Chapter Six:
She was done with him.
No – more than that. She wanted nothing more to do with him.
He’d ignored her wishes, overridden her decisions, conspired behind her back, betrayed her … and turned the last of her certainties, the last of her trust, into little more than bitter ashes in her mouth, into the words she’d spat at him with anger and disillusionment.
She thought she’d feel better once the door was closed, once she’d shut out that look – the look of pained disappointment and martyred necessity – which had been a painful reflection of her own inner turmoil. But she didn’t.
If anything, the finality of that firmly closed door had made her feel worse.
Much worse.
When had it all gone wrong? When had he ceased to be her rock and turned into yet another drain on her energies? When had the tensions between them shifted and tightened until everything she did disappointed him and everything he did seemed to add to the burdens she carried?
When had she started to feel so tired?
Buffy sighed and turned away from the door, acutely conscious of having lost something infinitely precious and utterly indefinable. She didn’t want to think about that, right here and then. Didn’t, in fact, want to think about anything at all. She was too numb, too drained, to want to consider the hows and the whys and the whens.
And the ‘what if’s’ were definitely off the list for a while.
Her turn into the room had put her in sight of her wardrobe mirror and the pale, pinched reflection of what she’d become. She wasn’t sure she wanted to face that, either, but she lacked the energy to do anything that would prevent the painful image from mocking her every move.
"Oh God," she muttered, sinking onto the edge of the bed and wondering if she had energy left for anything anymore. She ought to have been feeling a raging anger. Ought to be contemplating hate and the pain of betrayal and all that sort of stuff – but all she really felt was tired.
Empty.
Alone.
Well, not totally alone. A movement caught her eye and she looked down to find a sleek black and white cat in the process of jumping onto the bed. That was a little weird, but not completely unlikely, since Miss Kitty had always been given free run of the entire house. Maybe one of the other girls had brought a cat with them – although Buffy couldn’t remember anyone mentioning pets. She’d certainly never seen this particular animal before. It was a very handsome cat, too.
"Hello, puss," she registered quizzically. "Where did you come from?"
The cat paced across the coverlet to join her, proving its substantiality by rubbing its cheek along her arm. Not a manifestation of the First, then, which was something of a relief. If she’d been a little less sunk into apathy, she’d have probably picked it up and evicted it – a little less forcibly than she had her Watcher, perhaps, but firmly enough to send it on its way. As it was, she lacked even the motivation to expel an uninvited guest, and she found herself fondling the warmth of its ears as it paddled and purred at her side.
"At least someone’s happy," she sighed bitterly. The cat’s comforting presence was making her feel a little better, and she didn’t want better. Didn’t want to feel, or think, because doing either brought her back to …
"Giles?"
She froze in place, her fingers buried in fur, her eyes staring at the mirror across the room. The mirror, and the image it contained, faint and translucent beside her own.
A moment of anger crackled through her like a flare of fire. How dare he! How dare he use magic to spy on her – or worse, use it to try and force her to talk when she’d made it perfectly clear that the time for talking was over.
Done.
She half rose to her feet, then sank down again, the impulse to storm out and make her point with violence draining away as her eyes adjusted to the vision – and began to make a little more sense of what she was seeing.
It was Giles. No doubt about it. More than mere illusion, or hallucination … and it certainly wasn’t the First, because he wasn’t dead, even if an uncharitable part of her heart had wished him so a short while ago. But nor was it the man she’d just shut out of her bedroom – and her heart and her life. That man – a weary, rumpled figure, weighted with the cares of the world – was nothing but a pallid reflection of the person currently leaning on – no, in, her mirror.
It was almost as if he were standing on the other side of the glass, standing there wearing one of those quiet smiles of his, a sword dangling from his left hand and his right pressed up against the glass, his fingers splayed out as if he were trying to push his way through to reach her.
Sword.
