Author: Kathryn A Pantaleo

Rating: FRM

Disclaimers: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, and whomever else he shares them with! I can only dream!!

Giles ran through a dark forest. Branches and thorns tore as his face and clothes. He careened into trees and stumbled over tree roots that seemed to reach out for him to trip him, snare him, hold him in this place of darkness.

Behind him voices shouted and called. Stalking, hunting him. Men were back there. Cruel men with swords and daggers and hollow eyes. Creatures of the night howled and wailed and hunted him, lusting for his blood.

The trail he followed led to a clearing. Dark clouds scudded overhead and thunder rumbled in the distance. In the clearing was a cold and forbidding-looking manor house. He ran up the path. Rain soaked his unruly, shoulder length hair and ran off his black leather jacket. He opened the door and entered the gloomy hall.

Featureless people milled about in the house, clothes black, somber. He turned right and pushed open the old mahogany doors. The manor library, always one of his favorite rooms. But not today. Today a coffin lay on the table. The room was cold, and he shivered as he set his guitar case down and came into the room.

He came slowly up to the coffin. Compelled to look inside. Knowing, dreading what he would find. A woman rested there. A lovely woman, with sandy brown curls. Her dress was lavender, dusted with pearls. Her cold, still hands enclosed properly in white gloves. The eyes were closed in repose. Were they open, he knew, they would be mirrors of his own. Tears rose in his eyes, a lump in his throat. His pulse pounded in his head.

"No…Oh, no." he whispered.

A shape moved out of the shadows near the fire. "She asked for you, Rupert."

Giles looked into the stern face of his father. Not quite as tall as Giles, but broader of shoulder and of stockier build.

"She called for you, but you were not there. I told her you were on holiday, at a school chums." The older man bore down relentlessly on his son. " And where were you, Rupert? Still living the life of a wastrel in London! Smoking dope and playing that blasted guitar of yours, singing for drinks in clubs. Doing God knows what with that worthless group of parasites you call friends. Could I tell her that?"

Giles turned away, and the older man gripped his arm and pulled him back. "She was always so proud of you, Rupert. Your gifts. Your achievements. You were a top scholar of at one of the most exclusive schools in the country. The Watcher Council was pleased with your progress. A third generation Watcher! And you throw it all away, for WHAT? Does it make you proud to know that your Mother died while you were sleeping it off in some stinking London back alley? I wonder what she thinks now, seeing what you have become?"

Giles backed away from his father as his words struck him like blows. "You failed her, Rupert! She died asking for you because you were too selfish to accept your responsibilities. You betrayed her! You betray us! You betray yourself! You betray your destiny!" He grabbed the younger man by the back of the neck and forced his head down over his mother. "LOOK, Rupert! Look! It’s YOUR fault!"

Unwilling, Giles looked again into the coffin, but now Buffy Summers laid there in repose. Cold, still, pale…

"BUFFY! Oh, God! No!" He backed away in horror, his eyes wide. He bumped into the doors, and staggered through them. He reeled from the house as thunder crashed and lightning HSST across the sky, he dropped to his knees in the cold mud outside, sobbing and trembling.

"Ripper, you bloody wanker! Wake up! Come on, out with you!" Ethan Rhayne pulled Giles to his feet. "Come on. Don’t be such a bleeding baby about the sodding tattoo! "

Giles looked down at the mark of Eyghon on his biceps. Ethan dragged him into a candlelit room. Marijuana smoke and beer fumes hung heavy in the air. "Oh come on, Ripper. It’s just a little demon!" He leaned in close, whispering in Giles ear. "Wait until it’s your turn, Ripper…It’s the most fantastic high. It’s….Thrilling, powereful, erotic! We need you to cast the summoning spell for us. Come on, Ripper. You can control it!"

Giles looked at the circle of his friends. They looked back at him with dead eyes. They were dead…all dead and decaying. Smoke rose out of the center of the pentagram. Eyghon rose, roaring, hungry.

Ethan dragged a slight figure into the light. "Thank you for the sacrifice, Rupert."

"Ethan, NO!" Giles shouted.

