Crack Pairings 005
Well, wasn't this just all kinds of interesting?
Rupert Giles, stuffy and bookish and uptight and British though he was, apparently had friends.
Buffy wished she’d brought a camera. She wanted physical proof later that she wasn’t just dreaming this entire scene. Of course, the branches of the bushes poking uncomfortably into her stomach made that option a little less likely than it might otherwise have been, but, hey, details. They were also too far away for most to hear, enough that even she had to squint and strain her ears to get any sort of idea about what was going on.
She wasn’t entirely surprised or even that disappointed to hear that they were discussing events back home in Merry Old England. What she was surprised was to hear the details of what they were discussing.
A Dark Lord? Seriously?
As it turned out - yes, seriously. Across the pond, there was indeed a Dark Lord by the name of Folderport…or something like that. And from all she was hearing, he was a really bad guy doing the kinds of bad things that she…wasn’t entirely sure she was supposed to hear about anyone doing outside of her history class or one of Giles’ creepy old books. The more she heard, the more worried and the angrier she got. A rare flash of Slayer duty came over her.
What was she doing here patrolling graveyards in one small town? Why wasn’t she over there, delivering a patented Slayer smackdown to the nutjob and saving the…god, hundreds? Hundreds of lives?
That did seem a little “big pond” for her, the smallest of small fish Slayers.
But that didn’t change the fact that Giles hadn’t told her anything about this. And this guy was definitely a bigger threat than the Master. The Master was still stuck down in his crypt. This guy was killing people now. Today. Tonight, actually, and that thought made her hug her stomach as it roiled in uncomfortable anxiety and deep, dark thoughts.
She hoped that the meeting would end soon, if only so she could come out of hiding and demand to know what the deal was from her Watcher. Besides, the branches poking into her knee were really starting to get uncomfortable.
Her prayers were answered on all fronts. After a few more minutes, the two men bade one another grim farewells and turned to go their separate ways. Giles went off back towards the library, where he’d left her over an hour ago and where he would probably expect to find her still.
Well, he’d just have to deal with it. As soon as she felt that he was well enough away not to look back, Buffy crept out from behind the bush and stole out across the parking lot, towards the retreating figure of Giles’ friend.
She was impressed. He caught on to her presence when she was still over ten feet away - she could sense it, in the changes in the way he stood and the way his step quickened slightly. Buffy didn’t know what he was or what she was capable of - even the Watchers remained a mystery to her, and she saw Giles every day - so she decided not to chance getting mistaken for a vamp and getting pounced by whatever tricks this guy had up his sleeve.
“Hey!” she called, and he whirled around, going for…something, in his sleeve. His sleeves were certainly wide enough and billowing enough to keep a stake in. She wondered briefly whether she should pick up the look, but shook the thought from her head. Not the time, Summers.
“Look,” she said, hurrying up to him. “I know this is going to sound bad, like…criminally bad, actually, but…”
“Buffy,” said the man. “You’re Buffy Summers, then.”
Buffy stumbled to a stop, unashamedly surprised. “Y-Yeah,” she said, when she’d found her voice again. “That…that would be me. Hi.”
She was near enough to pick out details about the man, now - chiefly how shabby and how tired he looked. Buffy knew, without a doubt, that if this man ever came within sight of her mother that Joyce Summers would probably immediately adopt him and stuff him so full of sandwiches that he exploded. And Buffy would help - the guy looked like he’d lost ten rounds with a Mac Truck.
Except, hey. Bigger problems. Like this one:
“You know my name?”
“Yes,” said the man, nodding. “Rupert’s…mentioned you. Quite often, in fact. And when I asked if that was you hiding in the bushes, he was kind enough to confirm it for me.”
“What?” Buffy was crestfallen, and took care to show it by pouting and folding her arms. “No way! I was totally being sneaky. He should be proud. I was using all the tricks he taught me to sneak up on vamps and other nasties like that. Not…” She winced, well aware of how that must sound to this man. “Not that I’m comparing you guys to a vamp or any of the other creeps that hang out around here because of the Hellmouth. Especially not Giles, but n-not you either! I’m…assuming Giles told you about the Hellmouth? He definitely doesn’t need much poking to go off on that tangent.” Buffy winced, resting her head in her hands. “Just…give me a sec while I remember why I came up to talk to you in the first place.”