Buffy’s mind did several somersaults, reassessing the situation as she registered exactly what she was looking at. Forget the heavy jacket and the dowdy sweater; this was Giles in a soft tan over-shirt and a pair of jeans that could have been painted on, they fit so perfectly. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and there seemed to be some sort of wound on his cheek, but she didn’t really notice that because she was on her feet and moving closer, moving close enough to look into those warm, loving, laughing eyes…
"Giles," she whimpered, reaching her hand to match the one pressed up against the inside of the glass. He wasn’t even a true reflection. Not solid, like her and the rest of the room. Just a soft, semi-translucent image, the sort of thing you might catch reflected in a window – but she could feel him, feel his presence with a certainty that she hadn’t felt for weeks. Hadn’t felt, in fact, since he’d first arrived on her doorstep trailing all those girls.
She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the mirror, swallowing a sob. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It was just her mind playing tricks after all, offering her hopeless illusions: memories, perhaps, of better times. Times when he was her Watcher and hers alone, when he had more to offer than regretful words or cold condemnation.
Times when all he offered her was his support and respect …
"Mrrow!" The cat had jumped down from the bed and was standing beside her, rubbing against her leg. His persistence made her look down – which meant she was just in time to see it jump up – and jump into the mirror.
Into that half glimpsed, not quite there impression that was somehow behind the glass.
She stepped back in alarm, witness to something utterly impossible. The man in the mirror had also stepped back, dropping his sword so that he could catch the cat as it leapt up into his arms. He looked almost as startled about it as she was.
"Oh my God," Buffy breathed, really staring now. The man and the cat stared back. "Giles?"
He smiled, a wry, I think she’s got it kind of smile. Buffy, he acknowledged gently – or rather, his image mouthed gently, since no sound reached her at all. The smile widened, and he added something else, something she didn’t get, because lip reading had never been a skill she had much need of before.
"I can’t hear you," she told him, resisting the temptation to shout, because that would be ridiculous, and besides, everyone would come running to see what the problem was. She didn’t want to attract anyone’s attention; she still wasn’t sure what was going on, and she didn’t want to shatter what seemed to be a very fragile connection to .. to whom, exactly?
"Are you … Giles?" she asked, hoping that he had the lip reading thing cracked because they really, really needed a conversation right there and then. "My Giles?"
He nodded, somehow managing to convey a sense of chagrin, apology and pained resignation all at once. That was convincing, if nothing else had been. It was a typically Gilesian expression, most of which was centered in his eyes. It occurred to Buffy, watching them, that that was where the difference was; the man she’d spent the evening with had long since shuttered his feelings away, locking them in and rarely letting them show.
"Okay," she breathed, her heart racing in a way she didn’t think it had done for weeks. "But if you’re in there … then who do I have – out here?"
Long story, he mouthed, then looked down at the cat in his arms and asked it a question – one she had no hope of following, let alone interpreting. That was a little weird, but no weirder than her trying to have a conversation with what seemed to be a mirror image of her Watcher – inside her mirror. A moment later the cat was jumping down from his hands and walking back into the room, just as solid and real as it had been before. Buffy stepped back to let it out, watching it with wary eyes as it leapt up onto her dresser and sat itself down next to Mr Gordo.
I’d sit down if I were you, it suggested, in a soft warm voice that was more idea than exclamation. This may take a little while to explain …
Xander was busy applying a little fresh putty to the window frame when he heard Buffy come out of her room to knock at Dawn’s door and ask her to join her for a moment. The sound of her voice raised a ripple of tension around the sitting room, those few potentials still awake whispering to each other about what possibly could have happened for Buffy to come back and storm upstairs in such a temper – not to mention why the Watcher who’d tried to go up and talk to her had come back down the stairs looking like he’d been slapped in the face, and then kicked in the guts for good measure.
