Fic: Stalwart and True 2/6
Chapter 2! See previous chapter here for disclaimers
Chapter Two
Giles stepped into his hotel room and closed the door softly behind him. He leaned back against it, his eyes closed, as if he was too tired to take another step. His breathing was ragged and he clenched and unclenched his fist compulsively. When he finally lifted his eyes, Giles saw that he was not alone.
Buffy stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, looking typically annoyed with him. “What’sa matter? Betrayal got you down?” she asked sarcastically. “Not as fun to be on the delivering end as you thought?”
“I know what you are.” Giles replied coldly, eying the figure before him like it was a wild animal that might spring at any moment.
“Of course you do,” the First went on, not missing a beat, “you know everything. What’s best for the world, who should live and who should die - ”
“I never thought that.”
“But you make those decisions anyways.”
“I don’t have to defend myself to you,” he said, gradually becoming accustomed to the First’s presence.
“No I guess not,” the First went on, unperturbed. “But what about to yourself? You were right, you know. I have got big plans for Spike. But that doesn’t change the fact that you betrayed your precious Slayer.”
Giles winced and started clenching his fist again. The First smirked, thinking his behaviour a sign of its success. Ignoring his companion, Giles walked wearily to the writing desk that stood against the wall and sat down at it. He opened the book that was laying on top and started writing in it frantically.
“But maybe she should have seen it coming,” the First continued its monologue, “After all, it wasn’t the first time… Although I must say, your follow-through has improved considerably.” It wasn’t Buffy’s voice that was speaking anymore.
Giles glanced up from his writing to see Quentin Travers - grey-headed, tweed-clad and supremely self-confident - standing where his Slayer had been a moment before. Then he quickly turned back to his writing without comment.
"It isn't as though tonight's fiasco was your fault." There was a familiar note of condescension in the First's voice. "Wood should have moved more swiftly, should have reigned in his emotions. I daresay the operation would have been much more successful had your positions been reversed. However, that would have made you responsible for the, er, 'dirty work,' shall we say? And that is simply not fitting for a Watcher. Especially not for one of your callibre."
At this comment, Giles finally reacted, glaring at the likeness of his former superior. "And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?"
The First feigned mild surprise. "Ah! So you were listening after all."
Giles simply continued to glare. The First smiled in the smug sort of way that Travers always did to demonstrate his superiority, and began pacing casually.
"It simply means that you have finally become the exemplary Watcher we all expected you to be. Pragmatic. Level-headed. Certainly not one to be swayed by emotion." Giles opened his mouth to protest, but the First cut him off with a patronizing chuckle, waving Travers' hand dismissively, "Oh, I know. You'll never be like us; you were simply doing what was necessary. Difficult times call for difficult decisions, isn't that so?" The First regarded Giles with the look of a parent gazing down upon a disappointing child. "Do you see now, that was what the Council was doing all along? Making the difficult decisions, doing what was necessary." It resumed a conversational tone, "There were many who died in the explosion who counted you as a friend, at least at some point. A former lover or two as well, if I'm not mistaken. You know how rumours circulate.” It smiled briefly, then became serious once again. “You turned your back on them, on all of us. Perhaps now you have more sympathy for those whom you were so eager to condemn before?"
Giles looked away from Travers' steady and expectant gaze. He turned back to his diary and set his pen to paper again, writing madly.
"Bu’ then, your moral compass a’ways was relative, eh Ripper?"
Giles froze. The new voice spoke in an accent fashioned to sound like a London street-youth. It was terribly forced and over-done, almost to the point of being tragicomic. Giles recognized it immediately. He turned slowly in his chair to face the young man now standing in his room.
The man - really more of a boy, he couldn’t have been much older than twenty - wore tattered jeans and a leather jacket over a t-shirt sporting a hand-drawn anarchy symbol. His hair was long and unruly, and there was a smudge of eyeliner under his eyes. Despite his style of dress, his face was soft and youthful, as though he just got out of prep-school. Randall: as he was when Giles first met him. He smirked brashly
"I use’ t’ think tha’ rules were made fo’ breakin’. Bu’ you knew better, di’n’ you? You taught me th’ truth: ‘There are no rules, mate. Only walls in yer ‘ead, built t’ keep you from takin’ whatcheh wan’…"
As he looked upon his old friend, Giles realized he was changing before his eyes, like the portrait of Dorian Gray. His flesh seemed to melt from his bones and he became angular and gaunt. Premature lines furrowed his once-smooth skin. His teeth yellowed. His hair became filthy and matted. Deep shadows appeared under his now-bloodshot eyes as they seemed to sink back into their sockets. Yet at the same time his eyes became brighter, sparking with a manic intensity.
