Bad Eurotrip, Chapter 1
Jun. 3rd, 2004 01:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookOur Eurotrip sequel to "Bad Trip" (read that story here) finally begins in earnest. First stop: Old Blighty. Previous intro chapter here.
ACT ONE: A BOOK BY ITS COVER
Willow and Kennedy slept, but Xander remained awake all the way to England.
By the time they began the main leg of the flight, after a two-hour layover at Newark International, it was already dark. Xander flipped distractedly through a magazine, tried to interest himself in the recycled multiplex feature playing on the postage-stamp-sized screen mounted in the bulkhead wall, and then did his best to get some sleep. But he wasn't used to plane travel--the too-small seat, the low steady roar of the engines, the unnerving sense of confinement. And so in the end he just stared out the window, out into the dark, waiting to see the tiny line of light along the great curve of the earth that would announce the arrival of the dawn.
Dawn, Xander thought. It had been harder than he'd expected to bid farewell to the young Slayers they'd left behind in Buffalo, and seeing their eagerness to rush on to their next great adventure had made him feel old and tired by comparison. He didn't want to think about what lay ahead now; chasing on after Buffy Summers, trying to understand what it was that now inhabited her body, the fighting and the awkward conversations and all the things that could go terribly wrong.
Still, he thought, it'll be good to see Dawn again.
...........
But Dawn wasn't there at the airport. Willow and Kennedy and Xander waited for their bags and then made their way through customs, navigating the terminal in a groggy, jet lag-induced stupor. As they emerged into the arrivals hall, the travelers were braced for high-pitched squeals, fierce hugs and tears and laughter, sharp seventeen-year-old elbows digging into their ribs before they'd even had to chance to put down their bags.
Instead, there was Giles. As they rounded the corner that opened onto the arrivals area, they saw him standing there in a long trenchcoat, consulting a pocket watch. His expression was tense and serious, but when he looked up and saw them, his face brightened a little and he allowed himself the luxury of a faint half-smile.
"Giles!" Willow trotted forward, lurching slightly as her suitcase swung from side to side. "Hey, where's Dawnie? Is everything okay?"
Giles raised a cautionary finger to his lips, motioning her to silence. Then he turned and called to a pair of young women who were loitering nearby. "Greta, Dominique... Would you help our guests with their bags, please?"
The two women sauntered over to join them. One was blonde, the other brunette, both sleek as models and impeccably dressed. And when they reached in and plucked the bags from the travelers' hands, they did so with effortless ease. Xander watched the blonde woman heft Kennedy's hefty suitcase as if it were an empty cardboard box, and his eye widened in sudden alarm.
"Giles." Xander dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. "These girls are Slayers, aren't they? Is this--"
The dark-haired woman stepped up beside Xander, extending her free arm for his inspection. "Is okay, see? I am a good girl," she said in cheerily accented English, and rotated her forearm, showing him the inscription that snaked its way around her wrist. "'This is the hand that heals,' no?"
Willow and Kennedy turned to look at the other woman, who simply shrugged. "I am also good girl. But my writing is not for public. Maybe," she added coyly, "I show you when we know each other a little better."
Willow began to say something, but Giles cut her off with a warning gesture. "Be careful. We don't know who could be listening."
They glanced around, taking in the lanky girl with the backpack who stood nearby studying the ground transportation signs, the young woman hovering by the change bureau counting and recounting her euros, the dimpled ten-year-old who clung to her mother's hand and gulped from a bottle of soda as she stared blankly back at them... Willow swallowed nervously, and quietly fell in behind Giles as he began striding towards the elevators that led to the car park.
They weren't alone in the elevator, and they proceeded in silence until they reached the car park. By then, Kennedy could no longer contain herself. "So," she asked, "what's the story, Giles? Where are we going?"
Giles dug through the pockets of his trenchcoat and extracted a set of keys. "I'll explain everything when we get there," he replied. "But I think it's safer if we wait for now."
He inserted one of the keys into the door of a boxy Land Rover, and the vehicle's locks popped open. "We'll be on the road for about two hours. I suggest you try and get some rest on the way."
As Xander hobbled towards the car, still favoring his injured leg, Giles leaned over and opened the back door for him. It was a nice gesture, but Xander couldn't help himself; before he eased into the seat, he paused and gave Giles a soft punch in the shoulder.
"Ow," Giles exclaimed. "What on Earth was that for?"
"Just checking." Xander smiled innocently as he folded himself into the back seat of the Land Rover. "Looks like you're still the real Giles. Can't be too careful, huh?"
Giles heaved an exasperated sigh, then closed the door and moved around to the driver's seat. Willow and Kennedy slid into the back seat from the other side, and the two Slayers who had accompanied Giles--Greta and Dominique, he'd called them--finished stowing the luggage and then piled into the front.
The dark-haired Slayer wriggled in her seat and turned around to look into the back. "You are sitting comfortably?" she asked. "Please forgive the, comment dit-on... the mystery. Mister Giles, he is very careful, no? Like a secret agent."
Her companion laughed. "Ja, a secret agent. He is our James Bond!"
"That's enough, Greta." Giles was trying to be stern, but he couldn't help smiling. "Let our guests get some rest." He pulled out of the car park and began navigating the Land Rover towards the main road.
As the car rolled on, Xander quickly found himself getting drowsy. Maybe it was the familiar sensations of car travel, or the reduced sense of anticipation, or perhaps it was just jet lag, but the journey passed in a kind of haze. He was intermittently aware of Willow and Kennedy talking quietly in the seat beside him, of peering out the window at a cluster of sheep or a fenced-off Ministry of Defence installation or an interminable parade of hedgerows, and then he'd slip back into fitful sleep for a few more minutes.
And in that fashion, neither fully asleep nor all the way awake, Xander passed the time until they arrived in Westbury.
...........
Still half-dozing, Xander was jolted awake by the sound of a slamming car door.
He lifted his head, blinking into an intense wash of midday sunlight, and found himself alone in the Land Rover. Through the windows, he could see the others--Willow, Kennedy, Giles and his Slayer escorts--standing just outside the car, talking and stretching their limbs.
Wiping drool from his mouth with one hand, Xander fumbled for the door latch with the other, and somehow managed to unfold his creaky self from the back seat and stumble out.
"Well, hello there, sleepyhead!" Willow called to him from the other side of the vehicle, where she stood shaking the stiffness out of her arms. "You were looking so comfortable there, we were kinda thinking we should just leave you in the car."
"I'm alright," Xander mumbled. "I'm awake. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, that's me." He stood there for a moment, one hand on the car for stability's sake, and took in his surroundings.
It seemed they'd pulled in behind a house of some kind, bringing the car to a stop at the end of a rutted dirt track that led into a large garden--or a small meadow, maybe. Xander could hear a soft rush of traffic from somewhere nearby, but his immediate field of vision showed only rolling hills, trees, hedgerows, a gentle pastoral landscape which rippled off into the distance. Here and there the green fields were broken by a fence, a house, or a procession of telephone poles.
He turned to get a better look at the house. It was a cream-colored building two stories high, capped by a cheery red roof and a picturesque weathervane, with green fingers of ivy reaching up the outside walls. A proper little English cottage, Xander thought. How charming. Sparrows broke into song as he stood there, adding to the whole tea-set effect of the place.
And then the clouds rolled in, and the sunlight abruptly vanished. Suddenly the green fields were just a monotonous gray expanse, the ivy-covered house merely a drab, functional little bungalow.
"Welcome to England," Giles sighed. "We'd better get inside before it starts raining again. Greta, Dominique, would you mind bringing in the baggage?"