It was clear that Giles was not intending to be communicative on the matter; he’d immediately retreated to the dining room, picked up one of his precious books and buried himself in it with determination. Several of the girls had been speculating whether making him a cup of tea might cheer him up a little. Xander seriously doubted it. He’d been waiting for that whole relationship to fall apart ever since he started to spot the signs of its disintegration, and he knew – probably better than anyone, except maybe Willow – just how deeply Buffy’s rejection would wound the man buried behind the Watcher’s mantle. The potentials had never had an opportunity to see Giles at his best; to them he probably seemed little more than a musty old textbook on legs, serving the cause and supporting Buffy because it was his duty to do so. The conflict and tension between them had been becoming more and more obvious every day, and that – along with what had to be the weight of caring for a whole host of innocent and vulnerable young women – had reduced the Watcher into a pale reflection of the strong and vital soul that Xander had once known.
He didn’t know what to do about that – and he would have liked to have done something, because, hang it, he cared about Giles and not just because the man had meant so much to Buffy over the years. The trouble was none of them had any time for each other these days. Ever since Giles had appeared on the doorstep with that first group of Potentials in tow and the First had made itself known, every passing hour had seemed to demand more and more effort for less and less effect. High spirits had been turned into anxious moping, fear and apprehension had become a way of life, and it took determined work to raise even the ghost of a smile. Only Andrew seemed immune to the general sense of growing gloom, and that was probably because he hadn’t actually noticed it as yet. He lived in a fantasy world of his own making, hiding from his guilt and desperately trying to pretend he might actually be of some use in the fight against the First.
Xander sighed, picking up the sandpaper and rubbing at a rough spot in the woodwork that had been irritating him all day. Andrew wasn’t the only one overcompensating among the fear-touched community that occupied the house on Revello drive. It was way past midnight. No-one really wanted to go to bed, since no-one would actually sleep – and here was he, seeking retreat in carpentry the way Giles had retreated into his books.
Even Spike had stalked down into the basement with a ‘don’t ask and I won’t bite’ look on his face after Buffy had stormed off to her bedroom.
Dawn had obviously answered her sister’s call with reluctance; her sleepy voice, protesting the interruption to her beauty sleep, drifted down the stairwell and raised another murmur from among the potentials gathered in the sitting room. Anya, who was busy wrestling with some paperwork or other, looked up with a worried frown. The ex-demon was having trouble reading the undercurrents of tension that swirled around the house these days, and Xander had no energy left to try and explain them to her.
He didn’t really have energy left for anything anymore.
"I’d call it a night, if I were you, Xander."
Giles was standing in the middle of the sitting room, watching him with a weary smile. Xander straightened some of the kinks out his back and made an effort to return a smile of his own. "It’s a night," he announced, spreading his hands in pantomimed demonstration. "Still looks like a window to me, though. Should keep out the weather, at least. Bringers," he concluded with a shrug. "Who knows?"
"You do good work." Coming from Giles that was high praise, and Xander responded to it with a sheepish grin.
"I try. Have to do something to contribute around here."
"Xander … " Giles took a step forward and gently rested his hand on Xander’s shoulder – a habit he’d taken up ever since that silly misunderstanding about him possibly being the First. "You contribute in so many ways that I can barely begin to number them. Rest assured that I – if no-one else – values and appreciates your input."
"I bet you do."
Buffy’s voice was cold. A harsh and accusing sound, filled with anger and contempt. Xander heard Giles sigh and saw the pained, irritated look that flickered across his face before he schooled it into quiet patience, ready to turn and face his furious Slayer.
"Is there something you want, Buffy?" he asked, carefully keeping all hint of emotion from his voice.
"Yeah." Her face was so frosty it could have frozen flame. "I want you to take your hands off him. And I want you – " Her step forward was a sudden and determined lunge. "- out of my house!"
The Watcher had no time to react or defend himself. One minute the Slayer was standing there, glaring at him in undisguised fury, and the next she’d grabbed hold of his sweater and was tossing him bodily from the building.
Straight through Xander’s carefully reconstructed window.
"Buffy! What the …?" Xander, who’d barely avoided being struck by flying Watcher, stared at her in total astonishment. "Are you crazy? That’s Giles!" He half turned to go after the man, and she caught hold of him, turning him back.
