Arthur yawned his way through the JFK airport terminal in New York. He absolutely abhorred long flights and this one was no exception. Despite the business class seat he was reserved to, the tea and what passed as a muffin were extremely low-rate and Arthur suddenly found himself wishing that he was back in his study with a small fire going enjoying a cup of Earl Grey with a good book.
To pass time, he had been studying his copy of the Pergamum Codex. Extended studying and cross-referencing during those long hours led Arthur to more worries. There was more to this whole affair than just the titchy warning in an ancient manuscript. Exhausted and stressed, Arthur headed for the gate where his connecting flight was. He had about 4 hours until the next flight. He needed to get in touch with the Director.
* * *
"I can't believe we have to do all this," Juniper pouted as she combed through the Pergamum Codex. "All this reading is unnatural."
"We're gonna win, honey," Remington assured. "We always win. Keep reading."
"I don't see why we need to go through all of it," she complained. "Isn't that one section that just appeared the other day enough? We know what and where the Gates are. We know the Slayer is gonna die the moment she steps through them. We've got all the time in the world to find that Codex, dear."
Remington laughed. "I love when you get frustrated. But please don't be stupid. Prophecies never reveal their events at face value. See over…here for example." He pointed at a section of the manuscript.
Juniper glanced there and translated, "The Master shall rise and the Slayer-" Juniper looked up, surprised Mentally, she made some quick calculations before saying anything. "This girl has *died* before? How the heck is she still walking around today??"
"Like I said, prophecies never show events in the way it would really happen. Maybe she played dead in front of the Master so that he could get close enough so that she would stake him. Who knows?"
"Remington, if she has crossed the line-however brief-"
"Don't worry about it. What good did it do for her if she really had died? Better Slayer skills, which is probably the only reason why she's still living today. Other than that, she's still a human girl under all those trappings."
Juniper sighed, her golden eyes pensive. "Ugh. Enough of this, Rem. I want to go out and have fun. Can we go to the Forest?"
He chuckled. "Of course. Stocked up with the freshest souls wandering aimlessly in Hell. What have you got in mind?"
"I was thinking, this time, when we catch one, that we ought to…" Juniper tugged at Remington's shirt and brought him closer as she whispered intimately in his ear.
"You have such great imagination," Remington grinned. "Let's go."
* * *
Whistler slammed the phone down in frustration. Buffy wasn't there. Or, more likely, he thought darkly, was there and didn't even bother to pick up. For one who has survived all these years, she still managed to show a great deal of spunk and stubbornness. And stupidity. Time was running out for her. He couldn't loiter around like what he was doing now. 4:45 AM, the clock read. If he hurried, he could be in Sunnydale by eight.
* * *
"Buffy, it's Whistler. C'mon, this is serious. Your time is running out! I know you're there. Pick up and at least talk to me… Buffy? …Buffy? Don't play games, you gotta get in touch with me soon!" Click.
Buffy stared unemotionally at the machine. No doubt it had something to do with that mysterious section in the Pergamum. His calls could not have been coincidental. Buffy figured that Whistler was gonna show up sooner or later. Heck, she certainly was not going to run to *him*.
The last time she saw Whistler was just before she had to drive a sword into Angel's gut and send her lover to Hell. She really hated neutrals. How can anyone just claim to be a bystander in all this just idly watching as their own species try to take over the world or hardly lift a finger if one lone girl goes ahead and declares war on whole armies of Hell? It boggled her mind. It was as if these neutrals had their own agenda about things and Buffy hated it when someone played without a full deck.
* * *
Arthur leaned back in his seat in the cramped cabin of the plane and sighed. The Director had not been very helpful with Arthur's suspicions. In fact, Arthur felt as if he was talking to a completely different man. "Just tell the Slayer what's going on. Ta," was all he said before promptly hanging up. Arthur was stunned at this treatment. The Director had always been a courteous man.
Another thing troubled him. The annual Watchers' Gathering was going to take place in two days. It met every summer and was a combination of business and partying. With the exception of a Watcher in charge of a Slayer, every single Watcher from all over the globe congregated to that one place to catch up on old acquaintances and discussed issues important for the future of the Slayer.
