Buffy’s palms felt sweaty. She paused to scrub them down the line of her skirt, reached to push open the door – and missed, turning away with a knot clenching itself inside her stomach. She didn’t want to do this. Doing this meant – well, she didn’t know what it meant, and that was half of the trouble. She’d been pitching herself up to this all day, determinedly convincing herself that she had to find out, had to know – and just as soundly cursing herself for listening to Angel in the first place.
Everything had been so simple. She was the Slayer, Giles was her Watcher, and together they’d faced the forces of darkness, dealing with all those things that went bump in the night. All those things that weren’t human, that threatened humanity; the vampires, the demons, the imps, the hags, and the monsters that lurked under the bed …
Black and white, good and evil, Slayer, slayee – simple, certain concepts that let her go to sleep at night and sleep in, in the morning. Except that her boyfriend was a vampire cursed with a soul, her best friend was dating a werewolf, and now, it seemed her Watcher wasn’t what he seemed either.
Wasn’t – as far as she could determine – even remotely human.
And that was scary for all sorts of reasons, most of which she couldn’t even quantify.
You can do this, she told herself severely, taking another deep breath – and strode into the library before she could change her mind.
The room appeared to be empty, which was rather what she’d been hoping. Willow and Xander were both in the chem class she’d decided to skip, so she knew they wouldn’t be there – but there’d always been a chance that some other students might have invaded the Scoobies’ sanctuary. Despite Giles’ claim that he’d taken the post of librarian in order to avoid the entire student body, there were times that the school library was actually used as a library. Not often though, and clearly not today. Today the place held a reverent, sacred silence; the sort of silence that belonged in a cathedral.
Or a funeral home.
Buffy paused for a moment on the threshold, feeling like an intruder in that quiet, contemplative atmosphere. The place was weighted with knowledge, mellow with it, as thick and as heavy as the golden lines of sunshine that oozed through the stacks and painted the polished floor.
Maybe I was mistaken …
Demons didn’t live in such hallowed places. Demons didn’t handle crosses and relics of Saints, didn’t fill bottles with holy water by pouring it out of a jug. Nor did they guide and train Slayers. That’s what Watchers did.
“Buffy? I didn’t expect to see you until later. Is there something wrong?”
Giles’ voice preceded the man himself, emerging from the depths of his office as if this were any other day. Buffy jumped at the sound of it, feeling skittish and nervous – and suddenly on edge, realizing that she was confronting someone – some thing – that had been deceiving her for a long, long time.
“No,” she reacted hastily, then realized how stupid that sounded. “Yes. That is – “she took a deep breath. “Giles, can I talk to you?”
He gave her a bemused look. “Of course you can.” He put down the book he’d been carrying and gave her his full attention. “Do you want to sit down? Can I offer you tea?"
Normal, kindly, Gilesy things: nothing had changed and everything had changed, all in the space of a single heartbeat.
One too many.
“No. And – no. I-I’m okay. I just …” God, how did she do this? She’d rehearsed all sorts of approachs, testing and discarding each one as they became lamer and lamer. Say Giles, how long have you been a demon? was probably the least ridiculous of the bunch, but she didn’t want to say that. Didn’t want to ask.
Because she was teetering on the edge of an abyss here – and his answer was likely to pitch her over it.
“Just take your time,” he advised considerately, leaning back against the library counter and giving her one of those patient, encouraging smiles of his. “I’m – um – fairly certain the books won’t be offended if I don’t get round to re-shelving them today.”
Don’t, she wanted to protest. Don’t be normal, don’t be all Watchery and attentive. Don’t be Giles …
Except that that’s exactly who she wanted him to be.
“I know,” she blurted out, the words tight and her look challenging. He frowned at her, looking a little perplexed.
“Know what?”
“About – “ She waved her hand at him. “You. The having two hearts thing. I heard them. Last night,”she added, adding a little accusation to the statement. How long have you been lying to me?
He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Ah,” he said at last. “That.”
“Yes. That,” she retorted angrily. “Angel said – well, I didn’t believe him. How could I believe him? But – last night … Two heartbeats, Giles. I heard it. Watchers have two heartbeats. You’re not human. You can’t be.”
He went on looking at her thoughtfully. Infuriatingly calm about the whole business. “That would seem to be the logical conclusion,” he said, then – after a considered beat – added: “Did I ever say I was?”
She opened her mouth to snap back an angry response, then closed it again with a snap. That hadn’t been the reaction she’d been expecting. She’d expected angry denial. Defensive explanation. Embarrassed admittance. Not … not this quiet affirmation, offered with mild amusement. Had she just assumed ...?
He smiled at her sudden confusion; an affectionate smile, backed with a little wry resignation. “I’m your Watcher, Buffy. You’ve never questioned that. Perhaps you should have done.”
Angel said … Her mind replayed what Angel had said. That Watchers had two heartbeats. That that was how he’d known …
“Do all Watchers come with two hearts?” she asked, staring at him with the sudden realization that – really – she knew nothing about him. Nothing at all.
