Disclaimer: All characters except Cait belong to Joss & his Formidable Legal Army.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Erica for spiffy beta!
Setting: Early fourth season.
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Part One
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In this well-appointed conference room, sounds are easily muffled. The murmurs at the far end of the table barely reach the ears of the tall, gaunt man at its head, but do draw his attention. A stern glare from him, and the miscreants fall quiet.
"I think we are ready to begin?" Nods all around. "Good. This meeting of the Watcher's Council is called to order. We have only once piece of business tonight, but it is an important one. This Slayer situation has become-- " He wrinkles his nose in displeasure. "Untenable. One Slayer is traditional - we've gone from two to none in a matter of months. This cannot continue."
A small, rotund man halfway down the length of the table leans forward a bit. "Well, Smythe, there is still the one Slayer active, yes? I admit, the situation is a bit unusual-- " Smythe narrows his eyes, and the other's voice catches in his throat. "I only mean-- well-- we do have the one-- "
"Do we?" Smythe asks, leaning back in his chair. "Mr. Wyndham-Price, did we not send you to America to be the Watcher for this Slayer that Grimes claims we have?"
The skinny Watcher fidgets in his seat. "Um-- yes, sir, you did send me. And I did go."
"And how did that go for you?" the tall man asks, in a overly-friendly, inquisitive tone.
"Not so well. Admittedly, there were certain circumstances - "
"Fascinating, I'm sure. The upshot being, that the Slayer disobeyed you, defied the Council, and has effectively removed herself from our control. Correct, Mr. Wyndham-Price?"
Wesley pushes his glasses up his nose, then twitches it so that they slip back down. "Well-- " He pauses, looking quickly up at Smythe, and then down at the deeply polished wood of the table. "Correct. Strictly speaking."
Smythe leans forward, fixing Grimes in his stare. "Could you explain to me, exactly, how we have a Slayer, when she has no Watcher, no contact with the Council, and we have no way of ensuring she continues to do her job?" Grimes shrinks back a bit, creaking against the comfy leather of his chair, and shakes his head wordlessly. "All right then. We've dithered on these few months, in order to satisfy those of you who didn't want to be hasty, who thought she might yet come running back to the fold. I, for one, am tired of monitoring the Slayer through rumors, paid sources and third-hand reports."
"Agreed." A well-dressed woman at Smythe's left side joins in. "We've wasted enough time coddling this girl. I think I speak for many of us in saying that it's time to give up and move on."
A few around the table nod in agreement; others look around the room, or study the tabletop closely. Wesley looks up, confused.
"Move on? In what sense?" He tries to catch the eye of others at the table, but only Smythe and the woman will meet his look.
Smythe smiles slightly. "In the traditional fashion, Wesley. This sort of thing has happened before. A renegade Slayer, out of the control of the Council - surely you recall such things from your studies?"
Wesley blinks furiously. "You mean - reeducation?" he offers hopefully.
Smythe sighs and shakes his head slowly. "Sadly, I think this situation has gone too far for that. This girl is not merely misguided, but actually openly scornful of the Council's authority. Simply put, she can no longer be allowed to fill the role of the Slayer. Another must be called." Smythe looks around the table. "Are we all in agreement on this?"
Another woman leans forward from the far end of the table. "We are not, Smythe, and you know it. But I've already made my view on this clear to you, and to the others on this Council. And if it has been decided-- " She trails off, casting a look around the table, and then sighing deeply. "I won't stand in the way."
The woman to Smythe's side responds. "Thank you, Abigail, for not hindering what must be done. I'm sure we've all thought long and hard about this decision, but the Slayer has simply given us no choice. Well then." She tips her head daintily to the side and regards Smythe. "Shall I-- take care of it?"
"Yes, thank you, Lauren. I suggest we contract out - it will be more efficient." He looks around the table at the gathered Council members. "If no one has further business? All right then. Meeting adjourned."
Slowly and silently, those gathered file out of the tall double doors, leaving Wesley alone at the long wooden table, studying the walls of bookshelves and not blinking at all.
* * *
The pub is packed with people, shoulder to shoulder and full of drink. At a small corner table, a man leans conspiratorially towards a woman who seems far more interested in eavesdropping on the conversations of others than listening to her tablemate.
"So, we should get down to business, then?" he offers tentatively. She turns her head and regards him silently out of cool grey eyes. He takes a sip of his drink to moisten his suddenly dry mouth.
"I suppose we should. Glimmer said you wanted someone gone?"