“Of course,” said the man. “My apologies for distracting you.” And he waited patiently while Buffy collected her thoughts, which was…really decent of him, under the circumstances. It didn’t take her long, in any case - a count of five, and then Buffy snapped her fingers. “Aha! Right! What’s this about a Dark Lord and why wasn’t I invited?”
The man’s polite, puzzled smile faded - a definite shame, in Buffy’s very definite opinion, as he had the sort of face that could do with smiling more. “In fact, I was hoping you would ask Rupert about what you had overheard…”
“I will,” said Buffy, folding her arms across her chest and staring up at him unblinking. Not backing down. “But hey, I figured that if I could play the ‘oh Giles, look at how enterprising and socially conscious I’m being’, he might be a bit more receptive to sharing.”
“…fair enough, knowing Rupert as well as I do.”
“And how well is that?”
The man smiled a remarkably and frustratingly enigmatic smile. Buffy had never seen a smile quite so enigmatic before. “Longer than you might think.”
“Clearly. Obviously, you both went to Cryptic School together. The London Branch, right?”
He laughed, which was, Buffy had to admit, the reaction she had been aiming for. People were easier to talk around when they were amused.
“Speaking of London,” she said. “Or, um, maybe not speaking of London…I don’t think I got your name. You know mine, quid pro quo, I should know yours’. Sound fair?”
He nodded. “Of course.” He did dart her eyes around the empty parking lot which, Buffy had to admit, was a good idea. Pity she still didn’t have the faintest idea how her “Slayer senses” were supposed to work, or she could have helped him detect any creepy crawlies in the area.
Eventually satisfied that they were alone, he turned his eyes back to her with an apologetic smile. “Professor Remus Lupin. It’s very nice to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Summers.”
She waved an airy hand. “Please. Miss Summers is my mother.” It was a line she had heard Miss Calendar drop more than once, and quite liked. “It’s just Buffy, thanks.”
He quirked a startled eyebrow at this, which only made her grin. “All right. Buffy, then. You…wished to know about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then?”
“…I wanted to know about that Dark Lord guy you and Giles were going on and on about, yeah. Didn’t quite catch his name. Something like…um…” Buffy snapped her fingers once or twice, failing to notice the look of dawning horror on Lupin’s face. “Voldemort!”
Lupin clapped a hand over her mouth a second too late. Noises echoed around the deserted little parking lot, noises that did not at all do the wrongness of the situation justice. Several soft “pops” accompanied the arrival of three robed figures appearing out of thin air.
Something of Buffy’s slayer senses were active even then - she was already throwing herself flat even as Lupin shoved her down and waved a hand. “Stupefy!”
A burst of red light lit the lot, even as jets of purple, red, and green light fired back at him, coupled with yet more cries in yet another strange language that Buffy didn’t understand. A few cracked the ground beside her, making her yelp and roll backwards to stand just behind Lupin.
“What the hell is going on?!” she yelled over the din.
“Stupefy! Protego! You said You-Know-Who’s name! Aresto Momentum! It’s bewitched - anyone who says his name can be found by the Death Eaters! Protego! Langlock!”
He was ducking and weaving quite admirably for an old guy - Giles could definitely learn a trick or two. Buffy kept pace with him as well as she was able. The bright beams of light were quick, but they were visible and no harder to dodge with a Slayer’s enhanced reflexes.
It didn’t take Willow to figure out the game here. Remus Lupin was a friend of Giles’. These guys were apparently trying to do him serious injury, if the frantic way in which he was fighting back was any indication. Giles was Buffy’s Watcher, therefore it was probably safe to assume that any friend of Giles’ should, at the very least, be a protected subject of hers’.
Right. If only every night in Sunnydale was that simple.
Crossing her arms over her head, Buffy ducked and raced for the nearest cloaked figure. Lupin cried for her to stop. She ignored him. Jets of green light fired at her. She did not ignore those, ducking and dodging and even dropping into rolls over the hard concrete when called for. She made a mental note to tell Giles how good she’d gotten at ducking and dodging when the dust settled. There were several moments where she was certain that the beams of light must have hit her, but then they missed by a mile instead.
