Fic: Right Of Claim 17/19

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Wordcount: 5,314

Chapter 16 – Victory (Changes and Development)

“There’s a place I like to hide
A doorway that I run through in the night”
-Queensryche – Silent Lucidity

Back to the library, this time in the car because of the weapons that he had tucked into the trunk. If he wasn’t going to be able to talk the two civilians out of coming along, something that he very much doubted at this stage, having seen the determination of both of them, then he was certainly going to send them in armed to the teeth. Well, with weapons that they should be able handle, anyway, he amended.

One look was enough to stop them from questioning, when he ordered them out to the car. And for the first time since he’d met her, the Slayer seemed to recognize him as a fighter, not some hide-bound book-wielder.

The four of them settled into the car, the Slayer beside him and the other two in the back, and he spoke to them, keeping his tone clipped, in the style of ordering.

“It’s a massacre that we’re preventing. Harvest is an ancient ritual, to gather energy through one source and re-direct it to another. In this case the energy source is blood, and a lot of it.”

He flicked his glance sideways, towards the Slayer, who nodded.

“Buffy, I want you to engage the vessel. You’ll recognize it two ways, a symbol on its forehead, and the fact that it’ll be the one that the others rush to protect,” he gave a brief smile, hoped that it came across as teasing, “and as for the rest of us, our focus in to get in and get out as many people as we can. This isn’t some game, children. There are real lives in your hands, tonight, people who will be panicked, frightened, and will look toward anyone who appears to be carrying authority. It should be easy enough to direct them once we get the first few out, since sheep like to follow a leader, but getting those first few out will present the challenge.”

“Giles,” Xander’s voice was hesitant, and he spoke again, cutting the boy off.

“You will probably have to fight, but keep it brief if it comes to it. You’d be better served by avoiding the situation. I don’t want either of you purposely seeking to engage something that will hand your heads back to you on a silver platter. Am I clear?”

The pair nodded, and as he pulled into the alleyway near the Bronze he saw understanding dawning on Willow’s face. He handed out stakes and crosses and holy water, and made sure that his favourite long-bladed flick-knife was in his pocket although it was more likely that anything which succumbed to him tonight would fall to magical rather than physical means.

For a few moments he considered giving the Slayer a sword, but while he knew that instinct could, to a point, cover gaps in knowledge, it was another lesson Ethan had driven home time and again, that an unfamiliar weapon belonged to your enemy just as much as one that you couldn’t keep control of did. That would have to wait until he was confident that she could handle herself.

He stepped out of the car, still wearing that leather like a biker’s mockery of armour, and with a single gesture and word knocked the door off its hinges, announcing their presence to the crowd which was gathered en masse, and was met by the stench of fear and blood inside, as he focused on causing enough confusion so that the Slayer could approach unnoticed, while the other two headed into the crowd and he lost them.

Then his world became nothing more than the fight, dissolving to that primal struggle to keep himself alive and moving, on the attack, keeping them off-centre, and doing everything that he could to stop them from organizing a defensive. His knife, at his side like it always was, was discouragement for anything that got through his defences, and while blows were landed none ever survived ling enough to do so a second time. At some point he realised that the crowd was thinning, that Willow and Xander were obviously taking care of the task that he’d given them, and as he threw a ball of fire at one in front of him he caught a glimpse of Xander standing toe to toe with Jessie, and the Slayer, moving in that ancient dance of battle, on a stage set for a fight of survival, looking just as comfortable with it as though she’d been born to the battle.

The way that she moved, it took his breath away, and he found himself wonder how it was that she ever could have considered denouncing her birthright, shoving aside a memory of Ethan telling him that he had been born to that balance of magic which he wielded.

And then he was rewarded for that brief moment of distraction as he took a blow to his side that he wouldn’t feel until the adrenalin began to drain, and the next glimpse that he had of the world outside of his own was when a window shattered and seconds late the vampires that were still standing all turned their attention to the stage, where the Slayer was standing, dust drifting to the floor in front of her, highlighted by the yellow light like some warrior angle lit from fire below.