He nods, and leans in a bit closer. She leans away. "Yes, yes, I do. I'm prepared to pay."
She snorts a quick laugh. "Good to know you're not wasting my time. Who's the target?"
"A girl. A rather-- special-- girl." He sips his drink again, clinking his teeth against the edge of the glass.
The woman grins. "Special? How special? Is she human? Magical?" She picks up her glass, swirling the dregs around in the bottom but not drinking. "I need a few more specifics before I can agree to anything."
"She's-- well, not really human. But not really magical. Well, in a way she's sort of magical." He sits back in the booth, considering. "Not a mage, exactly. Sort of-- " He trails off, realizing that his companion seems less than fascinated by his efforts. He sighs and leans forward again. "All right. She's the Slayer."
The woman quirks her right eyebrow at him. "The Slayer? They usually have pretty short lifespans - wait a few weeks, and she'll probably die in the line of duty. What did she do to piss you off?" She lowers the eyebrow and gives a wicked grin. "You're not a vampire, are you? I don't do business with the undead."
He shakes his head furiously. "Oh no, I'm not a-- oh, not at all." He lowers his voice to a whisper. "I represent a concerned organization. This needs to be done right away. I'm authorized to pay you well for your work."
"A concerned organization? Hmmm-- I don't suppose it might be an organization with a certain amount of-- occult knowledge, perhaps, that a woman might be able to sell to others? That would be far more appealing than cash." She drains the remainder of her drink as he ponders her offer.
The crowd ebbs and flows through the pub, and her attention drifts away from her nervous companion, only to be attracted again by his tap on her arm.
"I think we could arrange something. I'll have to check; can we meet again?"
"Tomorrow night, right here. I'll need her name and location, and that of her Watcher as well." The woman gets to her feet and clears a space for herself in the crowd. "Get me that info, and she'll be gone by a week from tomorrow. And if she doesn't make it that long," she tosses over her shoulder as she moves away from the table, "Maybe we can work out a deal for her Watcher."
* * *
Rupert Giles has found one sock, but for the life of him can't track down its partner. It's not in the drawer, or on the floor, or even under the bed. Determination has led him to the laundry basket, and he is sorting through his unclean wash looking for the missing sock when the phone rings.
"Yes?" he answers, tucking the phone between jaw and shoulder as he upends his laundry basket onto the bed.
"Rupert Giles?" asks the voice on the other end of the line.
"This is he. Who is this?" Giles pauses in his search.
"This is-- a friend," the voice at the other end says mysteriously.
"Wesley, is that you? What are you playing at?"
"Oh, for God's sake - honestly, Giles, can't a man retain his anonymity any more?"
Giles sits on the bed, pushing his laundry aside. "What in hell are you on about?"
"Look, I don't have a lot of time here, and I'm not supposed to be talking to you, so just be quiet and listen, all right?" Wesley's voice seems strained, and Giles is suddenly on edge.
"All right. Go on."
Wesley sighs. "Buffy's in danger. The Council has made a decision that she is to be-- replaced."
Giles frowns at the phone. "Replaced? How do they plan on-- oh, don't be ridiculous! You can't be saying what I think you're saying."
"I'm afraid I am. I've asked around, discreetly of course, and they seem to have hired someone to eliminate her. He may already be on his way."
"This is an outrage! I'll call Smythe myself; surely once he realizes that Buffy has every intention of carrying out her duties as a Slayer, even without Council support-- " A sputter from Wesley cuts him short.
"You will do no such thing! Look, my career is on the line here; I'm not supposed to be telling you this! Imagine the trouble I'd be in if I got caught."
"Your career? Your - I have half a mind to come over to England and sort you and the Council out in person! This is absurd." Giles is up and pacing now, as far as the short phone cord allows.
"I realize that, but I don't think your asking will change anything. I was at the meeting, and it was all agreed. Only Abigail would speak against Smythe - the rest just want this over with so things can get back to normal. I think it would be far more productive if I stayed in a position where I could gather more information about who they've hired, rather than being exposed and removed from the Council. You may not believe this," Wesley adds quietly, "But I don't want Buffy hurt any more than you do. If I thought they would listen to you, I would be asking you to talk to them. But I don't think it will do any good."
All the energy runs out of him, and Giles sits again on the bed. "They've already hired someone?"
"Yes, but I don't know who. Lauren is the one arranging the whole thing, and her expertise lies more in the area of human contacts rather than demonic or otherwise magical. For whatever that's worth. You tell Buffy to be on her guard, and I'll get back to you if I learn more. All right, Giles?"
