giles is coming back to the Watchers, but he's doing it on his own terms. The boy's internship will continue, but under my guidance, he's coming with me, Masters, and when he's ready, he'll return here."
"What about the Slayer?"
The American rubbed the bridge of his nose, voice weary, "She's out there... somewhere."
No mistaking the look of horror on the old man's face, and Merrick wondered dourly if it was because Masters had realised that this girl would *never* be placed under his thumb. "She'll be completely unprepared!"
"Yes. Completely unpredictable."
___________________________________________
PRESENT DAY
The humming woke her up, cheerful, reminding Buffy of her father on a Saturday morning flipping pancakes - except Ethan Rayne's paternal instinct really sucked.
"Wakey-wakey, you're going to miss all the fun."
She was bound to a table by a man who *really* knew his knots - and her head was beating like a son-of-a-bitch, "What fun?"
"Your initiation."
That cleared the headache right up. Buffy couldn't believe she'd come here to protect this little brat. "Know what? I'm not real interested in joining your club."
"Too late, I already voted you in," he was poised at her back, ink and needle clasped in each hand, brushing her hair aside to expose the nape. "I hope you're not taking this personally, Buffy, I actually kind of like you, it's just that I like myself a lot more. If you think about this karmatically, this is big for your soul. You know, taking my place with the demon, *giving*, so that others might live."
She rolled one eye, staring at him with teeth bared, "I'm going to kill you - does that blow the whole karma thing?"
"Sweet child."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He heard them long before they appeared, feet pounding against the pavement, exploding into his bedroom without a hint of grace.
Willow's face was blotched red with effort, words tumbling from her mouth in an overflow, "Weneedyouquick."
"What?" Angel stood up, ignoring the boy, Xander, panting in his doorway to focus on the girl.
"Giles - Giles is in trouble! There's a demon out to get him, come *on*, we'll talk in the car."
Angel pushed past them, snagging a coat and locking the door. Cordelia's car was parked out front, engine running, and the two teenagers bolted towards it. They slid into the vehicle, Willow in the front passenger seat, the two men in the rear.
The cheerleader looked at them, eyes pinched, "Where to?"
"Giles' home."
"No!"
Xander frowned, casting an uneasy glance at the vampire beside him, before re-addressing Willow, "But that's where Buffy said they'd be."
"I *know*, but, I don't know... we *can't* go there."
"Then where?"
Willow's face was a smear of white, fingers clenched, "Ethan's costume shop."
//Ethan's? The place was deserted, and Willow, Willow didn't *look* right//, Xander felt his concern twist, "Will..."
"Just go!" It was a shout, and so unlike Willow.
Cordelia floored it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I think I missed my calling as an artist."
Ethan stepped back, wiping his hands on the cloth, noting the tension in the child's frame with cursory interest. The tattoo was inflamed, the skin an angry red, but the girl had stopped trembling.
It really was rather painful.
"Ethan, listen to me, this is a bad idea, you're dealing with something dangerous."
//Oh, she didn't have the faintest idea//. Ethan was *not* about to die at the hands of Eyghon, not now, not ever. That meant getting out and finding a replacement. Choosing the Slayer was a two-fold motive. On one hand, the girl had power. Ethan already knew that his magic was void against Eyghon, but Buffy *might* be immune to it. If that were the case, then Giles would be safe in the hands of his Slayer. If it *wasn't* the case, then Buffy was as vulnerable as the rest of them and she'd die. But Giles would *still* be safe - by then, Ethan's spell would be in effect, and Angelus would join the fray.
Either way it all worked out - just as long as his old mate Ripper stayed exactly where he was.
He picked up a bottle of hydrochloric acid and grimaced, this was going to sting... like a son-of-a-bitch, and heard the girl gasp, eyes impossibly huge, "Oh, relax, this is for *me*." Ethan took a breath, taking up the strands of magic, and poured. Hissing as his arm went up in flame, whispering under his breath to minimise the damage. Allowing the acid to burn Eyghon's mark from his skin thoroughly - using the magic to protect the tendons and muscle.
All in all, Ethan was quite proud that he never once fainted.
_________________________
1995
"Buffy Summers."
Merrick looked up, at sixty-one he'd been burnt down to a walking skeleton, sunken cheekbones, eyes red. He'd been a Watcher too long - had buried too many children. Min had been dead for exactly three days, and Merrick had decided to retire, duty done. "Excuse me?"
"The child of prophesy - her name is Buffy Summers."
//Oh dear god, with a name like that...//
"We want you to be her Watcher."
Everything stuttered to a stop, staring at the young man behind the desk. "You can't be serious, Rupert Giles is slated for this girl, not me. It's *destined*."