The two Slayers gathered up the cargo, which included a couple of Giles's own suitcases in addition to the international travelers' luggage, and the group turned to enter the house. Then the back door suddenly slammed open, and a lanky figure came racing out on a straight course for Xander.
"Xander!" Dawn yelled, barreling straight into him with a joyous smile, brown hair flying. Her bear hug drove the breath from his lungs in a sudden woof.
"Whoa there, pardner," Xander squeaked, trying not to wince too obviously as she squeezed his healing arm. "Some of us are still recovering from mortal injuries here."
"Oh! Geez, I'm sorry, Xander. Kinda forgot." Dawn stepped back, brushing the hair from her face with an embarrassed grin. She fidgeted for a moment, shyly grinning. "Just... y'know. Glad you're alright."
"You too, Dawnie," Willow said. She'd been hanging back waiting for her own turn, and when she spoke up Dawn reluctantly disentangled herself from Xander and turned to greet the other newcomers.
"Hey, Willow." Dawn gave her a slightly less fierce hug, looking over Willow's shoulder to add a polite "Hi, Kennedy" while she was at it. Kennedy smiled and waved back, then moved over to wait on the doorstep next to Giles, while Greta and Dominique continued on inside with the group's luggage.
"So how you been, kiddo?" Xander's tone was lighthearted, but Dawn could see the concern in his eyes. She made a tense rolling movement with her shoulders, and suddenly her shy smile was gone.
"Okay, I guess," Dawn said vaguely. "The witches have been pretty cool. Lots of books to read, all the cupcakes I can eat. But they only get, like, two and a half TV channels." She glanced over at Willow. "So I guess this would be where you came for your magic rehab, huh?"
"Kind of," Willow admitted. "More like driving school, though. Except instead of speeding tickets and moving violations, it would be 'going crazy and trying to destroy the world'..."
"Hey," Xander interjected. "Sorry to hold up the class, but... this would be the famous witch school, then?" He gestured at the ivy-covered wall.
"That's correct," Giles answered from his position by the door. "The house belongs to Miss Harkness, and it serves as a meeting place for the Westbury coven. For our purposes, we can consider this safe territory. A place," he added significantly, "where we may at last speak freely."
Xander eyed the building dubiously. "Doesn't look like much," he frowned. "I was expecting something a little more Hogwarts."
"Oh, right," Dawn grinned. "Because all those years in Sunnydale taught us you can always go by appearances." She gave her hair a casual flip, and extended her arm for Xander to take. "So, big guy, you gonna walk me in or what?"
"Yes, let's," Giles agreed. "I'm sure we'll have many future opportunities to stand on the porch discussing the architecture." He vanished through the door with a dramatic flap of his trenchcoat, Dawn and Xander following close behind. But as Willow and Kennedy crossed the threshold into the darkened hallway, Willow took an uneasy breath and halted.
"You okay, babe?" Kennedy asked, giving her lover's hand a reassuring squeeze.
Willow nodded. "I'm good. I'm great. But I'm... remembering coming here the first time, and hoo boy, that wasn't so great. Thought I'd put all that behind me." She blew out a nervous puff of air, and smiled bravely, bringing one hand up to cup Kennedy's cheek. "It's okay. I really do like it here. It's just... y'know. Issues. Sometimes thinking about this stuff makes me not so much with the comfortable."
Kennedy leaned into the touch with a sly smile. "Well, once we're settled in, I'll have to see what I can do to make you more... comfortable."
Willow giggled with wicked amusement. Yes, having Kennedy along this time might definitely help. Her heart suddenly felt lighter. She could do this. Things would be better this time.
Then a voice, quiet but commanding, sounded from the hallway ahead of them. "Good afternoon, Miss Rosenberg. We're pleased to see you again."
Willow gulped. "Good, uh, afternoon, Miss Harkness." She pulled her hand back from Kennedy's cheek, turning the motion into an awkward gesture of introduction. "This is, uh, I'd like you to meet her. Kennedy, I mean. And, uh, Kennedy, this is Miss Harkness."
"Pleased to meet you," Kennedy said. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she began to make out the woman's form. Miss Harkness was clearly an old woman--at least seventy, she guessed--but well preserved, with a handsome face and shrewd, piercing eyes. Though she was leaning on a cane, her posture was otherwise flawlessly straight. Like a queen, Kennedy thought. What they call regal bearing.
"And likewise," Miss Harkness replied. She gestured down the hallway with her free hand, toward a side door that spilled warm light into the hall. "I'm sure you're all tired from your flight, but I think we should have a little chat before we show you to your rooms. Would you mind joining us in the study?"
They assured her that would be just fine, no problem at all, and they followed her through the doorway into the firelit room. Here they found Giles and Dawn perched on an upholstered couch, Giles's Slayer escorts leaning against the bookshelf-covered wall behind them, while Xander sat slumped in an armchair struggling to keep his eye open. Two more people were seated on the other side of the room, one a timid-looking young woman clutching a notebook, and the other an elegant middle-aged woman dressed in black and wearing expensive-looking dark glasses.
Motioning Willow and Kennedy to a vacant couch, Miss Harkness walked stiffly across the study and carefully lowered herself into an ornate wooden chair next to the fireplace. Leaning her cane against the chair, she folded her hands in her lap and let out a long, thoughtful breath.
"Well," she said at last. "Perhaps Mr. Giles would like to begin?"
Giles coughed discreetly and rose to his feet. "I promised you explanations. This isn't the time for in-depth discussions," and he raised a hand to ward off Willow's and Kennedy's stirrings of protest, "because I want you all properly rested before we convene this evening. But let me give you the basics. The essentials, as it were."
"This isn't going to involve flash cards, is it?" Xander groaned.
"We're here," Giles continued, "to devise a strategy. A strategy for dealing with the entity known as The First... and a strategy for dealing with Buffy Summers. Which at this point may well amount to the same thing."
"No," Dawn interrupted. "They're not the--"
"And that," Giles sighed, "is something we'll discuss in more detail this evening. But for now, let me make some introductions." He nodded towards Miss Harkness. "Monica Harkness, our gracious host and the mistress of the Westbury coven. Which is," and he motioned towards the young woman with the notebook, "also represented here by Miss Carter."
"Just plain Milly is fine," the young woman blushed. "Nice to meet you all."
"We also have a representative here from a group in Devon. Which some of you," Giles continued, with a glance in Willow's direction, "may know by reputation." He turned towards the woman in the dark glasses, and his expression brightened. "My good friend Miss Fleet. It's good to see you again, Sharon."
"And it's nice to hear you again, Rupert." The black-clad woman raised her head and smiled back at him. "Although I'm afraid that should now be Mrs. Foster."
"Oh?" Giles seemed taken aback for a second. "Well. My congratulations to Mr. Foster, then. He's a very lucky man."
"I'll be sure to tell him that," the woman replied.
"And I," Giles concluded, "am here as a representative of my own organization. That is to say, the Council of Watchers."
The travelers, who had been lulled halfway to sleep by the warmth of the fireplace and the rounds of introductions, were suddenly wide awake.
"The Council?!" Willow gasped.
"Of Watchers?!" Xander sputtered.
"Didn't they get blown up?!" added Kennedy, frowning with puzzlement.
"Go on, Giles," Dawn said, with more than a trace of bitterness. "Tell them all about your cool new job. Better late than never."
Giles looked away, past Miss Harkness, into the fire. "I am now the acting chairman of the Council of Watchers. What's left of it, at any rate."
"Giles?" Willow rose halfway to her feet, staring at him incredulously. "How long have you--"
"From the moment of Quentin Travers's death, as it turns out. The man was stubborn, yes, and arrogant. But he was no fool." Giles turned back, meeting Willow's eyes at last. "Quentin Travers named me as his successor. Everything I've undertaken against The First, everything I've asked you to do... all these things I've done in my capacity as head of the Council."