"No," she said forcefully. "It’s not. And it hasn’t been. For weeks."
The potentials were all awake and staring. Anya’s mouth was hanging open. So was Andrew’s.
"Weeks?" Xander echoed bemusedly, glancing out of the now broken window to where the Englishman was climbing carefully back to his feet. Buffy hadn’t been holding back; he’d flown several yards and looked as if he’d bounced once or twice. "Buffy, what are talking about? He’s Giles. We proved it, we – "
"No," she denied with a quick shake of her head. "All you proved was that he wasn’t the First. Which he isn’t. But he isn’t Giles, either. He is."
Her head jerked towards the stairs; Xander glanced in the relevant direction and his eyes went wide, his own mouth falling open as he took in the sight that awaited him. He could have sworn that Buffy had just thrown her Watcher out of the window – only there he was, as large as life and instantly recognisable, hastening down the steps with a sword in his hand.
Only, for some reason, Xander could see right through him …
"Oh, now that was intelligent," the semi-transparent Watcher was complaining, arriving at Buffy’s side and assessing the damaged window with a disbelieving look. "Is there something wrong with the door?"
"No," she said impatiently, waving at the opening and the figure it framed. "You said get it away from the mirrors. There are no mirrors out in the street – and I figured this was the quickest way. Besides, I didn’t want it to touch anyone else. I didn’t want to touch it. Not for any longer than I had too."
"Probably a wise move," he observed, glancing up as the evicted figure came stalking back across the grass, a look of thunder on its face.
"Buffy," the more solid looking Giles was saying, his voice tight with anger. "I don’t know what you’re up to, but – "
"Good Lord," both Watchers chorused, coming face to face across the broken glass. Xander blinked.
You couldn’t exactly say they were identical; one was looking tired, care worn and washed out from effort and concern, while the other seemed far more alert and animated, despite his only being half there - but they were both undeniably Rupert Giles, from general build right down to the colour of their eyes.
The only obvious difference – apart from the whole translucence thing, that is – was the way they were dressed. One in chalk and charcoal, the other in warm butterscotch and rich indigos.
"What is this?" the wearier looking of the two demanded, staring at the reflection of himself standing inside the house. "Some trick of the First? A demon wearing my image? Buffy … "
"Oh no," she interrupted firmly. "There’s only one demon around here, and I know he isn’t standing beside me, so don’t go giving me any of that crap. Give it back. Give back what you took – everything that you took – and I might consider letting you crawl back where you came from. But don’t count on it. Because I’m pretty pissed right now, and when I get mad, I tend to hit things. Hard. And often."
Dawn had followed the second Giles down the stairs, her arms wrapped round a sleek black and white cat. She moved to stand by Xander, staring out at the man in the garden with an angry, hurt look on her face.
"You bastard," she murmured, fixing him with a steely glare. "You heartless, manipulative bastard. I hope you burn in hell."
"There’s no need for that," Giles’ familiar tones admonished softly. They held a quiet confidence Xander hadn’t heard for weeks. Hadn’t – for that matter – heard since the day Giles had taken Willow with him back to England. The figure at Buffy’s side was trying hard not to smile. "Although, I – I must say, I appreciate the sentiment."
"Don’t listen to it," the Giles outside the window insisted anxiously. "Buffy, please - it’s some kind of trick. A spell perhaps … a deception sent to manipulate and divide us. Girls …" he threw his plea to the potentials gathering in the sitting room. "Listen. That isn’t me. Buffy’s being deceived, she – "
A fist lashed out, striking the speaker hard in the face. He flew backwards and hit the ground a second time, landing with a painful grunt.
"You know," translucent Giles observed worriedly, "you’re taking far too much pleasure in all of this. How long have you been wanting to hit me?"
"Since never," Buffy answered, glaring at her victim with open hatred. "You, I don’t want to hit. Him, I want to pound into a pulp."
"Need any help?" Spike’s voice enquired languidly from the back of the room.