Laughing, Ethan shoved Jenny Calandar into the pentagram. Giles screamed as Eyghon dug his claws into the woman he had loved so deeply. She held out her arms to him, her eyes pleading as the demon dragged her from sight. Laughing, Ethan ran through the tenement. Giles chased him, murder on his brain. He ran through a door, and then crashed to the floor as someone struck him.’

"Hello, Rupert." Angelus said pleasantly. The big vampire closed his hand over the Watchers’ throat and lifted him off his feet. Giles hung there, unable to break the vampires’ hold. Angelus laughed at his helplessness then threw him like a rag doll at the feet of Acathla.

"Come on, Rupert! It’s time to wake my friend here up, and end the world. You can tell me how to do that, can’t you?"

He threw a book at Giles feet. "Look it up, and be quick!"

Angelus turned and pulled the sacrifice to stand before him. Dawn Summers stood, terrified and helpless in the vampires’ hands.

"Giles...help me?" she whispered. "Please, please help me?" Angelus laughed as the shape of his demon rose in his face, and then he began to feed on the girl.

"NOOO!" Giles screamed.

He scrambled to his feet and fled, stumbling, out of the mansion and back down the wooded path. He ran until his breath came in short gasps, and his chest burned like fire. Then he slowed and stopped. The path before him was hidden. Behind him, he could hear the terrors in pursuit.

Sucking air in great sobbing gasps, he knew he had to confront the fear that pursued him. The fear of loss. The fear of loneliness,. The fear that he was doomed to endlessly fail those he loved, and have to live with the knowledge that he had failed them. He made a decision. He would run no longer! He looked at the ground, and picked up a stout stick. Then turned, and faced what followed behind.

He waited, watching shadows moving in the trees. From behind him blew a freshening breeze. He could smell the tangy scent of the sea, and the refreshing scent of heather.

He heard a crashing behind him, and as he began to turn a furry body shot past him. A large collie dog stood before him, facing the shadows in the trees. Fur standing on end, teeth bared, she growled in menace at the things in the wood.

"Penny?" Giles asked in amazement. Another dog appeared, this one a male of indeterminate breed, looking more like a tan and white wolf than a domesticated dog. He stood across Giles legs, leaning against him, his 65 lbs. of canine muscle forcing the man to step back.

"Pepper?" Giles asked, reached down to run a hand over the dog’s silky head. Pepper nuzzled his hand. Penny growled again, and the shadows retreated. The dogs came to cavort around him, rubbing against him, licking hands and face. Then they started off through the trees, tails high and wagging. They looked back for him., beckoning. Beyond them Giles could see patches of light dappling through the trees. He followed them into the daylight.

Giles wandered long through the English countryside. The fields were full of wild roses and heather. Small stunted trees of fabulous shapes dotted the landscape. Gulls soared overhead, calling their lonely cries, and, not too far away, he could hear the crash of surf meeting the shore.

He knew this place. He knew every rock and tree for miles about. All his summer holidays from the dreary boarding schools he attended as a boy had been spent here by the sea. He had gleefully tossed aside his school uniforms each summer, and for a few precious weeks had run wild in these hills with the two dogs before him always at his side. A precious time when he could forget about other worlds and dimensions. For a brief time he could put away books that taught him to speak in the language of horrors that most people did not even believe existed. For a little while he could just be a boy, or a young man, and forget that the responsibility of guiding a young girl some day who might be the only hope to hold back the darkness was going to rest on his shoulders.

It felt bloody marvelous, he thought, to be out of that wood, and feel the sunlight on his face again. In the back of his mind, a little voice told him that this could not be happening. His two old canine friends were long dead. He had buried each in the sandy soil overlooking the beach where they had loved to run in the surf a good 25 years ago. For some reason, right now, that didn’t bother him.

He followed path to the cliffs overlooking the sea. The little cottage nestled there, just as he remembered it. Smoke rose from the chimney and a fresh breeze blew the curtains. As he came down the path, yet another dog came shooting out of the gate to greet him, this one a smaller mongrel who resembled nothing more than a gray fox with four dainty white feet. She had an amazing jumping ability, and could reach as high as his chest in her greeting of him. He caught her out of mid-air, laughing as she squirmed about in his arms, and finally settled for giving his chin a thorough licking.