Travers shrugged, an expression of smugness. "This girl has no knowledge of the Watchers, no inkling of her own potential. The seer only located her three nights ago when... when Min died. Given her lack of preparation, it was thought that someone of a more... stable... background would be beneficial to the girl. Given Giles' history, we don't consider him ideal."
//Ideal? Don't want a rogue teaching a rogue?// "Masters would never agree with this - it's *destined* Travers."
"Yes, but unfortunately, Masters is dead, and I'm in charge. Your plane is in three hours. Relax Merrick, at least you're on home soil."
The American shook his head, eyes desperate, "I can't do this any more, I can't... I can't bury another child. Fifteen years is long enough, Travers, please. If you send me out there, I'll only get her killed, or myself."
"Rubbish, you've done an admirable job over the years and your Slayers have performed their tasks adequately. You'll whip this girl into line, I know it."
Travers leant back, clear indication that the conversation was at an end.
When Rupert Giles arrived in Sunnydale a part of him was already geared toward resenting her.
Merrick *had* died and Buffy Summers was partially responsible.
His resentment had lasted right up until he met the girl and then faded. Face to face with a sixteen year old who was a paradox of resentment, hate, and vulnerability - and had recognised himself. Although, mercifully, the girl had a head on her shoulders which was more than he could say for himself at that age. Thank Christ for small favours.
Still, she was willful, bratty, inconsiderate, or more often than not oblivious to her elders, and an utter delight. She burrowed under his defences so fast that the Watcher was left gasping. Remembering with a hollow fury how Catherine Madison had poisoned the child with magic, casting for the first time in *eighteen* years in a silent rage and then *lying* about it afterward
(it was my first spell).
As the months passed and Giles began to know her, it became increasingly obvious that it was nothing the Watchers had taught him, or anything that he had learned by the side of Ethan Rayne that held him in good stead with his dealings with the Slayer. But the words of an American Watcher who had pulled Giles out of the darkest frame of his life
(watching isn't about 'naming-the-demon'... sometimes it's as easy as knowing the right thing to say).
A lesson he carried with him 'til this day.
__________________________________
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
"I don't know what to say." Buffy couldn't decide why it was Giles whom she had selected for this - not Xander or Willow, definitely not Angel, but Giles, her stuffy English Watcher born in tweed.
He shifted, glasses reflecting the moonlight briefly as he answered: "You needn't say anything."
Not really her style, she was prone to ranting, made sure that *everyone* knew she was ranting, but this wasn't, it was thinking, trying to grasp a concept that was a little too painful.
He was waiting on her, unhurried, eyes knowing.
"It would be simpler if I *could* just hate him. I think he wanted me too - I think it made it easier for him to be the villain of the piece, when really... he was just scared." She shivered, staring at the tombstone of Billy Fordham. Ford, who had tickled her when she was eleven, lying on the grass. Ford, who could smile so sweetly. She could sense Giles behind her.
"Yes, I suppose he was."
Buffy closed her eyes; she didn't want to grieve for Ford - yet she did. "Nothing's ever simple any more. I'm constantly trying to figure it out, who to love or hate... who to *trust*. It's like the more I know, the more confused I am."
A flicker of emotion - eyes sliding to her with the stability of compassion. "I believe it's called growing up."
Her reply was hollow. "I'd like to stop then, okay?"
"I know the feeling."
"Does it get easier?"
An explosion of dirt, eyes feral gold and an animal snarl. Giles didn't even flinch, her arm snapping back to drive the stake in deep. Meeting Fords' eyes for a brief instant of time... ashes to ashes, dust to dust... and then he dissolved. Death, true death, the only gift she could give him.
Giles spoke as if they had never been interrupted: "You mean life?"
"Yeah, does it get easier?" It felt as if there was a python wrapped around her chest, squeezing.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Lie to me."
Lie to her? Giles couldn't help it as he thought back, remembering the Watcher Council - waging a war against darkness on one hand and executing a girl on the other - six men without names who had died by his own command...and Ethan. Conflict had its origins in passion; every killer had a motive, every executioner a reason, and truth at the best of times, was a matter of opinion. The words of a playwright centuries dead echoed in his mind (there is nothing good or evil in this world, but *thinking* makes it so), and shook himself free.
Buffy knew these things - had been introduced to the concept by a boy whom she had once idolised. Billy Fordham, who had deemed his own life more valuable than twenty colleagues. Ford, who had betrayed her...
Lie to her? Easily - because sometimes fantasy was infinitely more appealing than reality.
She caught it - the gentle humour of his expression, voice flowing over her in an eddy, easing the hurt.
..."Yes, it's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true - the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats. We *always* defeat them and save the day, no one ever dies, and we all live happily ever after..."
And finally, she could breathe.
__________________________
PRESENT DAY
Ethan had a tendency to batter at Giles' defences every so often, like a man probing a tooth to see if the cavity was still there. For the most part, the mental barricade was effective - extreme emotion, however, could seep through, as did pain.
