THURSDAYS CHILD - PART THREE

Setting: Pre Season 1
Rating: Hmmm….A strong "FRM", I think.
Summary: After Ethan, Eyghon, and the death of Randall, young Rupert Giles is perched on the edge. Can he be saved, even if he doesn't want to be?
Disclaimer: Joss, Joss, Mutant Enemy, the usual suspects. Flame me if you wish, but don't sue!
Feedback: I need it! I want it! I gotta have it! I'll beg…I get SO depressed if I don't get fed! Pretty please? Kapantaleo@aol.com
Thank you: Antonia, for being my beta, even when you're sick! *Offers tea and chicken soup. * And Michamon, for being my test audience and feeding the ficcy beast. You ladies rock!




Cold. He was always cold. Dr. Francis said it was because he had been so ill.
Rupert Giles knew differently. The living dwelt in warmth and light.

He belonged in the darkness. In the shadows, where he could hide from the things that he had done. From what his weakness had led him to become.

The light showed him too many things that he'd rather not see.

The door to his room opened, and his grandmother entered. She paused to stir up the fire, then came to sit in the chair next to his bed. He turned his face away.

Lady Ruth Wickfield surveyed the barely touched tray on the bed. Aside from a cup of tea tightly clenched in thin, long-fingered hands, it looked undisturbed.

"You've done a rather dismal job on your lunch, Rupert."

No answer.

"Martin tells me that you shouted at him and sent him away. Again. Really, Rupert. He deserves better from you."

Nothing.

"Dr. Francis says that, now that your fever is gone and your lungs are clear, you can start to be up and about. Get your strength back. I'm sure you're ready to see something outside of this room."

No response.

"Rupert? This is really quite rude of you. I know you're alive. I can see you breathing." She picked up the tray and moved it aside, then settled on the bed next to him. She reached out to gently cup his chin and turned his face towards her, raising it until she could meet his eyes. They were moss green today, with a fleck of amber in the left one. His mother's eyes.

Wickfield eyes. Just like her own.

"Rupert? Please? Talk to me?"

"Why?"

"Why what? Talk? It's the common thing that two people who care about each other do, isn't it?"

"Why couldn't you just leave me?"

"Because you would have died, Rupert. I couldn't let that happen."

"I'd made my choice. I couldn't…You had no right!"

"To let you kill yourself? To let you take a cowards' way out?"

The expressive green eyes flashed. So…The spirit lived….

He looked away again. "Perhaps. Why should I live, when others are dead because of me?"

"Why should you atone with your life, for deaths that are not your fault?"

His troubled gaze returned to her. "I killed Randall, Nan. I killed him with my own two hands."

"Eyghon killed Randall, Rupert, dear. You killed that thing that butchered him. And you did so at no small risk and injury to yourself."

He shook his head. "It was my fault. Eyghon…I thought I had the proper wards and protective spells… I should have known better. We should never have summoned him."

"No, you shouldn't have. But, you did have proper wards in place, Rupert. I had your research and spells checked."

"How…?"

"How do I know? Phillip Henry and Deirdre Paige. They heard about the smear campaign that sod Sutcliffe started against you. They came forward with all the details."

"Then how? If my wards… How?"

"Ethan Rayne."

"Ethan? What?"

"He altered the chant, Rupert. Changed it from one of protection to one of offering." She laid a warm hand on one thin forearm and squeezed. "He betrayed you, Rupert. He betrayed you all."

She watched the emotions that danced across his face. Confusion, disbelief, relief, and then the anger and remorse that followed on their heels.

"You're certain of this?"

"Martin hunted down Thomas Sutcliffe. He knew. Do you remember that night?"

{Screams, blood…"Oh God! Ripper! Ethan! Help me! Ohgodohgodohgod…"}

His fist slowly clenched on the sheets, until the knuckles turned white. "Yes."

"Sutcliffe was seated in the circle next to Rayne. He heard him change the chant. He was afraid to do anything. From what Martin tells me, he's a coward and a boot-licker of the first order."

Ethan? Ethan had betrayed them? A hundred memories surged forward. Ethan, always so eager for them to work magicks. Always asking him about different demons, and the tribute they require for service. Ethan, a poor boy who grew up on the street, who discovered his magicks and honed their use to survive, without knowledge or concern for the consequences of their use.

Ethan, who said he loved him…

Betrayed. It was all a lie! A fucking lie!

Feelings stirred and rose within him. Feelings he thought he had burned out of himself with drugs and alcohol. Rage. Fury at Ethan for his betrayal and for the terrible waste and loss.