"Yes, all right." Giles sets the receiver gently back in the cradle, then leans forward, head in his hands. From that position, he can see the tip of a black sock sticking out from between the bedframe and the mattress. Extending a finger, he tugs it free. He looks at it for a moment, and then balls it up in one hand, reaching for the telephone with the other.
* * *
Buffy steps away from the counter, carefully holding her full cup of coffee in one hand as she tucks her change back in her pocket with the other. Her school books are firmly under her arm, and she thinks she's going to manage to navigate the crowded café safely, when the books start to slip. Shifting her weight, she scrunches the books back into place - there! All secure, and she is halfway to the door before a small bearded man brushes gently past her, disrupting her balance just enough to start the books slipping again - and then the coffee flying, onto a table by the wall. A table covered with a newspaper, which is being read by a dark-haired woman. Was being read.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Buffy exclaims, watching the hot coffee seep in a lovely abstract pattern across the newspaper. "I'm so sorry, I ruined your paper. It's really been one of those days," she says, wishing that she was somewhere else, very far away, where she didn't have class, or books, or anything that would disrupt her Slaying. And if there was no Slaying to be had there, well, that was just fine too.
"No problem; it's just a paper." The woman at the table smiles up at Buffy and scrunches the newspaper up into a ball. "Twenty-five cents; I think I can take the loss." She mops at the remainder of the spill with the wet paper, and Buffy looks forlornly into the bottom of her own now-empty coffee cup.
"I should buy you another paper, though. I mean, that's fair." The woman shakes her head in response, tossing the newspaper into a nearby wastebasket.
"Nah, nothing much going on anyway." She peers into her own cup and makes a face. "If you wanted, though, you could buy me another cup of tea. It doesn't seem to be mixing with your coffee really well." She smiles again as she looks up at Buffy, who smiles awkwardly in return.
"Sure - can I leave my stuff here?" The woman nods, and Buffy sets down her books and returns to the counter. In a few minutes she is back, bearing fresh coffee and tea. The woman pushes out a chair for Buffy with one foot, moving Buffy's books aside to make space on the small café table for the drinks. Gratefully, Buffy sinks into the cool metal chair.
"Thanks," says the stranger, sipping her tea and surveying the mass of bodies in the café. "Is it always this crowded in here?"
Buffy shakes her head in response. "No, it's just between classes right now, so it's packed. I usually come in here at night, when it's less crazy." She blows on the surface of her coffee, and looks at the woman, who is still watching the crowd. The stranger is older than Buffy, by a good ten years or so, and probably a few inches taller. Her black hair is held back, barely, by a few barrettes, and her clothes are unremarkable. What are remarkable are her large grey eyes, which are suddenly looking back at Buffy inquisitively. Buffy puffs again on her coffee, trying to look like she wasn't looking, and the woman smiles.
"My name's Cait. I just moved into the area and I'm still checking out the scene. Are you a student here?" Her voice is warm and has a slight accent that Buffy can't place. She nods in response to Cait's question.
"Yeah, a freshman. Which I'm sure you could tell by my suave behavior with the coffee. I'm Buffy." Cait holds out her hand and Buffy shakes it, noting the other woman's shimmery nail polish with approval.
"You do seem a bit frazzled. Heavy class load?"
Buffy rolls her eyes. "That's an understatement. Five classes, all in different buildings-- I mean, whose bright idea was it to make college so big, anyway? And that's just class. Then there's studying, homework, not to mention-- " She halts in her list as her mental editor suggests that mentioning Slaying to a total stranger might not be the way to go. "Well, there's a lot of stuff. Am I whining? I've gotten really good at that lately." She smiles at Cait, who is sipping her tea contemplatively.
"I don't think so; that sounds like a lot. I sure wouldn't want to do it. Do you have to work, on top of all that?" Buffy nods, and Cait grimaces. "Does that interfere with your classes?"
"No, it's a night job," Buffy answers. "Which is fortunate, since I don't have a social life to speak of. So, no conflict!" She takes a deep drink of her coffee, pondering her 'night job'. "What do you do?" she asks Cait.
The other woman shrugs. "A bit of this and that. I'm sort of a freelancer at the moment. Travel a lot; you know." She sips at her tea. "No roots, no responsibilities. Some blurry photographs and a comfy pair of shoes; that's my life."