She fixed the rest of them with a look, and they bolted for the gap where the door had stood. For a few precious moments he felt like he was a part of her triumph, as she met his gaze, and then he looked around for other two. Willow was holding herself a little stiffly, and Xander looked like he was in some form of quiet shock, dust in his hair and on his clothes, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was the remnants of Jessie.

He wondered about the exact circumstances, whether the boy had perhaps lost someone that had been on the way to becoming more than a friend, something which that almost desperate look in his eyes told him was quite possible, and then the Slayer dismounted from the stage with a rather impressive handspring, and stepped towards them.

“You guys alright?”

Willow nodded slowly, but the boy didn’t respond. And Rupert had to remind himself that it was time that best healed wounds.

“I know I said that you were welcome to forge your own identity to a point, but that uniform is something that I wouldn’t expect to see on Pay-Per-View.”

She had eased up on his a little since the night where they had stopped the entire Bronze from becoming dinner, and he had started training with her, too, enjoying that old rush of adrenalin which came from even a mock-fight, as his life became something that was hers.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”

“It’s reprehensible, is what it is.”

“Says the rebel bad-boy-come-biker.”

Sighing, he threw up a hand, “Oh, whatever. Have at it, satisfy yourself, but I’ll have you know that if it interferes with your work then let me tell you right now, I’ll have you running laps.”

“Now that’s a low blow.”

“That’s your opinion of things.”

Her expression became serious for a moment, “And it’s not just about satisfying myself, you know. It’s about having a part of what I was before. In my old school I was a cheerleader, and Spring Fling Queen, and a cheerleader, and I was popular. And as vain as it may sound to someone like you; who seems like he threw off every form of conformity that’s ever existed when he went after his own life, losing that sucked big-time. Here, I’ve had to rebuild everything from the ground up, and it’d be nice to have some of the old, you know?”

Again, she was surprising him with a depth that he hadn’t expected.

“I… I do understand, actually,” he smiled at her, and didn’t try to keep that tiny hint off affection which had been developing out of it, “you have no idea the number of times I’ve wished that I could get back what I lost.”

“What do you mean what you lost? Are you meaning like, when you became a Watcher or something? Did they chuck you on an advanced training plan or whatever?”

“Another story for another time,” he kept his tone of voice as mild as he possibly could, free from the bitterness that tainted the thought itself.

“It’s always another story for another time, though.”

“And I will tell you. But not until I think you’re ready to hear it. Besides, which, don’t you have that infernal bloody cat-fight which the more learned circle calls tryouts, to get to?”

She glanced at her watch, and he watched the play of emotion over her face, not without some amusement as she bolted for the door.

“Oh, crap, I’m gonna be late.”

He stared, until the circular window cut her off from view, and then shook his head. He knew that it was pointless, to get attached to her, when in all likelihood she probably wasn’t going to last much longer than a fry in a trout-tank, but it wasn’t something that he seemed to be able to help. The more time that he spent with her, the more right this felt, in spite of his preliminary fears, about how this was going to go.

This was meant to be his life, serving alongside the Slayer that he had been called to, and the thought that she wasn’t going to survive this was something that kept him awake long after his body urged him to lie down and rest.

Ethan, for the most part, seemed to be keeping to itself; nights spent exploring the tunnel network and doing the gods knew what else, and rarely coming back before he’d left for the school. And when he did get back before dusk, it was almost like it was itching to get back out, although he had no idea why. At a guess he would have said it was something to do with the Hellmouth’s energies, but he wouldn’t have bet on it.

He poured himself a cup of tea, and sat back to wait. There were no disasters due, aside from the bottleneck that would possibly be caused by an alarming number of young men in the hallway outside the gym, but that wasn’t something that required hands on action.