"Stay out of this, Spike," Buffy and Giles chorused – then threw each other a quick grin. That – if nothing else – convinced Xander that Buffy and Dawn were backing the right Watcher, even if he was only half there and could have been a trick of the First, because the First was sneaky and loved playing games with people’s minds. But it was hard to see the Slayer lash out like that at a man who’d been nothing but supportive since he’d turned up on her doorstep several weeks ago. Hadn’t he fought Bringers with determined effort? Hadn’t he exhausted himself flying round the world to rescue Potentials – sometimes putting himself in danger by doing so? What was it that Buffy was so mad about? Why was Dawn so upset?
And where on earth had that cat come from?
"Okay," Buffy was saying with determination. "This shouldn’t take too long. I just need to – "
"No." A half-seen hand caught her shoulder as she moved to step out of the broken window. "No, no, y-you’ve done enough already. I can deal with this."
She turned back towards him, the flash of irritation at his interference softening as she caught the look in his eyes. "You sure? He’s been – feeding - for weeks. And you’re not … exactly here."
"Which is precisely why I need to be the one to face him. He’s already taken all he can from me. You fight him, you could just end up making him stronger. Besides," he added softly, "angry as you are, I don’t think … could you really …? Would you want to live with … with having killed me?"
Killed? Xander’s eyes went even wider. He glanced out into the garden, catching sight of the man they were talking about, and wondering if his whole world really had turned upside down and inside out in the last few minutes. Giles – the Giles in the front garden that was – was clambering back to his feet, picking up part of the broken window frame as he did so. It didn’t look like much of a weapon, but then a hint of light glinted along it, and the watching carpenter realised that the pieces of broken glass clinging to one end turned it into a very nasty make-shift axe.
"If I had to," Buffy was saying, although her look of angry determination had fallen into more anxious lines.
"I know. But you don’t. Not yet at least. And if this doesn’t work, or I … well, " he concluded briskly. "There is – backup – on its way. You could always leave them to deal with it."
"Like that’s gonna happen," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "Slayer here, remember? We get to that, I’m gonna kick his ass from here to the hellmouth and feed his entrails to the First. But we’re not gonna get to that. Are we?"
Translucent Giles was smiling at her – which was so right and so weird that Xander couldn’t quite get his head round it.
"Not if I can help it, no." The sword in the man’s hand – which was as see-through as he was – was lifted to offer mock salute, and then he was stepping up onto the shattered window frame and leaping out onto the grass, where his mirror image was waiting for him.
"What the hell is going on?" Xander demanded, having finally managed to regain his voice.
Buffy threw him a sideways glance. "Short answer? Demon over there snaffled Giles, took his place, left him trapped behind the mirrors. Long answer? Will wait until Giles can tell it." Her eyes were fixed on the wary confrontation taking place on her front lawn, which was also the centre of attention for everyone else in the room. Potentials had crept up to crowd around the broken window. Anya had wriggled in beside Dawn, while Andrew had snagged his camera and was busy looking through the viewfinder at the action, lowering the camera with a frown, staring at the two men on the lawn and then lifting the camera again.
"Curiouser and curiouser," he quoted puzzledly. "I can see them both, but the camera only gets one of them."
"That’s ‘cos it," Dawn said impatiently, jabbing a finger at the more solid of the two protagonists, "stole his reflection. And you know what?" she demanded angrily, glancing around the gathered girls. "It’s been feeding off us. Using us. Taking our joys, our feelings - our hope. I trusted him," she protested. "I thought … I really thought …- "
"It’s okay, Dawnie." Buffy’s words held a warmth and a comfort that Xander had thought he’d never hear again. "Giles is dealing with it."
He was certainly trying too. The two figures were circling, taking wary steps as they assessed each other’s intentions. It was an eerie sight. The more translucent of the two shimmered like a ghost, the sword in his hand glowing softly, like some ethereal light saber, but their stalk, their stance, each considered step, matched with disconcerting precision. They moved like a pair of dancers choreographed so that each was a reflection of the other; the same shift of weight, the same graceful steps, even the same guarded expression on both of their faces.