They sat in silence for a minute, taking this in. Milly Carter, the young woman with the notebook, coughed nervously. Greta and Dominique exchanged whispers. Sharon Fleet Foster smiled enigmatically, idly tapping a finger on her black-clad knee.
At last, Giles spoke again. "I know I haven't been entirely forthcoming with you. And if--"
"You lied to us." Xander felt as if a lump of lead had been planted in his belly, pulling him helplessly down. "We thought you were there to help us. But you were working for them the whole time."
Giles sighed, removed his glasses, made a show of rubbing at them with his handkerchief. "Their needs and yours were the same. To preserve the line of the Slayer, to prevent The First from--"
"We thought we could trust you," Willow said sadly. "But you didn't trust us."
"And if I had told you?" Giles replaced his glasses. "Would you still have trusted me? Would Buffy have trusted me?"
Kennedy reached over and gave Willow's hand a squeeze of consolation, then fixed Giles with a hostile glare. "That's all kinda hypothetical, Rupert. Question is, are we going to trust you now?"
Giles began to say something, but Miss Harkness cut him off with an imperious wave of her hand. "What you are going to do now is get some rest. There will be time for decisions later, and in my considerable experience their quality tends to be improved by a little nap, a hot bath, and a warm meal."
Miss Harkness rose stiffly to her feet. "For now, we'll consider the proceedings adjourned. Miss Carter, would you see to our guests?" The young woman with the notebook nodded, and Miss Harkness marched out of the study, pausing as she passed by Willow's couch. "I'd like a word with you later, Miss Rosenberg," she said, and then her stern face cracked in a sudden smile. "I'm glad we'll have a chance to catch up."
As Miss Harkness left the room, her notebook-toting lieutenant trotted over to give the American visitors their room assignments and review the rules of the house. "No running the bath or showers after ten PM or before six AM. We run the linens into town once a week, but if there's anything needs cleaning in between, you'll have to do it yourself with the washing machine out in the shed, and..."
Milly Carter's recitation was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see the Devon representative, Sharon Fleet Foster, standing behind her.
"Sorry to cut in," Sharon smiled. She swiveled her head in Willow's direction. "I just wanted to meet the famous Willow Rosenberg who caused all that excitement for us last year..."
"Uh, yeah." Willow felt a sudden urge to sink deep into the earth. "I guess sorry about the evil spree of magical destruction doesn't quite cut it, huh?"
The woman kept smiling, her eyes unreadable behind the dark glasses. "They say all's well that ends well. You're lucky to have such good friends." Her smile widened into a mischievous grin. "Even when they have to rehearse their speeches a couple of times on the way up to Kingman's Bluff."
Xander reddened. "Hey! I'm calling shenanigans. No way anybody could have seen that."
Sharon Fleet Foster pulled her dark glasses down onto the bridge of her nose, and Xander drew in a sharp breath as he saw her blind, unfocused eyes. "Perhaps," she said, "I see twice as much as you, Xander Harris." Then she turned and, with a few quiet taps of her cane, guided herself out of the room.
...........
"Wow, check this place out," Xander said, looking around as Dawn helped him limp his way through the narrow halls. He didn't really need the support of her arm around his waist, but he wasn't complaining--his leg did feel a bit sore from being cramped on the flight, and it gave him a good excuse to be close to Dawn. To talk to her, of course. Not anything else, his mind was amending even as he found himself enjoying her slim warmth at his side. This is bad. I've been having way too many of the inappropiate thoughts. This is what happens when you go too long without sex.
He missed Anya.
"I know," Dawn was saying as they made their way slowly up the stairs. The rug runner was worn and slippery. "When I first got here I was all like, Wow, this is just like the setting for one of those horror movies where people get killed with poisoned tea and cookies. Or axes in the face at the top of the stairs." She said this last just as their feet hit the upstairs landing, and Xander's hand reflexively made a grab for the bannister.
Dawn laughed. "Just kidding." She gestured to the walls. "I mean, I've been here for almost a week and the scariest thing here are the paintings on the walls. They're like, everywhere." She pointed. The upstairs hallway was covered in cream-colored wallpaper with a soft stripe, and every foot or so along its length was mouted a small framed watercolor picture, the vast majority of them storybook scenes featuring cute animals. Dawn shuddered theatrically. "It's like Beatrix Potter's dream house."
Xander looked at her, confused. Dawn rolled her eyes. "It's a book, Xander. You know, Peter Rabbit?"
"Right. Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail." Bunnies. Don't think about it. "So what else is new in spellcasting central?"
"Not much. The witches have all been really nice to me, but they don't talk much. At least not to me. Maybe they were waiting for you guys to get here."
Dawn led him into one of the bedrooms where his luggage had already been set down next to one of the beds. It was small room, cozily furnished with a single bed piled high with quilts and an extremely fluffy-looking comforter. Rag rug on the floor. A candle on the nightstand. More watercolors on the walls.
Dawn was right. It did look like a storybook.
He turned to her. "Well, we're here now. So I guess we'll be getting big with the talking soon." He sank down on the bed with a relieved sigh. "Oh god, I'm so gonna take the world's longest nap."
"Right. Sure. I'd... I'd better go. You should get some rest," Dawn backed toward the door.
"Dawn." He took a deep breath. "You okay? Really?"
She paused, hand on the doornob, already half out of the room. "I'm okay," she said softly. "I'm... we'll talk later." Then she shut the door and was gone.
...........
"Wow. Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go," Kennedy recited, staring around at their designated room. She was grateful that they hadn't had to ask for a room together--the place to which the Slayer named Greta had led them had a double bed, comfortable-looking if a bit too plump and fluffy for her taste. She chuckled a little, taking in the rest of the room's decor--an overdose of lace doilies, dried flowers and framed pastel prints.
"Yeah, kinda homey, huh?" Willow laughed. "When I was here before, it kinda felt like summer camp."
"Ooh, were you a campfire girl?" Kennedy sat down on the bed, bounced a bit. "That's a picture I'm gonna have to see. Little Willow selling cookies."
"That's Girl Scouts. And I wasn't. And you make it sound kinda dirty." Willow made a face. "But now you've made me hungry. Only... I don't really wanna go down to the kitchen. You don't want to know how much time I had to spend there when I was here before."
"In the kitchen?"
"Yeah. For some reason they had me bake a lot. I guess they thought it was therapy or something." Willow heaved her suitcase on the bed, opened it, and began transferring clothes to an ornately carved dresser. "Sweetie? Would you mind going down there and bringing something back up for us? I mean, I just want some time to, you know, settle in first."
"Not a problem." Kennedy bounced up off the bed, gave Willow a quick kiss. "I'll be back in a flash with something yummy for our tummies." She shot Willow a wicked smile, and was out the door.
...........
Giles returned to the study, shutting the door behind him. The room was empty now but for Dawn, who sat reading at a desk.
"How have you been, Dawn?" he asked quietly.
"Can't complain. Nobody's tried to kill me or hold me hostage in the last thirty-six hours, so that's good. Not like anyone's talked to me about anything, but that's hardly new." She slammed closed the book she was reading and turned to him. "How was London?"
"Enlightening. I've retrieved the Council's files on The First for us to study. The rest of what I discovered should probably wait until tonight." He handed Dawn a manila folder. She raised an eyebrow.
"Gee, and here we thought all the Council's files were destroyed."
"They were. Thankfully, the Twentieth Century provided us with a very useful invention called the Xerox machine." He slid his hands into his pockets. "The documents I brought to Sunnydale were just copies. I had a second set stored at my flat."