When he spoke the street accent came with ease, "An’ we were all about the taking, weren' we, Ripper? Whatever, whenever, wherever, however, whoever: we just took, an’ took, an’ took." He let out an insane laugh and threw his head back, shouting, "And damn the consequences!"
"Randall..."
"Damn them to hell!"
Giles' voice was near a whisper, "Randall, I'm so sorry..."
"Wha’ was ’at, mate?"
"I'm sorry that this happened to you. That I -”
"Sorry? Abou’ wha’? We were free!" Randall smiled horrifically, "Free as the birds in the air, an’ the bunnies in the field, an’ the wolves in the bleedin' forest!"
Giles shook his head, almost imperceptibly. His voice was flat and distant, "It wasn't worth it."
Randall leaned towards his one-time friend, his voice now a hoarse whisper. "Like bloody ’ell it wasn'. Whatever. Whoever. However. Ours for the taking."
"That wasn't any way to live."
Randall pushed away from Giles angrily. "No, it's the only way to live! You used t’ think so, ‘til you let the council build up some nice li’l’ walls for you t’ hide behind."
"I had a duty. And a debt to pay." Giles said plainly.
Randall laughed bitterly at the statement. "An’ again I say: like bloody, soddin' hell! Screw duty, screw debt, and screw sorry. You ran back to the Council like a li’l boy runnin’ to hide be’ind his mum. You were scared." Randall swaggered towards Giles, until he was only inches away. For a second his manic eyes flashed with green light. "You were never strong enough." Giles started at the echo of Eyghon in Randall's voice, but when he spoke again, it was gone, "The Council gave you the walls an’ you told yo’self a nice li’l’ story ’bout bein’ all noble. But deep inside, you know, yer no hero…”
In an instant, the figure’s features shifted.
Giles’ eyes widened in shock; he was no longer looking at Randall, but at Ben.
“You're a killer…"
Again, the features morphed, and Giles found himself gazing into dark, familiar eyes.
"…and a coward." Jenny stepped away, observing Giles thoughtfully.
He stared at her unguardedly, taking in everything about her appearance: her hair, her skin, her clothes, everything as it had been the last time he saw her alive. Then, in an instant, his gaze became shuttered, and he turned back to his writing.
The First watched him, becoming increasingly perturbed as time passed. "Well, this is disappointing," it said peevishly, crossing its arms. "I had hoped I could hold your attention better than your demon-drug-buddy, Randy. You two weren't closer than you were letting on, were you?"
Giles smirked to himself. Not allowing himself to be distracted from his writing, he addressed the First without so much as glancing at it. "No, nothing like that. I simply am prepared. I was expecting you to appear like this much sooner."
"Well, I like to save the big guns for last."
Giles didn’t reply, but took a minute to finish his writing. Then he closed his diary, set it aside and turned to face the First with assurance. "You're not her," he said plainly.
The First shrugged. "Fine. So I'm not. But I can tell you what she would say."
Giles observed with confident detachment as the First instantly took on the stance, the airs, the mannerisms, the very essence of Jenny Calendar.
It faced him now as she had in Sunnydale High library six years ago, its every move the perfect echo of the movements Giles had replayed in his mind countless times. "I have to admit, England, the whole 'noble devotion to the cause' thing was part of the attraction. How you were so determined to face the Master instead of Buffy. How, on parent-teacher night, you begged Buffy to let you fight with her. Even the way you turned your back on me after Angel turned, for Buffy's sake, was somehow admirable. But I've had a lot of time to think since then, and I realized: it was all an excuse." It crossed its arms again, and looked at Giles the way Jenny used to when they bickered about the merits of computer technology. "I mean, you know that Buffy's the hero here. You know she'll shut you down every time you try to fight for her. You knew it even when you went all righteous avenger on Angel for me. You can be just as battle-ready as you want, and never have to worry about making that ultimate heroic sacrifice, because she'll stop you every time." It paused, and it's indignation faded, becoming that odd mix of pity and disillusionment that Jenny showed towards him after her possession. "And it wasn't just major things like that either. You always did what was easy, holing up in that library instead of facing life. You know that Buffy would say the same thing about you running back to England. And, speaking of whom, it was so much easier to hide behind Buffy's anger than to love me back, wasn't it?"