"This isn’t going to work," charcoal gray Giles said, hefting his makeshift axe and eyeing his opponent with hostility. "You can’t fight me. You’re not even real."
"Oh, I’m real enough. You’re just a facsimile. A copy. A very good copy, I’ll grant you, but a copy nonetheless."
"Really. Well, if that is the case – and I’m not saying it is – this is all going to be a bit pointless, isn’t it? If you and I are mirror images, won’t we just reflect each other’s moves? I’ll strike, and you’ll strike back, with perfect timing. Play off each swing, match each blow ... like a pair of bloody marionettes, tied to the same strings."
"He has a point," Spike said, pushing his way through the potentials to loom up beside Xander like a bird of ill-omen. "Maybe I should go do it."
"You should have noticed there was something wrong with him in the first place," Buffy told him tightly, not bothering to take her eyes off the figures out on the lawn.
"And you didn’t, luv?" The vampire snorted. "You and I know the Watcher’s been ‘off’ ever since he got here. But I just figured that was reaction to the whole ‘hey, the First blew up the council and is busy killing every Watcher and Potential it can get its hands on’ thing. Or my soul, mucking up the old vamp radar somehow. How would I know? If he is a copy, he’s been a damn good one."
"That’s why he wanted you dead," she murmured. "You could have figured out what he was up to …"
"Nah," Spike laughed. "Well, maybe … if I was bothered enough to pay attention. But he was right. About the trigger and stuff. I was dangerous. Still am," he added with a small grin.
Light flashed with determined purpose. The shimmer of the sword had connected with the makeshift axe and the contact had created a momentary flare of brilliance. "You see?" Charcoal Giles was trying to sound confident, but Xander could hear the sudden note of doubt in his voice.
He wasn’t expecting him to be real …
"All I see is a demon wearing my face, and pretending to be me. One that didn’t expect me to turn up, let alone be corporeal when I got here. You might match my skill, but you can’t match my weapons – or my determination. You have been using their trust in me to attack my friends … my family. That is intolerable. And it ends right here."
Another flash of light painted the garden with rainbows. Several of the potentials let out a gasp, and Xander flinched at the force of the blow. The axe twisted round, pushing the sword blade down and then swung up, forcing the sword wielder to step back in a hurry. Xander flinched a second time, thinking of the jagged, broken glass that formed the makeshift weapon’s blade.
"You are nothing. A nothing made of nothing. What did you do? Use Buffy’s anger at me to convince her you were me? Was that it, Buffy?" Charcoal Giles called, sending his opponent’s eyes darting towards the house. "Did he tell you I was the imposter? That he’d never go against your wishes, or deceive you? I did what I had to do, just as I have always done. To protect you. To save this sorry world of ours. And I’m sorry if you didn’t like that but – "
He staggered back with an oof as the sword swept his weapon away and the man behind it followed through with a lithe twist and a determined elbow and shoulder slam. "What the …?" He swept the axe up in hasty defence, recovering himself with an effort and staring at the figure responsible with disconcerted eyes. "Y-you can’t … that’s not a move I know. Where did you …?"
"Fighting my way past a couple of jabberwocks, somewhere near the hellmouth," translucent Giles told him with a twisted grin. "I’m a quick learner when I have to be. And that’s the point, isn’t it? I can learn new moves. You can only reflect what I knew the day you took my place. You didn’t expect me to survive Looking Glass house, but I did - and you are going to pay for putting me there."
"Go Giles," Buffy murmured with approval. Xander felt inclined to agree with her.
The sword swung again, only to be deflected by a matching sweep of the axe.
"Brave words. But words don’t win battles. That takes strength - and yours is already fading. I don’t think you’re strong enough. And even if you are …" Charcoal Giles’ right hand twisted in an arcane gesture, somehow ripping some of the light out of the figure in front of him. "I’ll just take what I need to make the difference."