Dawn began to coolly page through the papers in the folder. "So at this meeting tonight, what are you gonna recommend we do?"
He sighed. "I don't know yet, Dawn. We'd misjudged the situation before--what The First is, what it wants, what its capabilities are. Now that we know more, we may finally have a fighting chance."
"A fighting chance to do what?" Dawn's lips thinned. "Kill Buffy?"
Giles paused. "I hope that won't be necessary."
"I won't let you." Dawn closed the folder, slapped it down on the desk. "I don't care what you think is necessary. I never would have done that to Buffy if you hadn't--"
"But you did," he said shortly. "And so did I. It's done. Now we have to deal with it."
"Oh, sure. Deal with it. Why not? It's only my sister getting possessed by the ultimate evil. What's the big?" She stood up, paced around, her arms folded tightly around her as if to hold herself together. "I can't believe I really did that. That you told me to do that. It's my fault."
Giles sank into a leather chair near the fire. "I understand why you're upset, Dawn, but you were in grave danger. From what Willow has told me, The First had already taken possession of Buffy back in the Hellmouth."
Dawn shook her head. "You weren't with her, Giles. I was. It's just that..." She took in a deep breath. "It was still her. There was something really wrong with her, but it was still my sister. And no matter what... I can't believe Buffy would ever really hurt me." She gazed down at him, pleading. "Come on, Giles. She was going to let Glory destroy the world rather than hurt me. She gave her life for me."
Giles paused, remembering a conversation he'd had with Buffy in those final weeks in Sunnydale. After what you've been through, he'd said, a question in the form of a statement. Faced with the same choice now. You'd let her die. And Buffy had said yes. If I had to, she'd replied. To save the world. Yes.
How things change, he thought. At the time, I believed that meant she was making progress.
"Dawn," he finally said, evenly. "We have every reason to believe that The First was planning to use you as a sacrifice."
Dawn dropped her gaze. "I know that. It told me. It--it talked to me, after I knocked Buffy out." She let her head fall forward, and her long hair swung to shield her face like a curtain. "And it's talked to me before. There was this ghost, back in Sunnydale, and I thought it was mom, but... it told me that Buffy wouldn't choose me. That she'd be against me. And I believed it."
She gave a sarcastic little laugh. "That's pretty funny, huh? In the end it was me who turned on her. But I won't do that again." Dawn lifted her head, meeting Giles's eyes. "Buffy, the real Buffy, would rather die than hurt me. She's proved it. I'm not going to let that happen again."
"I know how you feel," Giles told her, and held up a hand to forestall any protest. "I can understand why you might think I don't, why you're reluctant to trust me now. But believe me, I'm as concerned about Buffy's welfare as you are." He removed his glasses, let them dangle from one hand while he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other.
"I'm far more at fault here than you realize," he began. "I've made grievous errors in judgment..."
"Gee, like what?" Dawn said dryly. "You mean, like, bringing the Potentials straight to the Hellmouth where The First could pick them off one by one? Gotta agree with Kennedy on that one--that never made sense."
Giles gave her an exasperated look. "I brought those girls to your sister because I knew she would protect them with her whole heart. It's what she's always done," he said tightly, then stared into the cracking fire. "You may not agree with the decisions I've made, but you should at least understand my reasons. The issues we're dealing with here are bigger than you, or me, or Buffy. And if sacrifices need to be made, then I'm prepared to make them."
"Well, I'm not. I'm not gonna do it, Giles. I won't do it. I won't help you with anything else that's gonna hurt Buffy."
"We've already hurt her," Giles replied. "We've hurt her and betrayed her, and I'm beginning to think that was the enemy's plan all along. But we can't stop now because we're afraid of Buffy getting hurt. It's The First that's the problem, and that's what we have to focus on."
He rose from the armchair. "And now I'm going to see to the rest of our guests. I'd suggest you get some rest yourself before the meeting. Odds are good that it'll be a long night."
Dawn watched as Giles strode across the room, leaving the door slightly ajar as he exited. Then, with a shrug, she settled down at her desk to study the documents he'd left for her.
ACT ONE: A BOOK BY ITS COVER
Willow and Kennedy slept, but Xander remained awake all the way to England.
By the time they began the main leg of the flight, after a two-hour layover at Newark International, it was already dark. Xander flipped distractedly through a magazine, tried to interest himself in the recycled multiplex feature playing on the postage-stamp-sized screen mounted in the bulkhead wall, and then did his best to get some sleep. But he wasn't used to plane travel--the too-small seat, the low steady roar of the engines, the unnerving sense of confinement. And so in the end he just stared out the window, out into the dark, waiting to see the tiny line of light along the great curve of the earth that would announce the arrival of the dawn.
Dawn, Xander thought. It had been harder than he'd expected to bid farewell to the young Slayers they'd left behind in Buffalo, and seeing their eagerness to rush on to their next great adventure had made him feel old and tired by comparison. He didn't want to think about what lay ahead now; chasing on after Buffy Summers, trying to understand what it was that now inhabited her body, the fighting and the awkward conversations and all the things that could go terribly wrong.
Still, he thought, it'll be good to see Dawn again.
...........
But Dawn wasn't there at the airport. Willow and Kennedy and Xander waited for their bags and then made their way through customs, navigating the terminal in a groggy, jet lag-induced stupor. As they emerged into the arrivals hall, the travelers were braced for high-pitched squeals, fierce hugs and tears and laughter, sharp seventeen-year-old elbows digging into their ribs before they'd even had to chance to put down their bags.
Instead, there was Giles. As they rounded the corner that opened onto the arrivals area, they saw him standing there in a long trenchcoat, consulting a pocket watch. His expression was tense and serious, but when he looked up and saw them, his face brightened a little and he allowed himself the luxury of a faint half-smile.
"Giles!" Willow trotted forward, lurching slightly as her suitcase swung from side to side. "Hey, where's Dawnie? Is everything okay?"
Giles raised a cautionary finger to his lips, motioning her to silence. Then he turned and called to a pair of young women who were loitering nearby. "Greta, Dominique... Would you help our guests with their bags, please?"
The two women sauntered over to join them. One was blonde, the other brunette, both sleek as models and impeccably dressed. And when they reached in and plucked the bags from the travelers' hands, they did so with effortless ease. Xander watched the blonde woman heft Kennedy's hefty suitcase as if it were an empty cardboard box, and his eye widened in sudden alarm.
"Giles." Xander dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. "These girls are Slayers, aren't they? Is this--"
The dark-haired woman stepped up beside Xander, extending her free arm for his inspection. "Is okay, see? I am a good girl," she said in cheerily accented English, and rotated her forearm, showing him the inscription that snaked its way around her wrist. "'This is the hand that heals,' no?"
Willow and Kennedy turned to look at the other woman, who simply shrugged. "I am also good girl. But my writing is not for public. Maybe," she added coyly, "I show you when we know each other a little better."
Willow began to say something, but Giles cut her off with a warning gesture. "Be careful. We don't know who could be listening."
They glanced around, taking in the lanky girl with the backpack who stood nearby studying the ground transportation signs, the young woman hovering by the change bureau counting and recounting her euros, the dimpled ten-year-old who clung to her mother's hand and gulped from a bottle of soda as she stared blankly back at them... Willow swallowed nervously, and quietly fell in behind Giles as he began striding towards the elevators that led to the car park.
They weren't alone in the elevator, and they proceeded in silence until they reached the car park. By then, Kennedy could no longer contain herself. "So," she asked, "what's the story, Giles? Where are we going?"