And so it was that Buffy collided heavily with the first man - in a blink, she’d grabbed the arm he was attacking with and put it in a lock that most vampires couldn’t break. She winced when she heard the telltale crack of a bone breaking, but finished the job nonetheless. A few quick blows to a few painful points that never changed between the living and the dead and the man dropped with a groan.
Buffy barely had time to feel the thrill of satisfaction before red light filled her vision and her legs gave out from under her. Her head smacked painfully into the pavement, her body feeling as though she’d just gotten hit by a particularly heavy old man on a bicycle. Even so, Buffy struggled to hold onto consciousness even as she struggled back to her feet. At the last second, a pair of hands was on her shoulder, helping her. Buffy looked back to see Giles.
Later, she would grin as they told one another to be careful at the exact same second. But then and there, Buffy was off like a shot the second she felt steady enough on her feet. Lupin was still fighting the remaining two men. The least she could do was even the odds, even if she and Giles couldn’t shoot freakish beams of light out of their hands. She was the Slayer, and even outside of Sunnydale, that had to count for something.
They double teamed the second man, Buffy drawing his fire and Giles moving in behind him to pin both arms. As Buffy moved in for a sharp uppercut to the solar plexus that would certainly leave him doubled over and whimpering, she saw something that made her briefly hesitate.
She would know later that all she was looking at was a mask. But the sight of the twisted, deathly pale face still made Buffy pull up short with a gasp. The hesitation cost them both. Their opponent managed to drive a hard knee into Giles’ leg - he grunted in pain and faltered, giving the man new leeway to break free. Enough to point a stick…even in her panicked haze, she knew it was a stick…at her face and speak in that same strange language.
“Avada…”
A jet of red light caught the green forming at the tip of the stick. Watcher, Slayer, and attacker were all thrown forcibly off their feet. A fourth body joined them, pinning the enemy where he lay. Buffy knew by the voice that it was Lupin’s.
She recovered first, and went to help Lupin subdue the man. She quickly saw that Lupin had a stick of his own, at which point her mind managed to accept the concept of “magic wand.” Especially when ropes burst forth from the wand to twine around the man’s wrist, ankles, and mouth.
She said nothing as she helped Lupin move the man to be piled next to the other three. Only when their enemies were subdued, bound, and motionless, did Buffy dare turn to regard her Watcher and his old friend from London.
“What…the hell…was that?”
“I don’t have time to explain, Buffy,” said Lupin breathlessly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that to Rupert. Once the Death Eaters become aware that these three have gone missing, more will come. I won’t inflict that on you both.”
“You already have.” She reached out to take his arm, letting a little of her Slayer’s strength bleed through into the motion. “So spill. Explain. It’s always better that way, right, Giles?”
There was no reply from her Watcher. Buffy spun on the spot, searching for him. She realized with a sick lurch in her stomach that he’d never gotten up. The world seemed to blur around Buffy as she hurried to him, knelt down beside him, and frantically searched for signs of life. The relief was fairly indescribably when she found them.
“He’s all right,” Lupin called. “Just stunned. I’m sorry, Buffy, I would wake him but I’ve already used far too much magic as it is. Reviving him would just call more attention to all of us.”
“Wait, damn it!” Buffy made to rise again. “You can’t just leave us like this! What the hell is going on?”
“I’m afraid I can, Buffy. This isn’t your fight. But I will say that…well, we’re a bit like you. These men and myself are a bit like you, although I dare say that we’re nowhere near as powerful. But we’re both different. Set slightly apart. It’s nothing that can be said to be rooted in a strictly physiological cause, but the truth is undeniable. I hope you never have to see the truth for yourself. But in case you ever do…take care. Please take care.”
Before Buffy could say anything more, Lupin and his captives had disappeared into nothingness with a soft “pop”. Although Buffy didn’t know it at the time, she would never see him again.
All that concerned her at that moment was getting her Watcher inside and getting some answers. Maybe she could try her hand at making tea. Giles always seemed to be more talkative when tea was involved. If worst came to worse, she could trade information for the promise to never make tea again.