So when he felt the bite of magic, set out from the usual constant back-ground energy of the place he was surprised. He wasn’t, on the other hand one little bit surprised when Buffy came back in, and her explanation fell over itself, of a girl who had caught fire.

Holding up a hand, he stopped her, so that he could get a word in edgeways, “It was of magical origin, I felt that much. Did you see anyone looking at the unfortunate young woman, perhaps muttering something? That sort of a spell usually requires focus on the victim, a focus that wouldn’t have been able to achieve outside of visual contact.”

“Well, duh. It was a tryout, Giles; everyone was looking at her like they wanted her to break a leg.”

“She was that good?”

“I’ll say. She just about could have done back-flips around me.”

At the mental image of that, he smirked.

“Okay, so maybe not quite,” she amended, “but she was good. And the point still stands, that trying to pick up on extra malice in that place is like trying to pick a spine out of a porcupine.”

“Yes, I do get your point. I suppose this hasn’t put you off your desire to make the team?”

She looked at him like he was mad.

“Fine, if you make the team you can put it to good use. Be sure to use your position to get close to the other girls. See if there’s been anyone acting suspicious or overly antagonistic towards them.”

“And again, I point out the fact that they’re cheerleaders. Any girl who isn’t on the team has adequate reasons to want them dead.”

“Are you entirely sure that you want a hobby which is quite so dangerous?” he teased.

“Yep. Because I’m sure that after it’s all said and done the Slaying will be a breeze.”

He chuckled, “There is that, I suppose.”

“Was there anything else, then?”

He looked at her, thinking it all over. There was research to be done, of course, but that would probably go quicker if he was to do it on his own. It hadn’t taken him long to come to the conclusion that, as intelligent as she was, she wasn’t really a particularly bookish person.

And she looked like she wanted him to say no.

“Did you have plans for tonight?”

“Depends. If I said yes would you get all British and glarey?”

“Glarey is hardly a word, and if you ever use it again in my presence I shall certainly invent a meaning for it, and it won’t be one that you’re going to like. And have I ever done so before?”

She frowned like she was actually considering it, before she answered, “No, not really. But sometimes you get this funny look in your eyes, like wish you could make me think twice before I talk, or something. Anyway, back to the topic at hand.”

“Yes, back to that, you never gave me an answer.”

“Yes?” it was meant to come out as a statement he assumed, but it sounded more like a question.

“No. There’s nothing here that I can’t take care of myself.”

“Hey, thanks,” she favoured him with a rare smile, and he returned it as she left.

Again, as most of the days were prone to doing, this one dragged past, after the excitement, as he looked for an appropriate spell to trace the magic back to the source, something that wouldn’t disrupt things or alert the caster if they tried something again, which was almost guaranteed to happen in his opinion.

When he finally left the silent building, it was dark, as it usually was, and he decided that he didn’t feel like going straight back to the house which was probably standing empty, if Ethan had decided to stick to the pattern of the last few weeks.

As usual, the bike and the illusion of freedom called to him, but he didn’t really want that, either. Quietly, standing, leaning against the bike he questioned himself and tried to work it out. Then he decided that a few beers at the nearest bar would be as good a place as any to start.

Swinging a leg over, he kicked the stand up and gunned the bike, pulling out of the parking lot with as much speed as he could give it in the small space. Parking the bike in the shadows, and strapping the helmet to the back, he was just about to the door of the pub, when he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

He turned towards it, to make sue that he was seeing what he was seeing, and frowned to himself. His Slayer was standing on the street, talking to someone who was older; a lot older, if the absentee life force was anything to go by. Although there was something that was off about him…or it, never the less.

And damn it, she had spotted him staring.

Forcing a false smile, he nodded towards the pair of them, making a mental note to ask her why she was hanging about with a vampire tomorrow morning.

“Good evening.”