Giles dug through the pockets of his trenchcoat and extracted a set of keys. "I'll explain everything when we get there," he replied. "But I think it's safer if we wait for now."
He inserted one of the keys into the door of a boxy Land Rover, and the vehicle's locks popped open. "We'll be on the road for about two hours. I suggest you try and get some rest on the way."
As Xander hobbled towards the car, still favoring his injured leg, Giles leaned over and opened the back door for him. It was a nice gesture, but Xander couldn't help himself; before he eased into the seat, he paused and gave Giles a soft punch in the shoulder.
"Ow," Giles exclaimed. "What on Earth was that for?"
"Just checking." Xander smiled innocently as he folded himself into the back seat of the Land Rover. "Looks like you're still the real Giles. Can't be too careful, huh?"
Giles heaved an exasperated sigh, then closed the door and moved around to the driver's seat. Willow and Kennedy slid into the back seat from the other side, and the two Slayers who had accompanied Giles--Greta and Dominique, he'd called them--finished stowing the luggage and then piled into the front.
The dark-haired Slayer wriggled in her seat and turned around to look into the back. "You are sitting comfortably?" she asked. "Please forgive the, comment dit-on... the mystery. Mister Giles, he is very careful, no? Like a secret agent."
Her companion laughed. "Ja, a secret agent. He is our James Bond!"
"That's enough, Greta." Giles was trying to be stern, but he couldn't help smiling. "Let our guests get some rest." He pulled out of the car park and began navigating the Land Rover towards the main road.
As the car rolled on, Xander quickly found himself getting drowsy. Maybe it was the familiar sensations of car travel, or the reduced sense of anticipation, or perhaps it was just jet lag, but the journey passed in a kind of haze. He was intermittently aware of Willow and Kennedy talking quietly in the seat beside him, of peering out the window at a cluster of sheep or a fenced-off Ministry of Defence installation or an interminable parade of hedgerows, and then he'd slip back into fitful sleep for a few more minutes.
And in that fashion, neither fully asleep nor all the way awake, Xander passed the time until they arrived in Westbury.
...........
Still half-dozing, Xander was jolted awake by the sound of a slamming car door.
He lifted his head, blinking into an intense wash of midday sunlight, and found himself alone in the Land Rover. Through the windows, he could see the others--Willow, Kennedy, Giles and his Slayer escorts--standing just outside the car, talking and stretching their limbs.
Wiping drool from his mouth with one hand, Xander fumbled for the door latch with the other, and somehow managed to unfold his creaky self from the back seat and stumble out.
"Well, hello there, sleepyhead!" Willow called to him from the other side of the vehicle, where she stood shaking the stiffness out of her arms. "You were looking so comfortable there, we were kinda thinking we should just leave you in the car."
"I'm alright," Xander mumbled. "I'm awake. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, that's me." He stood there for a moment, one hand on the car for stability's sake, and took in his surroundings.
It seemed they'd pulled in behind a house of some kind, bringing the car to a stop at the end of a rutted dirt track that led into a large garden--or a small meadow, maybe. Xander could hear a soft rush of traffic from somewhere nearby, but his immediate field of vision showed only rolling hills, trees, hedgerows, a gentle pastoral landscape which rippled off into the distance. Here and there the green fields were broken by a fence, a house, or a procession of telephone poles.
He turned to get a better look at the house. It was a cream-colored building two stories high, capped by a cheery red roof and a picturesque weathervane, with green fingers of ivy reaching up the outside walls. A proper little English cottage, Xander thought. How charming. Sparrows broke into song as he stood there, adding to the whole tea-set effect of the place.
And then the clouds rolled in, and the sunlight abruptly vanished. Suddenly the green fields were just a monotonous gray expanse, the ivy-covered house merely a drab, functional little bungalow.
"Welcome to England," Giles sighed. "We'd better get inside before it starts raining again. Greta, Dominique, would you mind bringing in the baggage?"
The two Slayers gathered up the cargo, which included a couple of Giles's own suitcases in addition to the international travelers' luggage, and the group turned to enter the house. Then the back door suddenly slammed open, and a lanky figure came racing out on a straight course for Xander.
"Xander!" Dawn yelled, barreling straight into him with a joyous smile, brown hair flying. Her bear hug drove the breath from his lungs in a sudden woof.
"Whoa there, pardner," Xander squeaked, trying not to wince too obviously as she squeezed his healing arm. "Some of us are still recovering from mortal injuries here."
"Oh! Geez, I'm sorry, Xander. Kinda forgot." Dawn stepped back, brushing the hair from her face with an embarrassed grin. She fidgeted for a moment, shyly grinning. "Just... y'know. Glad you're alright."
"You too, Dawnie," Willow said. She'd been hanging back waiting for her own turn, and when she spoke up Dawn reluctantly disentangled herself from Xander and turned to greet the other newcomers.
"Hey, Willow." Dawn gave her a slightly less fierce hug, looking over Willow's shoulder to add a polite "Hi, Kennedy" while she was at it. Kennedy smiled and waved back, then moved over to wait on the doorstep next to Giles, while Greta and Dominique continued on inside with the group's luggage.
"So how you been, kiddo?" Xander's tone was lighthearted, but Dawn could see the concern in his eyes. She made a tense rolling movement with her shoulders, and suddenly her shy smile was gone.
"Okay, I guess," Dawn said vaguely. "The witches have been pretty cool. Lots of books to read, all the cupcakes I can eat. But they only get, like, two and a half TV channels." She glanced over at Willow. "So I guess this would be where you came for your magic rehab, huh?"
"Kind of," Willow admitted. "More like driving school, though. Except instead of speeding tickets and moving violations, it would be 'going crazy and trying to destroy the world'..."
"Hey," Xander interjected. "Sorry to hold up the class, but... this would be the famous witch school, then?" He gestured at the ivy-covered wall.
"That's correct," Giles answered from his position by the door. "The house belongs to Miss Harkness, and it serves as a meeting place for the Westbury coven. For our purposes, we can consider this safe territory. A place," he added significantly, "where we may at last speak freely."
Xander eyed the building dubiously. "Doesn't look like much," he frowned. "I was expecting something a little more Hogwarts."
"Oh, right," Dawn grinned. "Because all those years in Sunnydale taught us you can always go by appearances." She gave her hair a casual flip, and extended her arm for Xander to take. "So, big guy, you gonna walk me in or what?"
"Yes, let's," Giles agreed. "I'm sure we'll have many future opportunities to stand on the porch discussing the architecture." He vanished through the door with a dramatic flap of his trenchcoat, Dawn and Xander following close behind. But as Willow and Kennedy crossed the threshold into the darkened hallway, Willow took an uneasy breath and halted.
"You okay, babe?" Kennedy asked, giving her lover's hand a reassuring squeeze.
Willow nodded. "I'm good. I'm great. But I'm... remembering coming here the first time, and hoo boy, that wasn't so great. Thought I'd put all that behind me." She blew out a nervous puff of air, and smiled bravely, bringing one hand up to cup Kennedy's cheek. "It's okay. I really do like it here. It's just... y'know. Issues. Sometimes thinking about this stuff makes me not so much with the comfortable."
Kennedy leaned into the touch with a sly smile. "Well, once we're settled in, I'll have to see what I can do to make you more... comfortable."
Willow giggled with wicked amusement. Yes, having Kennedy along this time might definitely help. Her heart suddenly felt lighter. She could do this. Things would be better this time.
Then a voice, quiet but commanding, sounded from the hallway ahead of them. "Good afternoon, Miss Rosenberg. We're pleased to see you again."
Willow gulped. "Good, uh, afternoon, Miss Harkness." She pulled her hand back from Kennedy's cheek, turning the motion into an awkward gesture of introduction. "This is, uh, I'd like you to meet her. Kennedy, I mean. And, uh, Kennedy, this is Miss Harkness."