"I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him!"

Used. He'd been used. The anger burning in him changed and reshaped itself, mercurial and quick as thought. Blind rage gave way to a deeper kind of hurt.

Ethan…It never had been love, then.

His eyes filled suddenly with tears, and he turned his face away again. Ruth remained still and silent, giving him time to compose himself.

{"Oh God! Ohgodohgodohgod! Please! Please, help meeeee!"}

"I'm still responsible."

"Yes, you are. But for your part only, Rupert. You're responsible for using black magick, and using it recklessly for personal gain. And you're responsible for running the risk of a demon getting loose on this plane in corporeal form. But, you didn't kill anyone. Randall's death was not your fault. And you stopped the demon. Fought it and killed it single-handed. For the rest…Well, I think you've punished yourself enough, don't you?"

"I…Nan…There's things I've done…Terrible things."

"Yes. There are. But, those things are in the past now, Rupert. You've seen the darkness. You've felt its' touch, and its' power. The question now is, where do you go from here?"

A ghost of a smile then. "I was thinking of finding a nice, big rock to crawl under…"

"That's one option, I suppose. But, I think fate has something else in store for you. As difficult as it may be for you to believe it, I think all this has been part of preparing you for the path you are destined to tread."

"Nan?"

She rose to cross the room and remove a roll of parchment from a bag next to the chair she had spent long watches of the night in while he was ill. She brought it to him.

"The Wickfields lived on this land for centuries. I must admit, our ancestors had quite a shady reputation. There were always rumors of power and magicks associated with our kin. Powerful families watched them with suspicion and fear. The local people whispered that the fey folk were welcomed here. But, too, the Wickfields were reputed to be kind and generous, almost to a fault. If they had power or practiced magicks, they did it with caution and discretion. There were rumors and allegations, but no charges ever brought or proven.

In 1802, Sir Edward Wickfield received a summons from a wiccan coven in South Devon. In the depths of winter, on the night of a full moon, he was bade to attend the fey. He did as he was bidden. As midnight approached he reached the designated point on the shore. A lone, torch-bearing acolyte met him, and bade him be silent and attend. She led him to Thurlestone Rock, where her coven stood in a sacred circle. Within the circle stood the High Priestess and a blind seer.

The Priestess approached him. "There are signs, portents of great danger in the sky. The stars align, and indicate warnings for your house. Because of our ancient ties, we would speak these portents to you. Will you hear?"

Sir Edward, mindful of the acolytes' warnings to be silent, nodded. The High Priestess took his hand, and slashed a deep wound across the palm. She led him to the center of the circle, until they stood before the seer. The full moon washed all in a harsh, white light, and in this darkness made bright as day, Sir Edward could see that the seer was a beautiful young woman. She knelt at the feet of the High Priestess, and received a blessing. Then she lay on the ground on her back, head to the north, feet to the south. She spread her arms to the east and west. The High Priestess bade him kneel to one side, and she knelt on the other. She opened the seer's robes, and the woman lay naked in the whitewashed light. Chanting softly, she took Sir Edward's hand and ran it slowly up the seer's body, from pubic hair to the base of her throat, then from hip to hip, over her womb, and finally across her chest, just above her breasts. Then she pressed his hand to the seer's breast, directly over her heart,and held it there.

A cold wind began to blow, carrying on it the mist from the crashing surf, the seer shivered, then moaned. Then she began to speak.

"In the coming days shall darkness and light battle incessantly. Each conflict shall be greater and more fearsome than the one before, and neither darkness nor light shall be victorious. Great ruin and suffering shall be upon humankind, and, while the light will seem to thrive and grow, the darkness will steadily grow as well, and its' servants and minions will beset humanity, and mankind will wisely shun and fear the dark places.

At the end of the millenium will the danger be greatest. The wards of one of the gates of Hell will weaken, and the land about it will become a place of great darkness and peril. To this place a champion of the light will be called. She shall be of the Chosen, and she will have great courage and power. The darkness, though, will seek her out, and will hunger for her power, and her soul. She will know the allure and power of true evil. She will feel its' call within her, and the darkness that is a part of the core of her power will be drawn to it.

In this time will a scion of your house be called, to be this Chosen's guide and guardian. His kinship and bond with her shall be as none before him, for he will have known the touch of evil as well, for the darkness will know him and hunger for him, and he will walk many black and dangerous paths before giving himself to service of the light. It will be his fate to travel far to stand by her side for many battles.