As it gazed at him searchingly through Jenny's eyes, Giles' confidence faltered.
When it spoke again, its voice was tender, yet filled with sorrow and disappointment. "You're a pretender, Rupert. You step forward when you're not needed. And when you are needed, ever so desperately, you're nowhere to be found. I found that out the hard way."
Giles turned away from Jenny's gaze, from her accusations and her pity. He struggled to maintain his stony expression, while looking for all the world like he was trying to conjure up memories of times when he was where he needed to be, and helped save the day, though the memories kept eluding him.
"So, let's see what we have here," the First said in a business-like manner, and began pacing. "You do what needs doing, or at least what you think needs doing. Really, you're a taker, or at least you would be if you weren't so scared. You like to play at being all noble when really, you're a coward. And, interestingly enough, you're not afraid to kill, but you are afraid to die…" The First didn’t notice the odd, secretive smile that appeared on Giles' face, as he turned to regard it cooly once again, but it continued summarizing his qualities, "Oh, and you're willing to betray Buffy, can't forget that." Unexpectedly, the First's smirk softened into an expression of concern, "And yet, you love her very much. Despite the fact that you're weak, and afraid, you want to do what's right for her. For all of them. You'll try, but you'll fail. As always." It paused to let it's words seep in.
Giles looked away as if considering what he had just heard, but his odd smile didn't falter.
The First went on, "So, my suggestion is, make things easy on them. And yourself."
Giles turned back to it, smile gone, and cocked his head inquisitively.
The First looked at him with eyes that were intense yet compassionate. Its voice was soft and kind, "Buffy was happy, wherever she was. That was stolen from her. You can send her back again. You can give that same happiness to the others too: Willow, Dawn, Xander... think of all they've gone through. Don't they deserve it? You can give that to the whole world. And to yourself." Its voice became lower; it spoke in a seductive tone that Giles had heard all too seldom. "I can tell from the way you look at me. You know what I am, but seeing me like this - it's enough. You're eager to end this, to be with her again, aren't you?"
Giles didn't respond, but stared at Jenny's likeness intently.
It continued, "You're scared, but I can help you, I can show you how."
Giles’ lips twitched into the odd little smile again. He rose from his chair and walked away from the First. He went to the liquor cabinet, and inspected its contents, selecting several of the miniature bottles. "Thank you for the offer. I'm quite flattered, really." Giles spoke as though turning down a dinner invitation. Bottles in hand, he went to one of the crates of books he was storing in his room, and started rifling through its contents. "However, if you are looking for someone to, er, do your bidding..." He found the book he was looking for - Forester - straightened up, and turned to the First, smiling genially. "I'm afraid you've just wasted quite a bit of your time."
The First stared blankly at Giles as he reclined on the hotel bed, opening one of the liquor bottles and pouring its contents into the tumbler sitting on the nightstand. He opened the Forester book and apparently became immersed in it immediately. His eyes never left the page as he sipped his drink absently, not even glancing up when the First finally burst into a gale of laughter, as though it had just heard the punch line to the funniest joke ever told. Nor did Giles react when Jenny’s laugh changed abruptly to Buffy’s giggles.
But as the sound of Buffy’s laughter died down, Giles grimaced painfully, as he had earlier, his breathing becoming sharp and shallow. The moment soon passed, however. He took a somewhat shaky drink and returned to reading as though nothing had happened.
“You really are the essence of all things British, aren’t you?” the First teased, the same way Buffy used to. “That was some highly skilled repression on your part. I’m impressed.”
“Mm, thank you.” Giles responded absently.
“Y’know, I think I’m disappointed.” The First’s tone was light, but surprisingly sincere. “Of course, I’d’ve been satisfied with anyone from the Slayer’s little circle of do-gooders, but I think you and I could’ve made an especially good team.”
“I would have to disagree.”
“And I really enjoyed our little chat.”
“Wish I could say the same.”
“Hey, your curiosity was satisfied. What more do you want from me?”
“What I’d really like is for you to vacate this universe entirely. Or at least my room.” He briefly glanced at the First over the top of his book. “Let me have a bit of peace.”
The First rolled its eyes, then smiled at Giles in a manner that could be described as fond.
“You do realize what this means, don’t you?”
Giles’ brow creased: he didn’t know. He looked up from his book to see the First grinning at him broadly.
“You and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”
Giles continued to stare. For the first time that evening, he looked truly scared.