Why was he sent out on a rather trivial errand halfway across the globe when the Gathering was days away?
Arthur, he was proud to note, never missed a Gathering in all his years as a Watcher-even when he was in charge of a Slayer. Surely the Director knew that! Arthur wished that he had studied the Pergamum more thoroughly. He only hoped that Rupert Giles had the resources at hand so that he may investigate this matter in greater detail. He probably should, living on a Hellmouth as he did.
Sadly, Arthur began to reflect on the day his wife and only son died. It was senseless murder. The killers had no reason except for the wanton need to do violence. And probably because the Slayer he was in charge of, who so recently had died, managed to foil these monsters' plans for the globe. He was so very proud of her. He also had loved his wife and son dearly.
It struck him as rather bizarre at how only young girls were activated as Slayers. It must be moderately hard on them. Yet, Arthur had managed to keep a somewhat distant relationship with Yuan-Li. For some reason, demonic activity had struck hard in Hong Kong at the time. The girl had such fire and spirit when she had started. Arthur wondered what made it die away as the year had past. He shrugged. A Slayer was a Slayer. If one dies, the next is called.
At that thought, he also could not fathom how Mr. Giles could be so attached to his Slayer. It would only make it harder for him when she died. His reinstatment back into the Watchers' Society was based on his continuing exemplary service, the Director's leniency, and well, because Buffy had rejected any Watcher that had tried to fill in after Wesley Wyndam Price. At one point, the Council had received a rather pointed phone call from her explicitly telling them to "stay outta my life and go to hell."
That summer's Gathering was chaotic as Watchers took sides in the whole affair and lobbied their points. At one point, Arthur was reminded of that whole scene as coming straight from a session from the British Parliament. The vote for Giles's reentry had been a tie. The Director broke the tie by adding his voice to those for the ex-Watcher's return. Everyone knew that if the Director hadn't known Rupert the way he did, he wouldn't have voted for him.
Arthur suddenly found himself preparing for landing. He had two more hours in Los Angeles before a small charter plane flew him to Sunnydale. He could probably look up Giles's residence by 9 that morning.
* * *
Buffy woke up with the desk lamp glaring in her eyes again to hear someone knocking on Giles's door. Groggily, she looked at the clock. 8:15 AM, it read. What!!
Who the heck was so urgently knocking on Giles's door at eight in the morning?? Carefully, Buffy peeked out the window adjacent to the front door to see a man in business suit attire wearing a hat. Wearily, she slumped over and sighed resignedly. Whistler was here. It was obvious that she could not avoid him forever and besides, she had questions and Buffy had a funny feeling that he was going to provide answers that she will definitely dislike.
She opened to door. "What?"
"Hello to you too," Whistler said, his mouth forming an irritated grin. "Why didn't you answer my calls?"
"I had a lot on my mind," Buffy replied tartly. Silence.
"Can I come in?" Whistler asked, scratching his eyebrow.
"This about the Pergamum, isn't it?" Buffy asked, still blocking the doorway.
"Not so loud, kid!"
Buffy sighed. Inside, she knew it was ridiculous and childish to be insolent but she couldn't help it. Buffy hadn't had a real conversation with anyone in two years. "I don't have to invite you in, do I."
Whistler stepped inside. "No. But if you'd recall, the last time I saw you, I was in this stooge's kitchen. You know, if you're gonna live here, couldn't you at least make it less of a museum? And what about-" Whistler's head whipped to one side as Buffy's fist connected solidly with his jaw.
"You talk about Giles like that again and I'll-"
"You'll what? Stake me? Oh, please don't." Whistler brought up both hands in mock fright. "What's with you anyway? I was actually looking forward to your threats. The ribcage thing was pretty original, I must say. But I can see that you've gotten more direct over the years." Whistler began to nurse his sore jaw.
"It saves time," Buffy replied shortly. "Now, what about the Pergamum. Tell me everything."
"You found the prophecy, I gather."
"You gather well. Deep down, you know you wanna be a squirrel."
"Petty, Ms. Slayer. Petty," Whistler smirked. "You want to hear all this or not?" Whistler walked over and sat himself on the sofa.
"Make yourself at home."
Whistler ignored her snide comment. "Things been rough for you, we're all aware of that."