In those battles, his heart will be bereft, for he will see his Champion fall, and believe her lost. Then will the darkness within him loom again, and threaten to engulf him. Yet, should he hold true, should he not falter in his faith, each time the Chosen will rise and return to his side, to take up the fight again. For, the stars say that while these two stand firm together, the darkness cannot triumph."

Ruth Wickfield studied her grandson's stunned face as she rolled up the parchment.

"There's more…About warning signs along the way, indicators that the time is approaching. Portents to be watched for. Skills that should be honed in each generation of Wickfields…That type of thing."

"But, why tell me, Nan?"

"Isn't it obvious, Rupert, dear? The child of the prophecy…The scion of the house of Wickfield…It's you."

"Me?" He was shaking his head. "No, Nan…It's not me. You're mistaken. It can't be me."

"It is you, Rupert. I've know it from the first moment I held you, and you opened those eyes. Wickfield eyes."

He was still shaking his head. "No. Nan…You…You're wrong. You have to be wrong. It's not me…"

"Rupert…"

"David is…was the one, Nan. I'm sorry, but…David…"

"It was never David. I'm sorry, Rupert. Your brother was a beautiful, gifted boy. He would have been a very special man. A strong Watcher. But he was a Giles, from the top of his jet-black head to the tips of his toes. He was gifted, yes. But, he didn't have the power, the magicks that you do. He was not a Wickfield. You are."

"It can't…Me? It can't be me! I make a hash out of everything I touch. I'm a drunk, and an addict…and a killer. I'm hardly the stuff heroes are made of."

"Real heroes are just people who face and overcome great obstacles, Rupert. You've certainly faced more than your share. The question now, is, are you going to overcome them?"

"I…Nan…I don't…"

"Someday, somewhere, destiny is going to come calling you, Rupert. The fate of all mankind is going to rest on the shoulders of some young girl somewhere. Given what we know, I'm sure she will be a Slayer, and she's going to be facing overwhelming odds. It's your destiny to stand at her side."

"Will you be ready, Rupert? Or will you leave her to stand, and fall, alone?"






Late August, 1997


Damn, it was hot. He walked across the field, shirtsleeves rolled up, tie askew, and sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down his face. The relief when he entered the tress was palatable, like a plunge into cold water. He paused to fish his handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and mop the sweat from his brow, then continued down the overgrown path.

The path led to a sun-dappled clearing, surrounded by tall trees, standing sentry around the small family cemetery. He frowned. The cemetery had a neglected, wild look to it, as the overgrown path through the trees had. He would have to speak to the grounds keeper. He had been neglecting his duties. It just wouldn't do.

He opened the rusty gate and walked through. He made his way slowly along a path that was both well known to him, yet seldom visited these days. As he walked, he drank in the solitude, the babble of the near-by brook, the chatter of the birds. He could feel the power that thrummed in the land under his feet, feel the answering call in his own blood.

He found what he sought. Silly thought, that…really. It's not like it would have moved. Gently, he brushed off the accumulated leaves.

Lady Ruth Angela Wickfield. Beloved wife, mother, and grandmother.

He crouched down, not kneeling in the damp, spongy turf, and laid a rose on the stone. He had a cab and a plane to catch. It wouldn't do to go with mudstains on his trousers.

She would have laughed at him for that.

"It's come. The Call. I never knew it could feel like this. I can feel her fear…her pain…here," he whispered, resting his hand on his chest. "And I can feel her spirit. Such power! Such fire…held tightly in check…barely controlled."

He looked around the green clearing for a moment, absorbing the peace, the quiet. Knowing that the memory of this place was one of the things he would cling to, sustain himself with, in the days to come.

"California. A bloody Hellmouth, no less. And a Slayer who went undiscovered, untrained until she was called. How she's managed to survive so far is nothing short of a miracle. The Council didn't believe that I was called." One corner of his mouth quirked up in a self-deprecating smile. "Imagine that? They sent poor old Merrick after her." His eyes dropped "The reports say he died in her arms. He saved her, but Lothos killed him." He looked around the clearing again. "I only hope I can do as well, if I must. I want you to know, I will do all I can. All that is in my power. And whatever the risk, whatever the cost, I swear, I'll not shame you. I don't know if I have the courage, or the wisdom, that being this Slayer's Watcher will require, but what I have, Nan, I've learned from you. I promise you, I'll not forget."

He stood, then leaned over and kissed the cold stone.

Then he turned and walked away without looking back.


The End.

02/21/2005