Next Chapter
Chapter Two
Giles stepped into his hotel room and closed the door softly behind him. He leaned back against it, his eyes closed, as if he was too tired to take another step. His breathing was ragged and he clenched and unclenched his fist compulsively. When he finally lifted his eyes, Giles saw that he was not alone.
Buffy stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, looking typically annoyed with him. “What’sa matter? Betrayal got you down?” she asked sarcastically. “Not as fun to be on the delivering end as you thought?”
“I know what you are.” Giles replied coldly, eying the figure before him like it was a wild animal that might spring at any moment.
“Of course you do,” the First went on, not missing a beat, “you know everything. What’s best for the world, who should live and who should die - ”
“I never thought that.”
“But you make those decisions anyways.”
“I don’t have to defend myself to you,” he said, gradually becoming accustomed to the First’s presence.
“No I guess not,” the First went on, unperturbed. “But what about to yourself? You were right, you know. I have got big plans for Spike. But that doesn’t change the fact that you betrayed your precious Slayer.”
Giles winced and started clenching his fist again. The First smirked, thinking his behaviour a sign of its success. Ignoring his companion, Giles walked wearily to the writing desk that stood against the wall and sat down at it. He opened the book that was laying on top and started writing in it frantically.
“But maybe she should have seen it coming,” the First continued its monologue, “After all, it wasn’t the first time… Although I must say, your follow-through has improved considerably.” It wasn’t Buffy’s voice that was speaking anymore.
Giles glanced up from his writing to see Quentin Travers - grey-headed, tweed-clad and supremely self-confident - standing where his Slayer had been a moment before. Then he quickly turned back to his writing without comment.
"It isn't as though tonight's fiasco was your fault." There was a familiar note of condescension in the First's voice. "Wood should have moved more swiftly, should have reigned in his emotions. I daresay the operation would have been much more successful had your positions been reversed. However, that would have made you responsible for the, er, 'dirty work,' shall we say? And that is simply not fitting for a Watcher. Especially not for one of your callibre."
At this comment, Giles finally reacted, glaring at the likeness of his former superior. "And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?"
The First feigned mild surprise. "Ah! So you were listening after all."
Giles simply continued to glare. The First smiled in the smug sort of way that Travers always did to demonstrate his superiority, and began pacing casually.
"It simply means that you have finally become the exemplary Watcher we all expected you to be. Pragmatic. Level-headed. Certainly not one to be swayed by emotion." Giles opened his mouth to protest, but the First cut him off with a patronizing chuckle, waving Travers' hand dismissively, "Oh, I know. You'll never be like us; you were simply doing what was necessary. Difficult times call for difficult decisions, isn't that so?" The First regarded Giles with the look of a parent gazing down upon a disappointing child. "Do you see now, that was what the Council was doing all along? Making the difficult decisions, doing what was necessary." It resumed a conversational tone, "There were many who died in the explosion who counted you as a friend, at least at some point. A former lover or two as well, if I'm not mistaken. You know how rumours circulate.” It smiled briefly, then became serious once again. “You turned your back on them, on all of us. Perhaps now you have more sympathy for those whom you were so eager to condemn before?"
Giles looked away from Travers' steady and expectant gaze. He turned back to his diary and set his pen to paper again, writing madly.
"Bu’ then, your moral compass a’ways was relative, eh Ripper?"
Giles froze. The new voice spoke in an accent fashioned to sound like a London street-youth. It was terribly forced and over-done, almost to the point of being tragicomic. Giles recognized it immediately. He turned slowly in his chair to face the young man now standing in his room.
The man - really more of a boy, he couldn’t have been much older than twenty - wore tattered jeans and a leather jacket over a t-shirt sporting a hand-drawn anarchy symbol. His hair was long and unruly, and there was a smudge of eyeliner under his eyes. Despite his style of dress, his face was soft and youthful, as though he just got out of prep-school. Randall: as he was when Giles first met him. He smirked brashly
"I use’ t’ think tha’ rules were made fo’ breakin’. Bu’ you knew better, di’n’ you? You taught me th’ truth: ‘There are no rules, mate. Only walls in yer ‘ead, built t’ keep you from takin’ whatcheh wan’…"
As he looked upon his old friend, Giles realized he was changing before his eyes, like the portrait of Dorian Gray. His flesh seemed to melt from his bones and he became angular and gaunt. Premature lines furrowed his once-smooth skin. His teeth yellowed. His hair became filthy and matted. Deep shadows appeared under his now-bloodshot eyes as they seemed to sink back into their sockets. Yet at the same time his eyes became brighter, sparking with a manic intensity.