Giles felt it when Ethan poured the acid, the mystic's hold on magic flailing and striking out at random. Already bound to one another, it targeted Giles like metal filings to a magnet and the Watcher stumbled, hit repeatedly with flashes from the past, and one new one - Buffy Summers, bound to Eyghon.
Fear was a strange emotion, if let alone, it manifested. These past few days a part of Giles had been ready to curl into a ball and die. Not his Slayer though, *never* her, and he was on his feet, struggling, ready to kill Ethan all over again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Rayne tightened the bandage and patted the Slayer consolingly, "Well, I hate to mutilate and run but..." The words stuck in his throat as a green light flooded the entry-hall - Eyghon slipped forward.
//Oh shit, I was really hoping I wouldn't be here for this//.
Eyghon's imitation of death incarnate was rather impressive, "It's... your... time."
Ethan held still, letting the demon approach, flashing on what had happened nineteen years ago and feeling sick. If his little stunt didn't work...
He'd be dead - Ripper would probably dance on his corpse. The ability to heal was the hardest form of magic and Giles didn't have that type of power. His mouth was dry when Eyghon sniffed him, eyes flashing green and then staring past him, focusing on the girl bound helpless.
Rayne might have felt sorry for her, might, but he didn't have the opportunity when Eyghon hurled him away, crashing into a counter. By the time he recovered, Buffy was fighting, or more accurately, falling back under the onslaught of Eyghon. The demon using the table to slam her against the wall. That's when Giles entered - and it suddenly occurred to Ethan that this might not work after all.
"Eyghon!" A shout, drawing the demon's attention away from the girl. Giles looking scared and determined.
He shouldn't be here, *shouldn't*, because Ethan knew the exact same thing that Giles did. Eyghon might kill Rayne (or in this case, Buffy), but he would *torture* the man responsible for his past demise.
"Take me."
Eyghon's eyes lit up, a twisted smile, starting forward even as Giles whispered, "Buffy, get out of here."
And he could see that same expression on the girl's face, fear and determination rolling into one, darting past the demon to stand in front of her Watcher.
Because in the midst of all that fighting, it was a miniature that had struck Buffy. This didn't make sense. Eyghon had taken one look at her and had tried to batter her senseless - yet Giles had spent close to two hours in the company of Eyghon, and the demon had done... very little.
As if Eyghon was setting the scene - or was toying with him - and somehow that seemed worse. One look at Giles was enough to confirm it, and under NO circumstances was she going to leave him alone. Buffy would tear Eyghon apart with her bare hands before she would allow it to harm her Watcher - as soon as she could figure out how to kill it. "No! NO!!"
It didn't impress Eyghon, raising one hand, not even *touching* her - and the Slayer sailed backwards, tossed away like a rag-doll by an invisible force. Compelled.
A juvenile sense of pleasure struck Ethan - she was as helpless as Rayne himself had been nineteen years ago, and there was the sharp edge of satisfaction to the thought. Gone the instant Eyghon wrapped his hands around Giles' collar and threw him down, voice a low purr:
"I've been waiting a long time to do this."
//The spell? Where the fuck was his spell?//
A dark blur - tackling Eyghon like a linebacker, two forms crashing into the wall and snarling. A vampire by the name of Angelus wrapped his hands around Jenny's throat and squeezed.
Giles rolled, crouched low, "He's killing her."
Three teenagers pounded into the room, and it was the girl, the receptacle, who spoke, uttering Ethan's words, "No, *trust* me. This is going to work."
Giles stared at Willow, something flickering in his eyes, and for an instant the mystic wondered if he knew - knew that the girl was coiled in Ethan's magic. Until the Watcher nodded, trusting Willow in a way that he would never visit upon Rayne.
It didn't take long, Eyghon jumping from Jenny's body into the nearest dead one it could find - Angelus - who had a demon of his own just waiting to play.
Rayne stayed, long enough to see Giles wrap Jenny in his arms and then left, knowing that he loved her, completely, because Giles was a give all or nothing type, and he didn't want to witness that. Walking the streets with Eyghon's words echoing in his head...
He'd saved Giles - it took nineteen years but Ethan had finally figured it out, and there was a quiet pleasure in the notion. That he had used the Slayer, the vampire, and the little witch like chess pieces didn't bother him in the slightest. Manipulation was the name of his game and he didn't expect thanks. Most likely, no one would ever suspect, except for the red-head, she was a little *too* awake. But it was enough, for now.
Walking the streets calmly because Ethan Rayne was a survivor - and survivors were driven by the notion that life had to be lived, had to, so that one day it could become better. Until then, there was Chaos.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next morning a very strange phenomenon struck Sunnydale. A parting gift from an English mystic that had the entire town in an uproar, not to mention sending the insurance companies near broke.