"Pleased to meet you," Kennedy said. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she began to make out the woman's form. Miss Harkness was clearly an old woman--at least seventy, she guessed--but well preserved, with a handsome face and shrewd, piercing eyes. Though she was leaning on a cane, her posture was otherwise flawlessly straight. Like a queen, Kennedy thought. What they call regal bearing.
"And likewise," Miss Harkness replied. She gestured down the hallway with her free hand, toward a side door that spilled warm light into the hall. "I'm sure you're all tired from your flight, but I think we should have a little chat before we show you to your rooms. Would you mind joining us in the study?"
They assured her that would be just fine, no problem at all, and they followed her through the doorway into the firelit room. Here they found Giles and Dawn perched on an upholstered couch, Giles's Slayer escorts leaning against the bookshelf-covered wall behind them, while Xander sat slumped in an armchair struggling to keep his eye open. Two more people were seated on the other side of the room, one a timid-looking young woman clutching a notebook, and the other an elegant middle-aged woman dressed in black and wearing expensive-looking dark glasses.
Motioning Willow and Kennedy to a vacant couch, Miss Harkness walked stiffly across the study and carefully lowered herself into an ornate wooden chair next to the fireplace. Leaning her cane against the chair, she folded her hands in her lap and let out a long, thoughtful breath.
"Well," she said at last. "Perhaps Mr. Giles would like to begin?"
Giles coughed discreetly and rose to his feet. "I promised you explanations. This isn't the time for in-depth discussions," and he raised a hand to ward off Willow's and Kennedy's stirrings of protest, "because I want you all properly rested before we convene this evening. But let me give you the basics. The essentials, as it were."
"This isn't going to involve flash cards, is it?" Xander groaned.
"We're here," Giles continued, "to devise a strategy. A strategy for dealing with the entity known as The First... and a strategy for dealing with Buffy Summers. Which at this point may well amount to the same thing."
"No," Dawn interrupted. "They're not the--"
"And that," Giles sighed, "is something we'll discuss in more detail this evening. But for now, let me make some introductions." He nodded towards Miss Harkness. "Monica Harkness, our gracious host and the mistress of the Westbury coven. Which is," and he motioned towards the young woman with the notebook, "also represented here by Miss Carter."
"Just plain Milly is fine," the young woman blushed. "Nice to meet you all."
"We also have a representative here from a group in Devon. Which some of you," Giles continued, with a glance in Willow's direction, "may know by reputation." He turned towards the woman in the dark glasses, and his expression brightened. "My good friend Miss Fleet. It's good to see you again, Sharon."
"And it's nice to hear you again, Rupert." The black-clad woman raised her head and smiled back at him. "Although I'm afraid that should now be Mrs. Foster."
"Oh?" Giles seemed taken aback for a second. "Well. My congratulations to Mr. Foster, then. He's a very lucky man."
"I'll be sure to tell him that," the woman replied.
"And I," Giles concluded, "am here as a representative of my own organization. That is to say, the Council of Watchers."
The travelers, who had been lulled halfway to sleep by the warmth of the fireplace and the rounds of introductions, were suddenly wide awake.
"The Council?!" Willow gasped.
"Of Watchers?!" Xander sputtered.
"Didn't they get blown up?!" added Kennedy, frowning with puzzlement.
"Go on, Giles," Dawn said, with more than a trace of bitterness. "Tell them all about your cool new job. Better late than never."
Giles looked away, past Miss Harkness, into the fire. "I am now the acting chairman of the Council of Watchers. What's left of it, at any rate."
"Giles?" Willow rose halfway to her feet, staring at him incredulously. "How long have you--"
"From the moment of Quentin Travers's death, as it turns out. The man was stubborn, yes, and arrogant. But he was no fool." Giles turned back, meeting Willow's eyes at last. "Quentin Travers named me as his successor. Everything I've undertaken against The First, everything I've asked you to do... all these things I've done in my capacity as head of the Council."
They sat in silence for a minute, taking this in. Milly Carter, the young woman with the notebook, coughed nervously. Greta and Dominique exchanged whispers. Sharon Fleet Foster smiled enigmatically, idly tapping a finger on her black-clad knee.
At last, Giles spoke again. "I know I haven't been entirely forthcoming with you. And if--"
"You lied to us." Xander felt as if a lump of lead had been planted in his belly, pulling him helplessly down. "We thought you were there to help us. But you were working for them the whole time."
Giles sighed, removed his glasses, made a show of rubbing at them with his handkerchief. "Their needs and yours were the same. To preserve the line of the Slayer, to prevent The First from--"
"We thought we could trust you," Willow said sadly. "But you didn't trust us."
"And if I had told you?" Giles replaced his glasses. "Would you still have trusted me? Would Buffy have trusted me?"
Kennedy reached over and gave Willow's hand a squeeze of consolation, then fixed Giles with a hostile glare. "That's all kinda hypothetical, Rupert. Question is, are we going to trust you now?"
Giles began to say something, but Miss Harkness cut him off with an imperious wave of her hand. "What you are going to do now is get some rest. There will be time for decisions later, and in my considerable experience their quality tends to be improved by a little nap, a hot bath, and a warm meal."
Miss Harkness rose stiffly to her feet. "For now, we'll consider the proceedings adjourned. Miss Carter, would you see to our guests?" The young woman with the notebook nodded, and Miss Harkness marched out of the study, pausing as she passed by Willow's couch. "I'd like a word with you later, Miss Rosenberg," she said, and then her stern face cracked in a sudden smile. "I'm glad we'll have a chance to catch up."
As Miss Harkness left the room, her notebook-toting lieutenant trotted over to give the American visitors their room assignments and review the rules of the house. "No running the bath or showers after ten PM or before six AM. We run the linens into town once a week, but if there's anything needs cleaning in between, you'll have to do it yourself with the washing machine out in the shed, and..."
Milly Carter's recitation was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see the Devon representative, Sharon Fleet Foster, standing behind her.
"Sorry to cut in," Sharon smiled. She swiveled her head in Willow's direction. "I just wanted to meet the famous Willow Rosenberg who caused all that excitement for us last year..."
"Uh, yeah." Willow felt a sudden urge to sink deep into the earth. "I guess sorry about the evil spree of magical destruction doesn't quite cut it, huh?"
The woman kept smiling, her eyes unreadable behind the dark glasses. "They say all's well that ends well. You're lucky to have such good friends." Her smile widened into a mischievous grin. "Even when they have to rehearse their speeches a couple of times on the way up to Kingman's Bluff."
Xander reddened. "Hey! I'm calling shenanigans. No way anybody could have seen that."
Sharon Fleet Foster pulled her dark glasses down onto the bridge of her nose, and Xander drew in a sharp breath as he saw her blind, unfocused eyes. "Perhaps," she said, "I see twice as much as you, Xander Harris." Then she turned and, with a few quiet taps of her cane, guided herself out of the room.
...........
"Wow, check this place out," Xander said, looking around as Dawn helped him limp his way through the narrow halls. He didn't really need the support of her arm around his waist, but he wasn't complaining--his leg did feel a bit sore from being cramped on the flight, and it gave him a good excuse to be close to Dawn. To talk to her, of course. Not anything else, his mind was amending even as he found himself enjoying her slim warmth at his side. This is bad. I've been having way too many of the inappropiate thoughts. This is what happens when you go too long without sex.
He missed Anya.