“No,” his answer was matter of fact. “But some of us do.” He lifted himself away from the counter and paced deeper into the library. Buffy took a couple of steps after him, then stopped, feeling desperately torn. She wanted to trust him, but she couldn’t be sure she could. Maybe he hadn’t exactly lied – but he hadn’t been all that forthcoming with the truth either. Whatever the truth was, exactly.
“So … what are you? Are you … a demon?”
He turned back to give her a startled look. Then, much to her surprise, he laughed. “No,” he chuckled. “No, I-I’m not a demon. I’m a - “ He broke off, as if suddenly realizing what he was about to say. “No. No, I … I’ve already told you more than I should. Slayers are expected to accept their Watchers without question.”
“Yeah, right.” The anger bubbled up with unexpected force. “Like that’s gonna happen. Giles, get real here. You have two hearts. I’m supposed to just ignore that? You train me to fight the inhuman things we face and … and you’re not even human yourself! Explain that to me. Tell me why you have to lie and …hide and … Damnit! The vampires know. Angel knew. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Angel … and the other vampires, may know something,” he said quietly. “But they don’t know the truth. The truth is … complicated.”
“Complicated? I’m the Slayer. My life is complicated. You may be my Watcher, but … you’re not human. I need to know … what you are.”
He looked across at her with wary sympathy. His eyes had a haunted look to them. “Does it matter?” he asked, and it was a quiet plea, a request that she let it go, before she forced him to something he’d regret. But she couldn’t step back from something like this. His words had opened a yawning gulf between them; the edge of the precipice was crumbling, and she needed to know if he was going to push her in – or pull her back.
“It matters. I want to trust you, Giles but … I can’t. I just can’t. Not unless you can trust me.”
He stepped back from her anger, reaching to run a distracted hand through his hair. “Buffy,” he said. “Please … You’re upset and I understand that. But you have to trust me on this. You know I’d do anything for you. I … I gave my life for you once, and I swear … I’d do it again if it was needed. But – this … “ She went on glaring, demanding an answer, and he sighed, tugging off his glasses and staring at them as if they held all the answers he needed. After a moment he lifted his empty hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking down, then up again to meet her eyes. “All right. All right.” He sighed a second time. “If you must.”
There was a momentary pause while he considered what he was going to say.
“I am …what you would probably term an alien. My home isn’t in England. It’s on a planet called Gallifrey. Which is a very long way from here. My … people have mastered the mysteries of time. Become its lords and its guardians. We … protect this dimension; maintain its stability, preserve the integrity of the timestreams, try to prevent wholesale meddling or contamination – and watch over the weaknesses in the timeframe continuum. Earth is a nexus – a place where dimensional integrity is … questionable at best. We drove the demons – the ancients – from this world, a long time ago. And we have been here ever since.” He quirked a small smile. “Keeping an eye on things.”
Buffy stared at him. He sounded perfectly serious.
And completely insane.
“You’re … ET? An alien? Giles …”
“Do you remember what I told you, the first time we met?” His tone was still patient, but it held a note of unexpected weariness. “How the Watcher seeks out the Slayer each time she is reborn into the world? Down through the centuries. A seemingly endless line of young women. Chosen. One after the other. And the Watcher, always drawn to her, Throughout time.”
A cold shiver ran down Buffy’s spine. Had he told her that? She couldn’t remember him doing so … but she could remember Merrick, remember his soft voice, speaking to her of her duty – and his. Giles wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at something and nothing, his eyes fixed on a distant point, somewhere beyond the bookshelves,
And suddenly, what he was trying to say made terrifying sense.
“One Watcher?” she asked a little shakily.
She saw his lips quirk again, twisting with a wry note of humor. “One Watcher. But - thirteen of my people assigned to the work. And a number of human agents that serve the Council in a local capacity. We’ve acquired a fairly … loyal following over the years. Not every potential Watched becomes chosen. And sometimes …” Now he turned back to her, looking at her with an odd mixture of pride and regret. “Sometimes the Chosen One is missed. Until she’s called.”
Buffy quailed a little under that look. It made her feel as if he could see through her. All the way down to her soul. “Like me,” she whispered. There was a growing knot of panic in her stomach and her hands clenched as she tried to comprehend what he was telling her.
“Like you,” he echoed softly.
“It was ... Merrick that found me,” she said. Thoughts of her first Watcher swirled through her head. Had he had two hearts after all? Had he lived for centuries, just to die in her arms, that day? Had he been more than just a Watcher? Had he been the Watcher? How could that be possible?
And what did that make Giles, who was standing there, watching her with such anxious empathy?
“And he … he died, Giles. I was there.”
“I know.”
Suddenly Buffy didn’t want to know any more; the precipice was tumbling into the depths and taking her with it.
“This is crazy,” she declared, taking a step backwards, feeling a sudden need for retreat. “You’re saying – you and others have … the same people? For hundreds of years? That isn’t how it works. The diaries …”
“Chart the history of the Slayer through the centuries.” Giles’ interrupted softly. “My memory’s good, Buffy, but even I have to keep records. Things tend to – become buried. After a century or two.”