And now she was gesturing him over

“Giles, this is Angel, the guy who I was telling you about. The one who first mentioned that Harvest thing to me. Angle, Giles. A friend of mine.”

She sounded like a girl, sounding off to her paramour, which was ironically amusing to a point. It extended a hand, but he didn’t take it, simply looking it up and down. The out of curiosity as to what it would say in return, he spoke.

“So, how did you find out about the Harvest in the first place?”

Its voice was low and deep as it replied, with a shrug, “You could say I’ve been around a while. There’s not much I haven’t seen.”

So, not only a vampire, but a conceited one at that; although in saying that he was yet to run into one that didn’t think, at least half the time, that it was worth ten times more than it actually was. Even Ethan had its moments.

“Yes, I’d say that you probably have. By a while, were you meaning a few decades, or a few centuries?”

The Slayer looked startled, as she looked at him, “What are you talking about?” then she twisted towards the vampire who’s shadow she was standing in, “Angel, what’s that meant to mean?”

He spoke before it had a chance to, “What I mean, is that this friend of your is a vampire. There’s something that’s slightly off about it, but there is no doubt that it has been turned.”

The expression in its eyes became calculating, “Not all that surprised you can tell, what with that scent that’s hanging you like a cloud following a wet week. And you call me it. That’s real polite of you.”

“I do what I do,” he replied, coolly.

Buffy frowned, “And what do you mean by something off? How can something be off with a vampire, in the first place?”

“It… it’s like a feeling. Or a fragment of a feeling, that something’s out of place, or something that isn’t meant to be, is.”

It raised an eyebrow, “You can feel subtleties? It really has been a long time, then.”

And now it was him, that her attention was focused on, “What’s been a long time?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he brushed her question off, and looked squarely at Angle, “so, are you going to tell me exactly what this subtlety of yours is?”

He saw something, some hint of distant pain in its gaze.

“It’s a soul.”

He could tell that it didn’t expect him to believe it, so in order to keep Buffy from thinking too deeply into what it had said about him, he nodded at it, “Is it a curse, drawn back to the flesh afterwards, or is it a binding?”

“What do you mean, is it a curse or a binding? It’s always a curse, isn’t it: to have done the things that the monster has done, and have a clear memory of it, tied alongside guilt for things that can never be altered.”

“You… you… you’re a vampire with a soul?” she began to laugh, a sound tinged with hysteria, “you’ve gotta be kidding me. That’s… well, it’s impossible, for starters.”

“No,” Rupert planed a hand on her shoulder, trying to ground her again, “it’s just extremely rare, and extremely difficult to do, especially as the former. The… the level of power that such a thing would take, even the thought of it is incredible.”

“Gypsies. Traditional power, inherited.”

“Yes, that would make sense. You must have done something that was very upsetting, for them to take such a dark revenge.”

It looked at the Slayer, who had moved a little more towards him, seeking some reassurance, or something of the like, and took a breath, seemingly to steel itself, “I killed a favourite daughter of the clan, in 1898. And they gave me a parting gift.”

“Seventy-Nine years,” Rupert breathed, impressed in spite of himself, “that’s quite a feat, when I wouldn’t have expected a cursed one to last longer than a few years, with the suffering that such a thing would have brought.”

“It felt too selfish, to kill myself.”

It felt like they had come to an impasse. And that feeling was only affirmed, when it reached towards her, and she stepped back, again that little bit closer to her Watcher. Stepping in front of her, he crossed his arm, knowing that if it had been a regular man, then it would have thought twice about trying to get past him.

“If I was in your shoes, mate, then I’d be stepping back to give her a little time to process.”

The way that it looked at him, he could still see a touch of the predator in it, that it didn’t like being told what to do, but it was… subdued. And he would have loved some proper time to study this, but at the moment Buffy was the more pressing concern. It didn’t respond, and with a little pressure, a guiding hand on her shoulder he drew her away, and into the mouth of the alleyway where he’d parked the bike. It seemed as though he wasn’t going to be getting that drink after all. Or not any time soon, at least.