"We?" Buffy interrupted in a steely voice. "Who's *we*?"
"You, me, and probably some demons here and there," Whistler replied evasively.
"Some demons. Oh, great, it's good to know that all of Hell is watching me like some sick soap opera."
"No, it's not like that at all," Whistler said hurriedly. "There are millions of demons in Hell. Believe it or not, there are tons living there not fully aware that there's whole other dimensions like yours. Besides, defeating an army from Hell is an attention-getter, that's for sure. We were actually surprised at how you pulled it off."
"Again with the plural pronoun. Who's *we* in that scenario?"
"My colleagues, nosy. Stop interrupting me. You'll never get to hear anything if you keep jumping on me like that."
Buffy was about to lash out with a heated statement when there was a knock on the door. Her jaw dropped instead. "What the hell?" She looked at Whistler accusingly.
"Hey, I'm just as confused as you are. And don't look at me like that." He got up and headed towards the kitchen. Buffy cautiously made her way to the window again. It was a brown-haired man in tweed. His temples were graying but didn't look quite that old. Whoever he was, he had to go away.
Buffy went to the door and peeked out. "Yes?"
"Good morning. Is this Rupert Giles's residence?" the man's voice was stately and extremely British. Watcher. Crap. She really needed him to go away.
"I-I, uh, he's not here."
The man frowned. "Oh, well, when would he be available?"
"Probably never. He likes to be alone. Bye!"
"Wait!" Buffy paused, as she was about to close the door. "It is urgent that I speak with him and his charge." The guy was stubborn!
"Look," Buffy replied scathingly. "With the exception of Giles, the Watchers' Council is definitely not welcome here. Good-bye!" With that, she slammed the door. Buffy turned around to see Whistler staring at her. "What?"
"No one knows about you?" Whistler asked incredulously. "Giles was a Watcher for cripes sake! How can they not know?"
"They don't, okay?"
"Buffy, you know who that man was?"
"Let's see…tweed, funky accent… I say he was a Watcher."
"Nice of you to show him the hospitality of the New World."
"I'm sure he'll live. Okay. Pergamum Codex. Tell me."
Whistler ignored her. "What do you eat? There's nothing in that fridge of yours. Not even a decent bottle of beer."
"Whistler!"
"Alright, alright. What do you understand so far?"
"I enter the Gates, whatever that is, and it's adios Slayer."
"Well, that stands to reason since the Gates refer pretty much to the entrance of Hell. It's just a one-way ticket to that place. Any human who enters or gets sucked in dies instantly."
"Sounds like big un-fun. But the one of the many things I don't get is how are you in all of this?"
"Hate to break it to ya, kid, but the very future of your world here is gonna depend on our decisions."
"I get so tired of that," Buffy sighed. "What else?"
"Well, how extensively have you studied the Pergamum?"
"I haven't gotten around to translating the whole thing. Willow managed to wring some sense into it towards the end only she mentioned that there was no end or something."
"Right. The Codex is unfinished."
"So where's the sequel?"
"You have to find it."
Buffy stared disbelievingly at the demon. "This is the earth-shaking job that you've been bugging me about? I have to chase after a piece of paper??"
"Several, actually," Whistler corrected.
"I don't believe this. The world is about to come to an end and we are on some grade school treasure hunt."
"It's not so simple, kid. On a treasure hunt, you get clues or, if you're lucky, a map. We get neither."
"Why me?"
"Because no one else is better qualified. Think about it, kid. You're the oldest Slayer living ever. And that's not by just hiding in a hole the past fourteen years."
"No," Buffy said bitterly. "It's by having everyone I love die for me."
Whistler sighed. "Like or not," he said quietly, "everyone has a destiny. It isn't obvious for some but I think you'll realize that sooner than you think."
"And what's mine?"
"You have to find it, Slayer." Whistler stared at his hands for a while. Then he looked up. "It's been decided that this is the final test for your world. After that, whatever the outcome, those *higher beings* we all don't know and love are gonna move on and mess with another world."
Buffy gave a twitch of a smile. "Finally getting off that fence of yours?" she asked drily.
"It was never that comfortable a seat," Whistler answered, leaning back on the sofa.
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