TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 28/31
AUTHOR: Pythia
E-MAIL: pythia@tiscali.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and
the UPN Television Network. The story is written for the pleasure of the
author and readers, and has no lucrative purpose whatsoever. Please do not
reproduce this story anywhere without the author's consent.
POSTING NOTES: *.* is for emphasis. {.} denotes thought and [.] implies
translation from another language.
It was, Buffy told Willow later, a totally awesome moment. Not just because it was {whoa - Giles,} or even {way to go, Will,} although both of those realisations rocketed her out of the depths of despair and went off like soaring fireworks inside her, tingly sparkles and celebrations everywhere. No, there was more to it than that. A *lot* more. Some of it was the way he did it, all calm, collected and quietly confrontational, his eyes blazing with measured fury and his voice filled with confident authority. Some of it was the way he looked; the dark jeans and the equally dark open-necked shirt - along with his lack of glasses and the hint of tousle in his hair - added assertive presence to his stroll out of the shadows. With the look and the attitude added together, there was Ripper all grown up and scary with it, not just a 'walking on the edge of the dark side' kind of guy - but one that had the Watcher in him firmly in control.
Then there was the timing; that whole 'coming to the rescue at the last minute, just when everything looked totally screwed' arrivalness. Cavalry coming over the hill kind of stuff, which Buffy had long since learnt never really happened, only - hey - there it was, and happening, just in the nick of time.
And if all of that wasn't enough, there was the look that chased across Lilithu's face, a look of shock and disbelief and wide eyed horror, as if her worst nightmare had just stepped through the door. Maybe it had. She'd been so confident in her plans, in her purpose and her power, so *certain* of her victory - and suddenly here was the unwilling victim of those plans staring her in the face, armed with the knowledge *she* had given him - never dreaming that he would be free to use it against her.
Things got briefly frenetic after that; the vampiress launched herself at Giles with a scream of fury, only to find his Slayer getting in her way. Buffy, having recovered from the joyous shock of seeing her Watcher alive, had quickly realised it would be important to *keep* him that way and had acted accordingly. The two of them went down in a tangle of limbs, Lilithu struggling to get away and Buffy struggling to hold on to her. Her howls turned her children towards her - just as figure in a dark leather coat leapt in through the damaged windows, a stake in one hand, and a sword in the other. Steel flashed, a head rolled, and dust followed it; Angel stepped back with a grin - and then went down himself as the last of the feral vampires threw himself at the new arrival with a savage snarl.
Lilithu started fighting dirty; she elbowed her captor in the stomach, and then slammed her arm up and back, smacking her full in the face. Buffy gasped with pain and let go, blood clogging her nose and her world suddenly filled with dancing stars. The vampiress was on her feet in an instant, lifting her hands and beginning a low voiced incantation, one filled with gutteral rage.
"Now, really," a gently accented voice interrupted from the top of the steps. "Is that any kind of language for a lady to use?"
{Giles … }
Buffy rolled her eyes with exasperation as she struggled to lift herself off the water slicked floor. She was all for heroic gestures, but - gods sake - he hadn't even *moved*. He was just standing there, watching the she-demon as she turned back towards him with a hiss. Buffy wanted to scream at him, wanted to tell him to run, to get out, get *away* - and then she caught a glimpse of movement on the other side of the hall and realised that he wasn't watching Lilithu at all. He was *waiting*.
{Oh my god …}
Everything happened in that caught back breath - the snap of a vampire's spine as Angel finally dispatched his opponent; the triumphant curl of the she-demon's lips as she advanced confidently on her intended victim; Cordelia's gasp as she regained consciousness and registered the tableaux that awaited her; Albrecht's muttered exclamation and Wesley's hasty, almost clumsy step forward in response to it - and the glimmer of amber and white twisting through the air, cutting through the ever descending spray, launched like an arrow of vengeance from one Watcher's hand …
… to land, safely and securely, clenched in the uplifted fingers of the *other* Watcher as he reached for salvation and made it his own.
Buffy gulped for oxygen, her heart beating wildly inside her chest. It had all been so *close*. If the vampiress had moved a little faster, if Wesley had misjudged the throw … but she hadn't, and *he* hadn't, and there was Giles, staff in hand, glaring at Lilithu with steely certainty as she came to a halt barely an arm's length in front of him.
"I think that's far enough. Don't you?"
His voice was soft, but there was no gentleness in it. There was none in his eyes either; they held grim resolution, and a stern implacability that instantly silenced Buffy's sudden desire to cheer - and clenched a cold hand round her heart. It wasn't over. Not *yet*.
Not until the ritual was done …
{The fire the rite summons consumes the soul - and without the final words, it cannot be banished again. If he tries to bind me without completing the ritual - this quivering Watcher will burn.}
Giles wasn't quivering. And it was clear - from the look Lilithu was giving him, if nothing else - that he knew the words. But that didn't guarantee he'd be able to complete the rite, that he'd have the strength to see it through. Maybe he wasn't exactly bleeding to death, the way Gregory Webber must have been - but it wasn't that long since he'd been savagely attacked and had his soul forcibly ripped from his body. Buffy couldn't measure what that might have cost him - although she knew, only too well, just how much punishment she'd contributed to the experience. He should be taking a timeout to recover from all of that, not standing there with the mystical equivalent of a tactical nuke in his hands.
"Do not be a fool," Lilithu was saying, trying to stare him down, trying to intimidate him by sheer force of will. "You know what you hold in your hands. You know the power it contains."
"Yes. I know." Giles' acknowledgement was cold - as cold and considered as the expression on his face. Both made his Slayer want to shiver; she knew the man kept his feelings deep and his enmities deeper still, but right at that moment the she-demon was looking into the abyss - and it was looking back at her without so much as a hint of mercy or compassion. "You seemed to think I might be worthy enough to wield it. It's time, Asha Lilithu. Time for you to face the fire."
"No," she denied, shaking her head, beginning to back away. "*No* I will not be bound. Not again. *Never* again Serve me. *Free* me. I will make you a prince among men. I will gift you with sorcery - give you every thing and anything you desire. There is so much I could teach you. The secrets of life and death. The mysteries of truth and transformation. Pathways to power and ways to command even the gods. I could give you all those things - and more. *Much* more."
"Lies and empty promises," the Watcher murmured softly, "buy only what they're worth. Which tends to be nothing at all." He took a deep breath and planted the staff firmly in front of him, one end hard to the floor, the other tilted in the she-demons direction. Light glimmered around his hand and flickered up the length of the ivory; the staff was shimmering with power, humming with it, like an idling engine waiting to put into gear - or a phaser, set to overload …
"Are we sitting comfortably?" its wielder asked, a sudden - and unexpected - note of humour creeping into his voice. His eyes flicked towards his Slayer and the hint of a smile - the barest quirk - touched his lips. "Then we'll begin …"