When he spoke the street accent came with ease, "An’ we were all about the taking, weren' we, Ripper? Whatever, whenever, wherever, however, whoever: we just took, an’ took, an’ took." He let out an insane laugh and threw his head back, shouting, "And damn the consequences!"
"Randall..."
"Damn them to hell!"
Giles' voice was near a whisper, "Randall, I'm so sorry..."
"Wha’ was ’at, mate?"
"I'm sorry that this happened to you. That I -”
"Sorry? Abou’ wha’? We were free!" Randall smiled horrifically, "Free as the birds in the air, an’ the bunnies in the field, an’ the wolves in the bleedin' forest!"
Giles shook his head, almost imperceptibly. His voice was flat and distant, "It wasn't worth it."
Randall leaned towards his one-time friend, his voice now a hoarse whisper. "Like bloody ’ell it wasn'. Whatever. Whoever. However. Ours for the taking."
"That wasn't any way to live."
Randall pushed away from Giles angrily. "No, it's the only way to live! You used t’ think so, ‘til you let the council build up some nice li’l’ walls for you t’ hide behind."
"I had a duty. And a debt to pay." Giles said plainly.
Randall laughed bitterly at the statement. "An’ again I say: like bloody, soddin' hell! Screw duty, screw debt, and screw sorry. You ran back to the Council like a li’l boy runnin’ to hide be’ind his mum. You were scared." Randall swaggered towards Giles, until he was only inches away. For a second his manic eyes flashed with green light. "You were never strong enough." Giles started at the echo of Eyghon in Randall's voice, but when he spoke again, it was gone, "The Council gave you the walls an’ you told yo’self a nice li’l’ story ’bout bein’ all noble. But deep inside, you know, yer no hero…”
In an instant, the figure’s features shifted.
Giles’ eyes widened in shock; he was no longer looking at Randall, but at Ben.
“You're a killer…"
Again, the features morphed, and Giles found himself gazing into dark, familiar eyes.
"…and a coward." Jenny stepped away, observing Giles thoughtfully.
He stared at her unguardedly, taking in everything about her appearance: her hair, her skin, her clothes, everything as it had been the last time he saw her alive. Then, in an instant, his gaze became shuttered, and he turned back to his writing.
The First watched him, becoming increasingly perturbed as time passed. "Well, this is disappointing," it said peevishly, crossing its arms. "I had hoped I could hold your attention better than your demon-drug-buddy, Randy. You two weren't closer than you were letting on, were you?"
Giles smirked to himself. Not allowing himself to be distracted from his writing, he addressed the First without so much as glancing at it. "No, nothing like that. I simply am prepared. I was expecting you to appear like this much sooner."
"Well, I like to save the big guns for last."
Giles didn’t reply, but took a minute to finish his writing. Then he closed his diary, set it aside and turned to face the First with assurance. "You're not her," he said plainly.
The First shrugged. "Fine. So I'm not. But I can tell you what she would say."
Giles observed with confident detachment as the First instantly took on the stance, the airs, the mannerisms, the very essence of Jenny Calendar.
It faced him now as she had in Sunnydale High library six years ago, its every move the perfect echo of the movements Giles had replayed in his mind countless times. "I have to admit, England, the whole 'noble devotion to the cause' thing was part of the attraction. How you were so determined to face the Master instead of Buffy. How, on parent-teacher night, you begged Buffy to let you fight with her. Even the way you turned your back on me after Angel turned, for Buffy's sake, was somehow admirable. But I've had a lot of time to think since then, and I realized: it was all an excuse." It crossed its arms again, and looked at Giles the way Jenny used to when they bickered about the merits of computer technology. "I mean, you know that Buffy's the hero here. You know she'll shut you down every time you try to fight for her. You knew it even when you went all righteous avenger on Angel for me. You can be just as battle-ready as you want, and never have to worry about making that ultimate heroic sacrifice, because she'll stop you every time." It paused, and it's indignation faded, becoming that odd mix of pity and disillusionment that Jenny showed towards him after her possession. "And it wasn't just major things like that either. You always did what was easy, holing up in that library instead of facing life. You know that Buffy would say the same thing about you running back to England. And, speaking of whom, it was so much easier to hide behind Buffy's anger than to love me back, wasn't it?"