"I know," Dawn was saying as they made their way slowly up the stairs. The rug runner was worn and slippery. "When I first got here I was all like, Wow, this is just like the setting for one of those horror movies where people get killed with poisoned tea and cookies. Or axes in the face at the top of the stairs." She said this last just as their feet hit the upstairs landing, and Xander's hand reflexively made a grab for the bannister.
Dawn laughed. "Just kidding." She gestured to the walls. "I mean, I've been here for almost a week and the scariest thing here are the paintings on the walls. They're like, everywhere." She pointed. The upstairs hallway was covered in cream-colored wallpaper with a soft stripe, and every foot or so along its length was mouted a small framed watercolor picture, the vast majority of them storybook scenes featuring cute animals. Dawn shuddered theatrically. "It's like Beatrix Potter's dream house."
Xander looked at her, confused. Dawn rolled her eyes. "It's a book, Xander. You know, Peter Rabbit?"
"Right. Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail." Bunnies. Don't think about it. "So what else is new in spellcasting central?"
"Not much. The witches have all been really nice to me, but they don't talk much. At least not to me. Maybe they were waiting for you guys to get here."
Dawn led him into one of the bedrooms where his luggage had already been set down next to one of the beds. It was small room, cozily furnished with a single bed piled high with quilts and an extremely fluffy-looking comforter. Rag rug on the floor. A candle on the nightstand. More watercolors on the walls.
Dawn was right. It did look like a storybook.
He turned to her. "Well, we're here now. So I guess we'll be getting big with the talking soon." He sank down on the bed with a relieved sigh. "Oh god, I'm so gonna take the world's longest nap."
"Right. Sure. I'd... I'd better go. You should get some rest," Dawn backed toward the door.
"Dawn." He took a deep breath. "You okay? Really?"
She paused, hand on the doornob, already half out of the room. "I'm okay," she said softly. "I'm... we'll talk later." Then she shut the door and was gone.
...........
"Wow. Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go," Kennedy recited, staring around at their designated room. She was grateful that they hadn't had to ask for a room together--the place to which the Slayer named Greta had led them had a double bed, comfortable-looking if a bit too plump and fluffy for her taste. She chuckled a little, taking in the rest of the room's decor--an overdose of lace doilies, dried flowers and framed pastel prints.
"Yeah, kinda homey, huh?" Willow laughed. "When I was here before, it kinda felt like summer camp."
"Ooh, were you a campfire girl?" Kennedy sat down on the bed, bounced a bit. "That's a picture I'm gonna have to see. Little Willow selling cookies."
"That's Girl Scouts. And I wasn't. And you make it sound kinda dirty." Willow made a face. "But now you've made me hungry. Only... I don't really wanna go down to the kitchen. You don't want to know how much time I had to spend there when I was here before."
"In the kitchen?"
"Yeah. For some reason they had me bake a lot. I guess they thought it was therapy or something." Willow heaved her suitcase on the bed, opened it, and began transferring clothes to an ornately carved dresser. "Sweetie? Would you mind going down there and bringing something back up for us? I mean, I just want some time to, you know, settle in first."
"Not a problem." Kennedy bounced up off the bed, gave Willow a quick kiss. "I'll be back in a flash with something yummy for our tummies." She shot Willow a wicked smile, and was out the door.
...........
Giles returned to the study, shutting the door behind him. The room was empty now but for Dawn, who sat reading at a desk.
"How have you been, Dawn?" he asked quietly.
"Can't complain. Nobody's tried to kill me or hold me hostage in the last thirty-six hours, so that's good. Not like anyone's talked to me about anything, but that's hardly new." She slammed closed the book she was reading and turned to him. "How was London?"
"Enlightening. I've retrieved the Council's files on The First for us to study. The rest of what I discovered should probably wait until tonight." He handed Dawn a manila folder. She raised an eyebrow.
"Gee, and here we thought all the Council's files were destroyed."
"They were. Thankfully, the Twentieth Century provided us with a very useful invention called the Xerox machine." He slid his hands into his pockets. "The documents I brought to Sunnydale were just copies. I had a second set stored at my flat."
Dawn began to coolly page through the papers in the folder. "So at this meeting tonight, what are you gonna recommend we do?"
He sighed. "I don't know yet, Dawn. We'd misjudged the situation before--what The First is, what it wants, what its capabilities are. Now that we know more, we may finally have a fighting chance."
"A fighting chance to do what?" Dawn's lips thinned. "Kill Buffy?"
Giles paused. "I hope that won't be necessary."
"I won't let you." Dawn closed the folder, slapped it down on the desk. "I don't care what you think is necessary. I never would have done that to Buffy if you hadn't--"
"But you did," he said shortly. "And so did I. It's done. Now we have to deal with it."
"Oh, sure. Deal with it. Why not? It's only my sister getting possessed by the ultimate evil. What's the big?" She stood up, paced around, her arms folded tightly around her as if to hold herself together. "I can't believe I really did that. That you told me to do that. It's my fault."
Giles sank into a leather chair near the fire. "I understand why you're upset, Dawn, but you were in grave danger. From what Willow has told me, The First had already taken possession of Buffy back in the Hellmouth."
Dawn shook her head. "You weren't with her, Giles. I was. It's just that..." She took in a deep breath. "It was still her. There was something really wrong with her, but it was still my sister. And no matter what... I can't believe Buffy would ever really hurt me." She gazed down at him, pleading. "Come on, Giles. She was going to let Glory destroy the world rather than hurt me. She gave her life for me."
Giles paused, remembering a conversation he'd had with Buffy in those final weeks in Sunnydale. After what you've been through, he'd said, a question in the form of a statement. Faced with the same choice now. You'd let her die. And Buffy had said yes. If I had to, she'd replied. To save the world. Yes.
How things change, he thought. At the time, I believed that meant she was making progress.
"Dawn," he finally said, evenly. "We have every reason to believe that The First was planning to use you as a sacrifice."
Dawn dropped her gaze. "I know that. It told me. It--it talked to me, after I knocked Buffy out." She let her head fall forward, and her long hair swung to shield her face like a curtain. "And it's talked to me before. There was this ghost, back in Sunnydale, and I thought it was mom, but... it told me that Buffy wouldn't choose me. That she'd be against me. And I believed it."
She gave a sarcastic little laugh. "That's pretty funny, huh? In the end it was me who turned on her. But I won't do that again." Dawn lifted her head, meeting Giles's eyes. "Buffy, the real Buffy, would rather die than hurt me. She's proved it. I'm not going to let that happen again."
"I know how you feel," Giles told her, and held up a hand to forestall any protest. "I can understand why you might think I don't, why you're reluctant to trust me now. But believe me, I'm as concerned about Buffy's welfare as you are." He removed his glasses, let them dangle from one hand while he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other.
"I'm far more at fault here than you realize," he began. "I've made grievous errors in judgment..."
"Gee, like what?" Dawn said dryly. "You mean, like, bringing the Potentials straight to the Hellmouth where The First could pick them off one by one? Gotta agree with Kennedy on that one--that never made sense."
Giles gave her an exasperated look. "I brought those girls to your sister because I knew she would protect them with her whole heart. It's what she's always done," he said tightly, then stared into the cracking fire. "You may not agree with the decisions I've made, but you should at least understand my reasons. The issues we're dealing with here are bigger than you, or me, or Buffy. And if sacrifices need to be made, then I'm prepared to make them."
"Well, I'm not. I'm not gonna do it, Giles. I won't do it. I won't help you with anything else that's gonna hurt Buffy."
"We've already hurt her," Giles replied. "We've hurt her and betrayed her, and I'm beginning to think that was the enemy's plan all along. But we can't stop now because we're afraid of Buffy getting hurt. It's The First that's the problem, and that's what we have to focus on."