His victim dropped to his knees with a gasp of pain, the sword tumbling from his hand. Buffy cursed and half moved to leap out of the window, only to be held back by Spike.
"Don’t be stupid, luv. If he’s got a way of stealing the life outta things, the last thing you want is to be putting yourself within his reach. Hand him the Slayer’s strength on a plate? I don’t think so."
She jerked free of his touch, but made no further move to leap to the rescue. Outside on the lawn the tan clad Watcher had fallen forward, supporting himself with his hands as he fought to regain both his breath and his balance. The axe was lifting with an air of finality. The man wielding it had a pitying, almost sorrowed look on his face.
"It didn’t have to be like this," he was saying softly. "But sometimes you find yourself forced into doing what has to be done."
"Ari," translucent Giles cried, desperately groping across the grass for his abandoned weapon, "I could really do with a little help here!"
The black and white cat, which had been sitting comfortably in Dawn’s arms until now, immediately squirmed out of the girl’s grip and leapt out through the window like a miniature missile. Dawn gave a yelp of surprise – which was nothing compared to the cry of pain that ripped across the lawn as the creature arrived at its destination. The cat had raced across the grass, and run straight up charcoal Giles’ leg and onto his back, digging its claws in as it went. The axe wavered, then was dropped completely as teeth sank deep into its wielder’s neck and claws raked their way across his throat and face. It was a vicious, savage attack and its victim howled with agony, reaching his now empty hands to seize the offending animal and rip it bodily from his skin. A black and white furred form was flung away with fury – just as the groping, half seen figure on the lawn closed his fingers around his discarded sword and lunged upwards with an equally furious yell.
A shaft of light slid straight through charcoal Giles’ chest, piercing his heart to emerge, glinting and shimmering, between his shoulder blades.
For a long moment, nothing happened. The two men were held in a breathless tableaux, one on his knees, the other pinned, held in place by that impossible blade. Then, almost unbelievably, what had been solid flesh began to crack apart, little hairline fractures running out from the point of impact like winter frost crackling its way across a window.
"Shit," Spike exclaimed in sudden realisation. "Get down. Everybody get down!"
He dragged Buffy towards the floor, reaching out to pull Dawn after her. Anya flung herself sideways, seeking the shelter of the wall, while Xander turned and dived away, pushing several of the Potentials down with him. Barely a second later the deafening sound of shattering glass echoed across the lawn and round the room. Fragments of something flew overhead and buried themselves into the far wall.
After which the silence of the night rolled back, as if nothing had happened at all.
"Giles," Buffy gulped, struggling out from under Spike’s arm and leaping through the window. Both Xander and the vampire followed her, the younger man’s heart in his mouth. He half expected to see a translucent corpse lying on the lawn, one ripped to shreds by the demon’s final death knell.
He was extremely relieved when he didn’t.
What he did see was a single, solid looking Giles. A tan and denim clad Giles, kneeling in the grass with a very dazed look on his face and a still practically transparent sword lying under his hand. There were what looked like cuts, lots of little ones, painted across his skin, although they seemed to be healing up and vanishing away almost as soon as Xander had registered them.
"Giles?" Buffy’s pace had slowed; she paused before she reached him, considering him with wary, uncertain eyes. "Are you …?"
"Me?" he completed, turning his head to blink at her bemusedly. "Not entirely sure. I’ll – I’ll let you know in a … good Lord." His eyes went wide. "So many … and – and Spike?" The confusion on his face was almost comical. Almost. Xander had no idea what was causing it.
"The one and only," the vampire drawled, reaching down a hand to help the Watcher back to his feet. "Nice bit of blade work, Rupe. Nice blade too. You didn’t pick that one up in Woolworth’s."
"No," Giles confirmed, still looking a little befuddled. "N-no. It was the Savoy, actually … Bloody hell," he swore, his eyes snapping back into focus and his attention fixing on Spike with a vengeance. "A soul?" he questioned. "You got yourself a soul?"