A century or two?
Buffy swallowed. Hard. “How … old are you?”
“Linearly?” The Watcher sat back against the edge of the library table. “Nine hundred and eighty one. In Earth years. But I was … um … born only a century ago.” His expression held quiet apology. “I said it was complicated.”
“Uhuh.” She’d missed the complication. She was still getting her head around nine hundred and eighty one …
“Buffy,” he said. “You asked, and I told you. Told you more than … I ‘ve told anyone in a very long time. You deserve to know the truth. You carry a great responsibility, and you do it … exceptionally well.”
“I guess you’d know.” She couldn’t keep all of the accusation from her voice. He had lied to her. Not directly, but by omission. “All those years. All those Slayers …” She had to turn away. She didn’t know how she was supposed to react to this. “And you, not looking a day over …” She broke off with a gulp. This was ridiculous. This would have been easier to deal with if he had been a demon.
“ … forty?” he suggested, half in jest, and half with a hint of hope. “I’ve looked worse. You never know quite what you’re going to get when you regenerate but … I thought I didn’t do too badly this time round. I’d … um … worn the old face a long time. Rather got used to it. This one’s growing on me.”
There was an odd feeling in her stomach, one that couldn’t decide if it were the weight of disillusionment or a flutter of fear. There was something he hadn’t told her yet, something she was beginning to suspect, but couldn’t quite put her finger on. What did he mean, regenerate?
“How do I know that this is the truth?” she asked tightly, not trusting herself to turn around. “How do I know that you aren’t just another demon, and this … this is just another lie?”
“You don’t.” His answer was gentle. “Not unless you’re willing to listen to your heart. You know I’m on your side, Buffy. You trust Angel. Surely you can trust me?”
“I know Angel,” she retorted, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. She couldn’t tell if she were angry at him, afraid, or something else entirely. She just knew the emotion was strong. Too strong. “I thought I knew you. But I don’t. I don’t know you at all. What – or who you are.”
She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. She could feel him watching her instead. The weight of his attention pushed at her, stirred her to act, to move, to turn and strike … or simply run away.
“Giles?” she pleaded.
She heard him stand up. Heard the deep, weary sigh he pulled into his lungs. Heard, underneath it all, the soft, murmuring thump of three heartbeats. Two of his, and her own, pounding inside her chest.
“When the music stops,” he offered quietly, “the rest is …”
Silence …
Buffy’s heart stopped. Just for a second. Breath, heart, soul, slammed into a single skipped beat of terror and joy and total incredulity.
“Merrick?” she murmured. Then, more strongly: “Merrick?”
She remembered that moment as if it had been yesterday. He’d lain dying in her arms and spoken those words. His last words, filled with effort. Words she’d never told anyone, and which she doubted Pike would She’d seen the light fade from his eyes, and watched the thick dark blood bubble up around the blade in his heart.
One of his hearts.
Buffy turned. Giles was watching her; he was considering her with apologetic contrition, his eyes echoing a weight of weary pain. He was right. All she had to do was listen to her heart – and her heart said this was a look she could neither resist nor deny. This man was old. He’d trained Slayers for centuries. Had watched them die, time after time.
And he’d chosen to die for her, because he’d thought she was exceptional …
“You bastard,” she declared, breaking into an annoyed but impossibly broad grin. “I mourned you. I wept buckets. Tubs full. You broke my heart and I kicked vampire butt to deal with the pain, and you … you …”
She’d taken a few steps forward as she spoke, and she saw him flinch back – just a little – as if he feared she might hit him. She wasn’t going to. She’d already done that – on the day he’d, once again, offered himself in sacrifice for her. She closed the gap and hugged him instead. A huge enveloping, bury her face in his chest, hug.
One in which she squeezed his ribs with deliberated strength, just to remind him who was the Slayer on the team.
He gulped in a reactive breath, then relaxed a little and hugged her back. Tentatively at first, then more firmly and with a lot more feeling. He was trembling almost as much as she was, both his hearts racing inside his chest.
“That is so weird,” she said, lifting her head to look up at him with possessive triumph. “You didn’t leave me.”
“No.”
“And you’re my Watcher, right?”
“Always.”
Buffy grinned at him. “Cool.” She let go and bounced back, perching herself on the edge of the table that he’d abandoned. “ET huh? Do you have a spaceship?”
“Yes.”
“Can I – “
“No.” His interruption was firm. Her face fell.
“Not even if – “
“No,” he repeated. He slowly and deliberately replaced his glasses, staring at her through them with quiet challenge. “I’ve already told you far more than I ever should. This is just between us, Buffy. You understand?”
She nodded, hearing the note of determination in his voice. “I suppose,” she offered hesitantly, “it might be … dangerous for you. If people knew.”
He gave her a startled look. “Good lord,” he chuckled. “That’s the least of my worries. Bless you, Buffy. It’s just that – you ever tell Xander and … I-I will never hear the end of it.”