As it gazed at him searchingly through Jenny's eyes, Giles' confidence faltered.
When it spoke again, its voice was tender, yet filled with sorrow and disappointment. "You're a pretender, Rupert. You step forward when you're not needed. And when you are needed, ever so desperately, you're nowhere to be found. I found that out the hard way."
Giles turned away from Jenny's gaze, from her accusations and her pity. He struggled to maintain his stony expression, while looking for all the world like he was trying to conjure up memories of times when he was where he needed to be, and helped save the day, though the memories kept eluding him.
"So, let's see what we have here," the First said in a business-like manner, and began pacing. "You do what needs doing, or at least what you think needs doing. Really, you're a taker, or at least you would be if you weren't so scared. You like to play at being all noble when really, you're a coward. And, interestingly enough, you're not afraid to kill, but you are afraid to die…" The First didn’t notice the odd, secretive smile that appeared on Giles' face, as he turned to regard it cooly once again, but it continued summarizing his qualities, "Oh, and you're willing to betray Buffy, can't forget that." Unexpectedly, the First's smirk softened into an expression of concern, "And yet, you love her very much. Despite the fact that you're weak, and afraid, you want to do what's right for her. For all of them. You'll try, but you'll fail. As always." It paused to let it's words seep in.
Giles looked away as if considering what he had just heard, but his odd smile didn't falter.
The First went on, "So, my suggestion is, make things easy on them. And yourself."
Giles turned back to it, smile gone, and cocked his head inquisitively.
The First looked at him with eyes that were intense yet compassionate. Its voice was soft and kind, "Buffy was happy, wherever she was. That was stolen from her. You can send her back again. You can give that same happiness to the others too: Willow, Dawn, Xander... think of all they've gone through. Don't they deserve it? You can give that to the whole world. And to yourself." Its voice became lower; it spoke in a seductive tone that Giles had heard all too seldom. "I can tell from the way you look at me. You know what I am, but seeing me like this - it's enough. You're eager to end this, to be with her again, aren't you?"
Giles didn't respond, but stared at Jenny's likeness intently.
It continued, "You're scared, but I can help you, I can show you how."
Giles’ lips twitched into the odd little smile again. He rose from his chair and walked away from the First. He went to the liquor cabinet, and inspected its contents, selecting several of the miniature bottles. "Thank you for the offer. I'm quite flattered, really." Giles spoke as though turning down a dinner invitation. Bottles in hand, he went to one of the crates of books he was storing in his room, and started rifling through its contents. "However, if you are looking for someone to, er, do your bidding..." He found the book he was looking for - Forester - straightened up, and turned to the First, smiling genially. "I'm afraid you've just wasted quite a bit of your time."
The First stared blankly at Giles as he reclined on the hotel bed, opening one of the liquor bottles and pouring its contents into the tumbler sitting on the nightstand. He opened the Forester book and apparently became immersed in it immediately. His eyes never left the page as he sipped his drink absently, not even glancing up when the First finally burst into a gale of laughter, as though it had just heard the punch line to the funniest joke ever told. Nor did Giles react when Jenny’s laugh changed abruptly to Buffy’s giggles.
But as the sound of Buffy’s laughter died down, Giles grimaced painfully, as he had earlier, his breathing becoming sharp and shallow. The moment soon passed, however. He took a somewhat shaky drink and returned to reading as though nothing had happened.
“You really are the essence of all things British, aren’t you?” the First teased, the same way Buffy used to. “That was some highly skilled repression on your part. I’m impressed.”
“Mm, thank you.” Giles responded absently.
“Y’know, I think I’m disappointed.” The First’s tone was light, but surprisingly sincere. “Of course, I’d’ve been satisfied with anyone from the Slayer’s little circle of do-gooders, but I think you and I could’ve made an especially good team.”
“I would have to disagree.”
“And I really enjoyed our little chat.”
“Wish I could say the same.”
“Hey, your curiosity was satisfied. What more do you want from me?”
“What I’d really like is for you to vacate this universe entirely. Or at least my room.” He briefly glanced at the First over the top of his book. “Let me have a bit of peace.”
The First rolled its eyes, then smiled at Giles in a manner that could be described as fond.
“You do realize what this means, don’t you?”
Giles’ brow creased: he didn’t know. He looked up from his book to see the First grinning at him broadly.
“You and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”
Giles continued to stare. For the first time that evening, he looked truly scared.
Next Chapter