“You comfortable riding pillion, luv?”

“Pillion? You brought a horse into town?”

Grateful for the darkness, he rolled his eyes at it, “Pillion means passenger. Will you be comfortable riding behind me? Always got a spare helmet and I know well enough what I’m doing.”

“You’re asking me to go on the bike behind you?”

“Thought we cleared that up, already. Although I suppose I could be a proper gent and walk you, then come back for the bike. Come to think of it, there’s as good an excuse as any to still make it into the bar, too.”

She looked at him, trying to figure out if he was being serious.

“That is assuming you want to go back home, anyway.”

“And if I didn’t?”

“Would invite you back to mine, introduce you to the delights of underage drinking, but I’m not set up for company. You Americans like coffee though, don’t you? There’s a café that’s open late, about ten minutes from here, over the good side of town. I could always get you a coffee, or whatever other junk you wanted.”

Even as he extended the hand of friendship, he cursed himself for a fool. It would all be over, tears before bed-time, and no-one to blame but himself for the hole that would be left in his life.

“Sounds good.”

He took the spare helmet off the back, as well as his own, and made sure that it was on her properly, before pulling his own on, and straddling the bike, glancing back towards her, “Right. Legs up, and hold on to me. Don’t break my ribs, and I won’t do anything fancy, how does that sound to you?”

She nodded, lifted her feet clear of the ground, and he felt her grasp him through the leather. Throttling the ignition he kicked up the stand, and coasted onto the road.

He revved a little, gave it just enough speed that the lights danced past in streaky flashed, and turned a ten-minute ride into seven, when he usually would have done it in four on a good day, or five on a bad one. She waited until he’d kicked the stand down again before she swung herself off, and as she removed the helmet he saw a broad grin on her face, and excitement lighting her eyes.

Removing his own helmet he took back the one that he’d given her, and put them both back in place.

“Nothing quite like it, is there?”

“Do you ever get used to that rush?”

“I’m still waiting for the day,” he patted the bike fondly on the leather seat, “to me this is freedom, Buffy; the one place where nothing can tie me down, or restrain me.”

He led her into the café, and stood to the side, letting her chose a table, “Pretty deep, for a rebel without a cause,” she teased, lightly.

“And don’t I know it, luv? I just love to shock the shit out of the rest of the hoods, doll,” he let a touch of cockney show through, as he grinned at her in turn.

She laughed, as she chose a seat that was towards the back of the place, “Okay, so I brought that one on myself.”

He dropped the accent, as he ordered a cup of coffee for her and a beer for himself, the other reason that he had chosen this place, and took the seat across from her, “Yes, you did rather. So was there anything in particular that you wanted to discuss? Or did you really just want a chance to empty my pockets?”

He could practically see the cogs turning as she tried to sort her thoughts out, and work out where to start. The she obviously decided to go for something that must have looked easy from where she was standing.

“I want to know about you. How exactly did you know what he was? And why do you always call vampires it?”

“I knew what it was, because I’ve had a lifetime worth of practice at spotting vampires, no matter what mask they wear. And I was raised to think of vampires as the… as the monsters that are lurking under that human skin, not the façade that they present to the majority of the world’s populace. The demonic are not male or female as human standards go they are a race unto themselves. And vampires, in particular, are hybrids, a pervasion of human and demonic blood, so they fit the original definition of it as well. It’s also a lot easier to separate yourself from your target, less damaging to the ego if you no longer think of them as the humans that they used to be.”

The beer and coffee were brought over to the table, and he took a large mouthful, as she sorted out her next question, “And that crack about the way that you smell?”

He’d been hoping that that one hadn’t registered, in light of everything that it had been surrounded by.  Keeping his expression schooled, he shrugged, “Old books, and old magic. I’ve lived a lifetime surrounded by both, so is it really any wonder that I smell like it?”