He rose from the armchair. "And now I'm going to see to the rest of our guests. I'd suggest you get some rest yourself before the meeting. Odds are good that it'll be a long night."
Dawn watched as Giles strode across the room, leaving the door slightly ajar as he exited. Then, with a shrug, she settled down at her desk to study the documents he'd left for her.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-06-04 12:53 am (UTC)in particular: "This isn't going to involve flash cards, is it?" Xander groaned.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-06-04 06:33 am (UTC)You realize that we may actually have to pull out the flash cards now...
(no subject)
Date: 2004-06-04 04:31 am (UTC)Loved it! :)
It makes me snicker that Quentin named Giles his successor, after everything they've been through! So are there any more Watchers that are around? Like inactive ones or ones that weren't on site when it blew? Or is the Council all new people?
I enjoyed your Dawn and her interaction with everyone, especially the talk with Giles where she stands up to him about Buffy. So nice that she finally grew up, right? I can't wait to read her talk with Xander, that should be good. They always had such a good vibe between them.
Man I feel so bad for Giles. He has to be so tired and feeling almost defeated. *hugs him*
I really hope that they don't have to kill Buffy...
Will there be more soon?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-06-04 06:50 am (UTC)I think we'll be returning to this subject shortly, but for the time being I think it's fair to assume that there are plenty of stray Watchers around, although the destruction of the home office left them so disorganized and confused that Giles is still trying to put the pieces back together.
As for Quentin Travers... it just it struck me as the sort of thing he'd do. I always had the impression of him as somebody who only respected people who were willing to call his bluff - kind of an intellectual bully. And in case of emergency, I think he'd trust Giles to handle things better than whatever random yes-man the organization might put forward.
I enjoyed your Dawn and her interaction with everyone, especially the talk with Giles where she stands up to him about Buffy. So nice that she finally grew up, right?
Yep. We've been eager to see more of the "strong, powerful" Dawn that we were promised at the end of Season Six, and we really liked the notion of her holding her own against Giles.
I can't wait to read her talk with Xander, that should be good. They always had such a good vibe between them.
I remember that being part of Dawn's imaginary back story when she was first introduced - she came with a preinstalled Xander crush. But it's interesting how, in the subsequent episodes, Dawn switches back and forth between Spike and Xander as her confidant of choice. Perhaps both the Summers sisters have similar tastes in guy-friends?
Man I feel so bad for Giles. He has to be so tired and feeling almost defeated. *hugs him*
I think things will pick up for him soon. We just needed to establish where his head was at during that last season, before moving him forward again...
Will there be more soon?
You betcha. We're working away on the upcoming chapters right now.
Re: like the story!
Date: 2004-06-05 05:13 pm (UTC)Toys will be so thrilled when he wakes up. But first, you get me!
Hm. I guess we should make the 'hand that heals' thing more clear, since it has been awhile since that's come up. The Xander-in-the-car stuff... well, the original idea was to recapture the way I saw England for the first time, sort of half-awake in a car. And I insist that there's no real way to shut a car door without slamming it (at least, I've never known any of my family or friends not to do it, no matter if you're asleep or not!).
I really liked Willow's reaction here -- just right, and now all her friends are there, too -- she's going to feel even more exposed
There's gonna be a lot of focus on Willow and the whole magic school thing from here on out. You may notice her trying to be very blase about the whole thing, but she's still got some issues, yes indeedy.
AAAAAGH! Why don't you have her flash her pierced tongue while she's at it?
Hey, it's still Kennedy. She's not the most subtle girl on the planet.
And SUDDENLY S7 GILES MAKES SENSE! ....wow, that was actually v impressive. And just makes sense, too. Nice!
Heh heh heh... wait till you see the next chapter....
When you get this up on the site, you might want to advertise somehow that for folks who like Xander, he has a really good role in this, and excellent characterization. (Not that everyone else isn't well-done too, but the Xander bits are great, esp after the drought on the actual SHOW.)
I'm so glad to hear that Xander is coming off well in this... I'd always felt he had some great issues to explore, and in this fic, he has kinda developed into a really, really important character, so yeah, maybe we will make a point of billing it at the Xander and Willow roadshow. (glows with happiness at Xander praise)
Heh. Maybe they knew it lifted about 30% of her guilt.
Among other things (she says enigmatically).
Buffy wouldn't kill Dawn, now Dawnie returns the favor. V cool.
Yay for symmetry. Or the Golden Rule, if you like.
Plot point! Plot point!
Mwah hah ha... By the way, next chapter will be nearly all plot of this type. I hope you'll be pleasantly surprised.
Re: like the story!
Date: 2004-06-06 01:56 pm (UTC)Heh, nice way of indicating his restraint. I liked that.
Heh heh.
Also, GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILES!
Henceforth, the story becomes Giles-tastic. Also Dawn-alicious.
So does she have a tattoo, or drawings like the US Slayers did? Just wondered.
I'm thinking some kind of temporary tattoo. Seems like kind of a lame choice for permanent body art.
Heh. Who put on those tattoos, anyway? GILES? No, probably not.
(shrugs vaguely) Oh, you know, witches. More on this in chapter two.
CUTE. Also, poor Xander....who is the real Giles? Does anyone know?
Hopefully he will please stand up.
((tries to remember what a hedgerow looks like, fails totally)) Would Xander know? What is it? A big bush?
A row of hedges? I could imagine Xander looking at a hedgerow and going, "Oh, hey, that must totally be what a hedgerow looks like." Might be funny if we couch it in those terms.
I love you, I love the fic and I love the Xanman, but....that sentence seems a little unnecessary. Just sayin' cause the fics are usually so lean any little extra bit sticks out.
Er, yeah. These rough spots seems to crop up right at the points where we're handing off between writers, and the scene transitions sometimes get a little awkward. Little sandpaper will fix that right up.
I am a picky bitch but that is why you love me: if they wanted to let him sleep in the car, woud they SLAM the door? Maybe a shutting car door (I think I know the noise you're going for, that's woken me up too).
Or a slamming trunk, perhaps. I don't think there's a non-slamming technique for closing those.
I feel like I'm doing nothing but nitpicking here, but....I d'know if Willow would refer to that so casually. Might she trail off perhaps? They all know what she's done....or maybe she's just Willowly babbling. Not a big thing.
(grits teeth) Whedonesque fake levity does not come naturally to your authors. Sorry.
AAAAAGH! Why don't you have her flash her pierced tongue while she's at it?
I was tempted to blame this one on The Hook, but then I remembered that Kennedy is supposed to be annoying, so hah!
I hope she's not the one Giles gets naked with, though.
Who's to say we have to pick just one?
Giles doesn't know she's married at all? Did she just arrive or what? That seemed a tiny bit off.
I figure she arrived after he dropped Dawn off at the Westbury house. A little exposition might be helpful here.
And SUDDENLY S7 GILES MAKES SENSE! ....wow, that was actually v impressive. And just makes sense, too. Nice!
You're most welcome. (bows)
Aww....poor Xander. Nicely done again. When you get this up on the site, you might want to advertise somehow that for folks who like Xander, he has a really good role in this, and excellent characterization.
Aww, shucks. "Attention Xander fans! Do you like Xander? Well, check out this story! It has Xander in it!"
Heh. Maybe they knew it lifted about 30% of her guilt.
Hey, it's a start...
Buffy wouldn't kill Dawn, now Dawnie returns the favor. V cool.
Did we mention Dawn's kind of a major character in this part of the story?
Brrrrrrrrr. And aaaaaaaaagh. And v good.
Hey, you can't have Buffy just throw a line like that out there and never follow up on it ever again. You'd have to be some kind of, like, amazing hack. :-)