"I wish that was my life," Buffy says wistfully. "No responsibilities sounds like a dream right about now. In fact, I think I had that dream. Waking up from that dream really sucked." Cait nods slowly, as if Buffy has said something very wise. Buffy can't help but smile at such serious consideration, and Cait's answering smile is conspiratorial.
"Tell you what, Buffy. I'll take over at school, go to class and have a nice stable life, and you hit the road and don't leave a forwarding address. How does that sound? I'll lend you my shoes." Cait is laughing now, looking down at the smaller woman's feet. Buffy makes a thoughtful face.
"Great idea! You have a paper on the Constitutional Convention due next Thursday, and a psychology test on Monday. Oh! I have a study session for that test," she looks quickly at her watch, "really close to now. I have to get going or I'll be late. If you're late, they say mean things about your early childhood experiences." She tosses the empty cup into the garbage can and gets to her feet.
"Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I have a few interesting early childhood experiences to share." Cait hands Buffy's books to her, and looks thoughtfully at the Slayer. "It was good to meet you, Buffy. I'm sure I'll see you around."
"Good to meet you too, Cait. Next time I see you, you can spill something on me, how does that sound?"
"It's a plan," the other woman answers with a smile, and Buffy gives a quick wave with her free hand as she slips through the crowd and out the door. From the small café table, the dark-haired woman watches Buffy's retreat, swirling the remains of her tea around in the cup, over and over again.
* * *
The study session runs long, much to Buffy's dismay, though she feels slightly more prepared for at least this form of psychological testing. Stopping in the foyer of the library, Buffy decides to call her room and see if Willow is free to met her for dinner. The answering machine picks up, and Buffy presses the code to check for messages. There's two: Willow has gone to dinner with Oz, and Giles wants Buffy to call him immediately. There is something strained in Giles' voice, and Buffy hangs up, then dials his number.
"Yes?"
"Hey, Giles, you don't sound so hot. What's up?"
"Ah, Buffy-- where are you?"
"At the library. Wow; remember when the library used to be our library? I never thought I'd miss a book storage place so much."
"Stay there. I'll be by to pick you up immediately."
"What's the matter?" A sudden, sick horror creeps into her stomach. "Is it my mom? Giles? Is everyone okay?"
"Yes, Buffy, they're fine. Please, we can discuss this when I get there."
"Okay. But hurry; I don't feel so good anymore."
Buffy hears the car coming before she sees it, and she jumps up to meet it in the parking area. Giles leans over and pops the door open for her, and Buffy slips into the dimly lit car. Without a word, Giles throws the little car into reverse, and they pull back out of the lot.
"Sooo-- ..Giles?"
"Hmm?" he answers distractedly.
"Isn't there something we should be discussing? Some big, Buffy-stay-put news? 'Cause if not, I should be out Slaying or something. Anything but studying." She tries a smile on him, but he is wearing his best responsible-adult face, and he barely glances at her. The smile fades, and Buffy slumps down in the seat, watching through the window as the trees pass.
"The Council has decided to replace you with a Slayer they can control. They've hired someone to kill you so that the next girl can be called." Giles delivers this news as if he were telling her the weather in some distant country. She can see him looking at her as she takes in the information. She supposes he's waiting for her to get upset, but she feels beyond that. Ever since she had told Wesley she would no longer follow the Council's orders, she had expected something like this to happen. Now, hearing the words, she feels a strange sense of relief. She lets out a sigh.
"Well, it's about time. I mean, I blew them off, what, six months ago? A girl can't wait forever, you know."
Giles turns his head and stares at her in surprise. "Buffy, this is an extremely serious situation. You shouldn't take it lightly; the Council certainly isn't. There is a very strong possibility that you might-- " He trails off, incapable of saying the words that Buffy thinks nearly every day. She finishes his sentence for him.
"Die an untimely and gruesome death?" She sees Giles flinch, but pauses only for a second. "I don't know if you've noticed, but that seems to be the fate of the Slayer, no matter how nice she is to the Council. I mean, when was the last time a Slayer died peacefully in her bed, surrounded by friends and family?" Buffy lurches forward in her seat as Giles brings the car to a sudden halt. His hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly, and Buffy can sense his anger and frustration. She looks away, straight out the windshield, and holds herself still. If she gives in at all, allows Giles' feelings to affect her, then she might break, snap clean in two, and there would be no coming back. She knows she is right; knows Giles knows it too. He has the luxury of anger, and he will live long enough to get over it.
"I think you don't understand the situation," he begins, and she decides not to correct him. "This is not a demon or a vampire they are sending after you. I know demonic assassins have come for you before, and that you have fought them successfully - but this is a very different story. I have reason to believe they have hired a human for this job."