It wasn’t really a lie, not if one looked at the technicalities. And he was still glad for it, when she accepted it at face value.

“How long have you known that you were going to be a Watcher?”

“I was ten when my father first told me. The Giles family have had ties to the Watcher’s Council for generations.”

“Must have taken a lot of the mystery out of it, knowing that your future was set out before you.”

“I despised it.”

She looked pointedly at his leather jacket, that he had declined to remove, “Yeah, I kind of noticed that one. So if you hated it so much, then why did you come back to it? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that you did, but why?”

He drained the rest of his beer, and gestured for another, as she was still only halfway through her coffee.

“Because some things are written, and others aren’t. When it came down to it, I could escape for a short while, but my destiny was still just that; my destiny. In the end I wasn’t given a choice about returning to the fold, because it was what I had to do.”

She looked down at her drink, and he thought he saw a flash of pain dart fleet-footed across her face. When she spoke again, her voice was hesitant.

“How can you not despise me, with all of that?”

“Chaos’ sake, Buffy. You weren’t the one that forced my hand. And I’d rather lose my life tomorrow, than have lived free without knowing you. You’re the one thing in my joke of a life that feels as though it makes any sense at all. You’ve made what I’ve gone through worth-while,” he took a fresh mouthful of his new drink, “and that’s not just the beer talking.”

He was frightening himself. He knew that he was telling her nothing but the truth, and he had no idea what hell losing her was going to send him into. He forced himself to continue while he still had it in him, speaking from his heart.

“My life, at many stages, has been nothing short of hell, dear girl. And frankly, I hope that you never have cause to know even a quarter of the finer points. But working with you, it feels like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. And that’s something which I’m almost obscenely grateful for. To help you make a difference to the world makes me feel like I’m finally doing something that I have a right to be proud of.”

He felt her gaze on him, almost like she was studying him.

“You… you actually mean that don’t you? You mean exactly what you’re saying.”

“Chaos’ sake, I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and she finished off the last of her coffee, “Seriously, Chaos’ sake?”

“Shall I start carrying around a set of business cars which reinforce the message that old habits tend to cling on for dear life by the tips of their fingernails? And it’s far politer than several of the other things that I could be saying, believe you me.”

“Yeah, for some reason I don’t doubt that,” her expression gained that teasing nature again, and she made an attempt at a cockney accent which had him struggling not to pull a face, “Them there hoods be teachin you everything that you know, I bet.”

He shuddered visibly, “And if you ever attempt that again, I’m afraid I shall have to make do with the best of those lessons and either gag you, or drown out everything you say with obscenely loud music.”

“I’ve heard worse threats, you know. Although not from anyone that could probably actually carry them out.”

He gulped back the last of his drink, and rose to pay for everything, with her a couple of steps behind him. She followed him back out to the bike, and then hesitated, as he held out the spare helmet to her again.

“You’ve just more or less sculled two pints of beer.”

“And I’m still steadier on my feet than any sober man that you’re likely to meet. Did you want to put it to the test?” then he winked at her, “Besides, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

She hesitated for another few seconds, and then straddled the bike behind him again, wrapping her arms around his chest like she had the last time. Again, he took it easy, remembering both the facts that she was new to the experience and that if he did something which was too over the top then he was liable to wind up with internal bruising.

Still, he took her the long way back to her place, looping out around a few unnecessary blocks, and although he didn’t gun it, he still drove faster than he technically had a right too.

And that grin which had returned to her face by the time he came to a stop in front of her place was more than enough of a reward for him.

Wishing her a good night, as she strapped the spare helmet back into place, she grinned back at him.

“Hey, thanks for that. I appreciate it, you know.”

“You’re more than welcome, Buffy.”

He watched, until she was safely in the house, and then pushed off again, back onto the road, and headed for a path that would take him out of town so that he could get some real speed behind him, and try to hit that place where he didn’t care about a single bloody thing.