"Well, I see that Bootsie is glad to see you!" He turned and saw Jenny Calandar, as lovely as he remembered her, coming to him out of the garden.

As she came into his arms, he crushed her to him in a fierce hug. "Jenny!" he said softly. "How can this be? I thought I lost you!" He kissed her, and felt a surge of joy that started in his chest and suffused his whole being.

"Well now!" Jenny said. " If it makes you feel this good, England, I ‘ll. insist that you take those dogs walking more often!" She linked her arm through his, guiding him up the path to the cottage. "You’ve wandered far today." she said, her head on his shoulder, her smile warming him.

"Yes." he said softly, "I suppose I have."

"Well, you’ve come home just in time. Nana Helen just finished making biscuits a few minutes ago. We were going to have tea."

"Nana Helen?" he asked, startled.

"Well, yes, of course silly. It’s her house, after all. We’ve been waiting for you. "

Giles, bemused, followed Jenny into the cottage. He passed through, his hands touching well-remembered objects that had belonged to his beloved, eccentric Nana Helen, who had been the first of three successive Watchers in the Giles family.

In the cottage kitchen, Nana Helen bustled about. "Well now, Rupert…And about time and all!" She pecked him on the cheek in passing. "Wash off in the tub there, and sit yourself and have some tea."

This was the Nana Helen he tried to remember. Healthy, vibrant, bustling. Not the shriveled rambling, bed-ridden shell that he had seen at the end of her days. This was the woman who had rescued him from the cold, lonely existence of his father’s house and the endless grind of his schooling each year, if only for a little while. After his mother had died he had been lost in a downward spiral of grief, guilt and addiction that had led to Ethan, Eyghon, and the blackness that had nearly consumed him, Nana Helen had saved him.

"Nana?" he began, and faltered.

She cocked her head at him, her eyes twinkling with life and merriment. "Well, Rupert? What, cat got your tongue?"

"Ah, well, umm, no, Nana." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Just wanted to say, you look lovely today."

"Oh! Go on with you!" she laughed, playfully slapping his arm. "Always the charmer, my Rupert!"

"It’s one of his gifts." Jenny said in a loud stage whisper.

Giles dropped his eyes for a moment, coloring as his quick, shy smile pulled at the corners of his lips. "That’s another one!" Jenny added.

For a while, Giles sat in the warm old cottage with Pepper’s head on his knee, sipping tea and enjoying the company of two ladies that he loved so dearly. After a time, Jenny rose, volunteering to clean up, and Nana Helen rose and held her hand out to her grandson.

"Walk with me, Rupert?" she said, and together they walked along the cliffs edge, looking out over the waves and the ocean below as the dogs raced through the grass about them. "What’s troubling you, Rupert?" Nana Helen asked.

He smiled. "Never could hide anything from you, Nana", he said wryly.

"Is it your Slayer, Rupert?"

"The problem is far more me than her, I think," he began, looking out over the waves. The self-mocking smile was back again. "It seems I’m a bit of an embarrassment, as Watchers go."

"According to whom, Rupert?"

"Well, the Council, for one. Bloody well sacked me for a while, not long ago. They only took me back because Buffy forced them."

Nana Helen turned to him with an amused smile. "Did she now? She’s got sand, that girl!"

Giles’ smile was genuine this time. "Oh, she does that! She’s quite remarkable. You’d like her, I think."

"And why, Rupert, do you suppose she did that?" Nana Helen asked.

"Oh, she’s attached to me, I suppose."