In every single car, first gear became reverse.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Buffy was walking down the corridor when she saw them.
She'd been distracted, remembering her earlier conversation with Xander and Willow, and the red-head's stricken expression when Xander had praised her
(neat trick Will, it worked like a spell)
but she froze now, internal questions stilling when she saw Jenny Calendar flinch from Giles' touch.
Her heart almost broke for him.
Giles' fumbling attempts to 'seduce' Jenny had been the source of amusement for Buffy and her friends, if not ridicule. But a part of her had always wondered at that show of insecurity. Giles, age factor aside, wasn't a bad looking sort, so why with the nerves? And he didn't deserve this.
"How is she?"
Buffy's voice, breaking through the pain and Giles turned. She was standing behind him, jostled by the over-crowded hallway, alive and breathing... unharmed. "The hills are not alive."
"I'm sorry to hear that... I think."
They were moving, too many conversations where dire news had been passed in the hallways and they had a tendency to 'herd' to the side even if the news *wasn't* dire. Back against the wall - away from the main flow of students.
Buffy was standing a little too close, breaching the unwritten law that said there should be five feet between teachers and students - especially those of the opposite sex. Yet, oddly, it was comforting, deriving solace from her very nearness. There was no condemnation in her eyes, none of the silent accusation that Jenny had confronted him with. Jenny. "I don't think she'll ever really forgive me. Maybe she shouldn't."
"Maybe you should."
The very firmness of her response startled him - looking at her quickly and seeing her staring back. Giles was good at reading expressions, but what he saw was a strange combination of compassion, resolve, and tenderness. Buffy was protecting him... or trying to. Relying on words rather than high kicks, without knowing the full story.
Giles didn't know if he wanted to walk away in disgust, or crush her to him, shaking his head as he whispered: "I never wanted you to see that side of me."
//That side of him? The barely contained fear? Or the fact that he had come to Ethan's shop with the sole purpose of dying...for her?// He wasn't telling her everything, Buffy *knew* that, but strangely it no longer mattered because she needed him with her, beside her - couldn't ever let him become another Merrick. "I'm not going to lie to you - it was scary," and the words didn't do the emotion justice, leaning beside him against the wall, shoulders brushing, "I'm so used to you being a grown-up and then I find out you're a person."
She caught his side-ways glance. "Most grown-ups are."
"Who would have thought?"
"Some are even short-sighted, foolish people."
She did smile then, relaxing. "So, after all this time I finally find out we *do* have something in common, which, apart from being a little weird, is kind of okay."
His head was still bowed, but Buffy saw it - that undercurrent of humour that was so 'Giles-esque'. It ran like quicksilver, rearing its head in tones of irony, and she felt the cold knot of fear that had lain inside of her since Ethan's arrival evaporate. He was going to be alright - they both were. "I think we're supposed to be training right now."
Giles nodded briskly, putting matters behind him - and the ghosts that he hadn't seen fit to share with her. "Yes, we need to concentrate on your flexibility."
They pushed away from the wall, moving in sync, and she couldn't help it, wanting to banter with him. Knowing as they approached the library, and they were almost alone, that he would respond. Buffy pulled a C.D free and waved it at him in a desultory manner: "And you know what? I have just the perfect music..."
She was peering at him with impish delight and Giles drew a breath. Thousands of kilometres from the origins of his birth, and Giles had finally found home.
"...go on, say it, you *know* you want to."
"It's not music, it's just meaningless sounds."
He even managed to sound as annoyed as he had the first time, and Buffy brightened: "There. Feel better?"
"Yes, wonderful... thanks," and as he held the door open for her, he couldn't help a swipe back. "Bay City Rollers - now that's music."
"I didn't hear that."
They entered the library together, Giles veering off to the ruined book-cage to retrieve the mats and gear. Buffy heading for his office to snag the C.D player.
It was a mess, Xander having being obvious in his search for information the previous night. Buffy winced, tried to straighten a few papers and then gave up - it wasn't as if Giles wouldn't know.
Bending to retrieve the C.D player, a piece of paper caught her eye, wedged up hard against the wall and under the desk. Xander must have knocked it over accidentally, or it had slipped unnoticed when he'd moved something. She stretched her fingers, catching it with little effort.
Printed words on the back - Oxford 1977 - and she flipped it over.
It was an old black and white Polaroid, taken almost twenty-one years ago, of three individuals. What Buffy privately termed a natural shot - it had none of the fixed smiles or blank eyes of the 'say-cheese' variety. The two men she recognised instantly, although they couldn't be much older than herself at the time. The girl who lay between them however, was a mystery, staring back at Buffy from the past.
They were pooled on the floor, arms and legs entangled, heads resting on whatever appendages were readily available. At ease with one another and happy - laughing into the camera.