“So when exactly did you study at Oxford, anyway?’”
“Exactly? Well, I first enrolled as an undergraduate in … um … 1760. Dipped in and out for while, then … well,” Giles half smiled, the expression twisted with faint embarrassment. “You know.”
Buffy nodded. She did know. Well, she’d glimpsed some of it, at least. She hadn’t really got her head around all the vagaries of stolen time machines, historical thrill seeking and illicit magic that seemed to have been involved. He and Ethan appeared to have lived through the sixties and seventies several times, just for the hell of it. She still wasn’t entirely clear about when the whole Eghyon business had gone so badly wrong, just that it had, and that he’d had to do that … regeneration thingy that Time Lords did when they were hurt too badly to heal. The thought of it still gave her the shivers.
“I went back, eventually. First graduated in 1780, then again in 1891, and the last time was 1985."
“You have three degrees?”
“From Oxford, yes. I also hold a graduate diploma from Harvard, and a masters from the Pavlov Institute in Moscow – although you might not want to count that, as I won’t complete that qualification until 2206. I have seven degree equivalents from six other planets, and a full Rassilonic from the Temporal Academy on Gallifrey.”
“Oh,’ Buffy said, a little startled by the information. ‘You really are an Academic, aren’t you.”
The Watcher gave her an odd look.
“Buffy - I’m nearly a thousand years old. I’ve spent most of that seeking out and training your predecessors. Those slayers depended – as you depend – on my having the skills and the knowledge to help them. Of course I study. What else am I going to do in my spare time?”