"She loves you, Rupert. As a daughter loves a father, and a student loves a teacher. And she trusts you, as a woman trusts a friend. Do you really know so little about yourself, that you can’t see that?" She looked out over the waves again. "Your Slayer, Rupert, has survived far longer than most already. And she is reaching into new levels of skill and power that few have achieved before. No one is really sure just where that power will lead. It frightens the Council. It should frighten you! Without you to anchor her, your Buffy could get lost in the power. The Council for centuries has been viewing the Slayer as a tool. A weapon to be deployed as they command. They have trained their Watchers to be generals; ordering the Slayer about and training her like a drill Sargent. Isolating her from all attachment and family and love." She turned to face him again. "Do you know what kills most of our Slayers, Rupert?"

"Vampires, or some sort of demons, I would think." he replied.

"Loneliness and despair", she said. "Time after time, the responsibility and loneliness overwhelm them, and then they despair, and they die. You made sure that this girl received an education. You let her have friends, stay with her family. You molded her mind, trained her body, and nurtured her spirit. That’s what gives her her fire. What you’ve done with her hasn’t been wrong, Rupert. In point of fact, you’re the first Watcher in centuries to get it right! Look!" she said, pointing down to the long, dilapidated pier and shore below. A sleek, 3 masted sailboat was docked there. Familiar figures worked on the boat, stowing gear and readying it to sail. One of them was slight of build, with bright golden hair. She effortlessly was lifting boxes and bags that it took two of her companions to move.

"They’ve been looking for you." Nana Helen said. "They are clever, and strong, and brave. But they need someone more experienced to steer the boat and map the course." She pointed to black clouds on the distant horizon. "There’s a storm coming, Rupert. Can’t you feel it? It’s a terrible, powerful storm. I think it may be the storm that you’ve been running from. Will you leave them to face it alone?" She gripped his hands in hers. "This IS your destiny, Rupert. Don’t question yourself, and don’t sell yourself short! You are all that I always knew you could be, and more, and whatever happens, I am proud of you!" With that, she kissed his cheek and hugged him again, and then she left him.

Giles stood watching the figures on the boat for a time, the sunlight warm on his face and the breeze ruffling his hair. Then he turned and walked back along the cliff.

Jenny waited for him where the cliff walk ended. To turn left would take him back to the cottage. To turn right would lead him to the pier.

She stood there with his weapons bag at her feet. He came to her, and stood for a long moment holding her hands. There were tears in her eyes, and in his.

"You’ve got to go now, don’t you, England?" she asked. Unable to speak, he nodded, looking down at their intertwined hands. She reached out and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his sweater, straightened his collar. "I knew that you would." She gestured to the right hand path with her chin. "They need you. She needs you. You go now, and don’t worry about me anymore. I’ll be fine, here with Nana Helen. We’ll care for each other, and we will wait." She lifted his chin, and met his green eyes. "I’ll be here, waiting for you, when the time comes."

She kissed him, and he held her close, her tears wetting his neck and collar. Then she reached down, picked up his bag, and gave it to him. Another quick kiss, and she gave him a push. "Now go. The tide will be changing soon." As he headed down to the shore, she said softly, "I love you, Rupert. Be well."

Before the bend in the path, Giles turned. Jenny stood, lovely as the summers’ day, with the tan and white dog, Pepper at her side. She waved, and he waved back. Pepper gave vent to a long, mournful howl. Then the hillside hid them from his view.

He walked along the pier, and stood watching the young people on the boat. Xander was showing Dawn and Anya how to tie off some ropes. Willow, on the pier, was tossing the last few backpacks to Tara on the deck. Buffy stood on the port side of the boat, eyes shaded as she looked at the distant storm clouds.

"Giles!" Willow exclaimed happily, giving him a quick hug. "We’ve been waiting for you!"

Xander came down the deck, his silly, sloppy grin on his face. "Darn! And I thought I was going to have the whole boatload of girls to myself!"

Giles tossed him his bag, and hopped on board. He came to Buffy’s side, and put his arm around her shoulder.

"Do you see it?" she asked. "Yes," he replied. "it’s coming in fast."

"Big, black, scary ugliness," she said. "Do you think we’re ready?"

He gave her a fatherly kiss on the top of her head, and an affectionate squeeze. "I don’t know, Buffy. But whatever it is, we’ll face it together." And they stood, side by side in the gently rocking boat, and waited for what may come.