"I must be missing something," Buffy says slowly, trying to ignore the hope that is swirling within her. "I've fought demons, vamps, hellbeasts of all shapes and sizes, and now I'm supposed to be afraid of a human?" She turns to face Giles, no more than two feet away from her in the confines of the small car. He seems to relax, as if talking about it is making it less real.
"Most creatures such as those you have dealt with are rather-- crude-- in their approach. They tend to prefer a face-to-face confrontation; it allows them to work with their strengths. If the Council hired a human, it is likely they hired a professional. Someone who specializes in killing humans and not getting caught. It is entirely possible that you would never see your attacker, let alone have the opportunity to fight him." He unwinds his fingers from the steering wheel with a controlled slowness. "I trust in your ability, if not to defeat every opponent you face, to at least run away, so that you can get my help, or that of the others. But if they hired a human assassin, you might not have that chance." Finally, Giles looks at her, holding her gaze as she tries to imagine not seeing the blow coming: suddenly being on the ground, not being able to breathe, and then-- well, what then?
"So, we're talking about me getting sniped from 1000 yards and not getting the chance to duck, right?" Giles nods slowly, and Buffy frowns. "Well. Not how I expected it to happen. Kind of anti-climactic, when you think about it." She stops there, not knowing what else to say.
Giles turns away, putting the car back in gear and continuing down the street. "I think it would be best if you lay low for a few days, while I try to get some more information on the subject. It must be possible to get the Council to change their minds, and it certainly won't hurt to know exactly what you're up against. You can come stay with me; perhaps not the safest place, but I don't want you to be alone. I have some contacts in London I'll try and reach, see if they've heard anything about this." He falls silent, considering the next move.
"I have class," Buffy says quietly. For a moment, Giles is too caught up in his planning to respond.
"Hmm? Oh, of course; well, you will just have to catch up later. Willow can bring you your work. Or Xander; he isn't doing anything time-consuming nowadays." Buffy shakes her head slowly.
"I can't skip; attendance matters. I'll be careful, though," she adds, noticing that Giles' hands have tightened on the wheel again.
"Then I'll write you a note. For God's sake, Buffy, this is not a situation you can be cavalier about. Your life is far more important than classwork." His voice is clipped and sharp, and she stiffens a bit, but does not let go.
"Really? Is my life more important than Slaying? Because I do that all the time and never get to skip out. It's not just the schoolwork, it's everything I do that isn't being the Slayer. Slaying comes first because it has to. The whole point of being a Slayer is to die for the cause, and I don't think I should have to give up all the things in my life that I choose to do, just because the end is more nigh than usual." By the flicker of the streetlights, Buffy can see that Giles' face is drawn and pale, and she feels a bit sick to her stomach. She wants to reach out and put her hand on his arm, tell him that he shouldn't feel bad for her. That, in fact, she feels bad for him. Once she's dead, it's over for her, but for the ones left behind it will not be so easy.
"You're being ridiculous. Just because you live a risky life is no reason to blithely disregard an imminent threat." She starts to speak but he cuts her off abruptly. "Damn it, Buffy, you will do what I say! Obviously you're not thinking clearly. We'll have no more discussion of the subject until you can be reasonable." Silence falls in the car, and they drive on for a few minutes more. The lights from the dashboard create a feeling of isolation in the vehicle, a small, dimly-lit space moving through a large dark world. Buffy shifts in her seat.
"Giles, could you stop the car for a second?" He looks at her, brow wrinkled, and pulls the car over to the curb.
"Is there a problem?" he asks in a reasonable voice. Buffy opens the door and steps smoothly out into the night before Giles can protest.
"I think I'll walk home, thanks. Maybe get a little vamp action in." Giles opens his mouth to speak, but Buffy holds up a finger to silence him. "Uh-uh; you said we weren't going to talk about it anymore, and we won't. This is how it is, Giles. I'll call you every few hours, and be as careful as I can, but I'm going back to my room, and tomorrow, I'm going to class. Night." She steps away from the car and closes the door gently but firmly. As she turns to walk away, she catches a glimpse of Giles, still staring at where she had been standing. She resists the urge to break into a run, to take herself and her own personal doom far away from anyone who might ever care if she lived or died. Instead, she cuts across the street and through a park, back towards the University. Though she listens for it as long as she can, she never hears the engine kick into gear, never hears the car drive on to Giles' apartment.
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