"Well – yeah," the vampire said, then frowned. "How do you know that?"
"Memories." The Watcher ran a weary hand through his hair. "I seem to have – got mine back, and his with them. Little … confusing at the moment."
"I bet." Spike’s eyes narrowed. "All his memories? Including what he did today? And – why?"
Giles frowned, thinking about it. "Oh yes," he said. He glanced towards Buffy, who was still looking at him with hesitant concern, and he shook his head, his lips twisting in a wry smile. "I don’t know," he declared. "All of that going on, and you still didn’t get it wasn’t me?" He shook his head a second time, a hint of amused disbelief dancing in his eyes. "Should have been bloody obvious."
"It should?" Buffy’s response was wide eyed and held a hint of hurt. She hadn’t known. None of them had – and Xander suspected he was going to be feeling pretty guilty about that for some time to come. Now that Giles – the real Giles – was standing in front of him, it was, as he said, bloody obvious. The demon that had taken his place had been nothing but a pale reflection of the real thing.
"Of course it should." Giles wasn’t angry with her. If anything, he was trying hard not to laugh. "Buffy – think about it. If I wanted Spike dead, do you really think I’d let anyone else kill him?"
There was a beat of general startlement, and then Buffy smiled. A slow, warm smile that began with her lips but settled in her eyes. "No," she said softly, considering him with affection. "No, I guess you wouldn’t."
Spike laughed. "Watcher’s back on the clock," he declared with relish. "’Bout bloody time, too. I guess … getting back from wherever he sent you wasn’t easy."
"No." Giles dipped down to retrieve his sword. The barely visible blade was shimmering softly, almost as if it were made of glass. "Not easy at all. If it hadn’t been for Ari … Ari!" He glanced around the lawn with sudden concern, only to relax again as the black and white cat strolled nonchalantly out of the bushes. "Ah - yes. There you are. A-are you all right?"
"He’s hardly going to answer you back, Giles," Xander noted with a roll of his eyes. The Watcher always had been a little eccentric, and circumstances could probably excuse him a lot of things right there and then … but showing signs of turning into Dr Doolittle was probably taking things a little too far. Giles gave him an odd look. Buffy smothered an unexpected snort of laughter.
"You never know," she grinned, offering her arms to the animal and catching it as it jumped up into her embrace. "Ari’s a very clever cat, isn’t he, Giles?"
"Remarkably so," her Watcher confirmed, reaching to fondle the animal’s ears. "Thank you. Thank you both."
Buffy smiled. "You’re welcome. Very welcome, actually. As in – hey, all that crappy depresso ‘no hope,’ ‘no chance,’ stuff has turned out to be this demon thing feeding off my friends and my family, and, hey look, now the demon’s toast … or splinters, or something, and – hey, bonus! I got my Watcher back. In one piece, I should add. One large as life and him actually living it … which is of the good … and am I babbling?"
"Beautifully," Giles assured her, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her back towards the house. "We do still have to deal with the First, you know."
"Yeah, I know. But we will. I know we will. It’s what we do."
Amen to that, Xander thought, stuffing his hands in his pockets and following them. True, he’d have to fix the window yet again, but that was a small price to pay for the almost giddy way he was feeling. It was as if someone had lifted an unseen weight from his shoulders and opened a floodgate somewhere, dousing him in life; all that listless, hopelessness was just washing away, leaving him bright and alert and a little breathless.
Maybe just a little afraid too - but that was good. That he could feel.
Willow is going to be so mad she missed all of this …
"So what’s the plan, then?" Spike was asking, sauntering along beside the Slayer and eyeing the cat in her arms as if it were a potential supper – or a stake in a poker game.
Buffy moved Ari to her other shoulder, giving the vampire a warning glare. The cat yawned unconcernedly. "I’m working on it."
"Good," Giles said. "And while you get on with that, I am going to make myself a hot pot of tea and find Ari that tin of tuna I promised him …"