Chapter 3

 
Giles sat, a little worse for wear, in the darkest corner he could find of the only pub in Sunnydale that managed to come even close to resembling those back home in London. He had accepted the latest pint of Guinness from the waitress and now nursed it, just as he was also nursing his ever-growing resentment.
 
He was still seething over the events that had led to him sitting here; he had just been thrown out of his own home, by a vampire, with orders not to return until daybreak. Since when did he take orders from a bloody vampire? he thought bitterly as he took a long swallow of his rapidly warming beer. Not that he had left because of the damned vampire anyway, he reminded himself; it had been his slayer’s quiet pleas, coming on the heels of the vampire’s orders, that had sent him out into the night with no more than his coat and his wallet.  What he couldn’t reconcile himself to was the fact that she had asked him to leave in the first place, had all but bloody begged him to leave her alone with that vicious creature, when all he wanted was to protect her.
 
Protect her?
 
A bitter laugh escaped him at the irony of that thought, and he took another long draw of the dark brew.  He was the one asking this… abomination of her in the first place.  Protect her indeed; he could try, but he was unable to lie to himself, and try as he might he just could not shake the feeling that he was whoring her out to an evil killer in order to save the world. All of his family history, the generations-long Giles legacy of service to the Council of Watchers, and yet here he was reduced to little more than a glorified pimp.  Surely there was another way to defeat Angelus—something that wouldn’t require his Slayer to debase herself?  If only he had looked a little longer, perhaps he may have found something, anything, else.  Perhaps he could have saved her from this horrendous ordeal.
 
The Watcher in him knew that there was no other way; the prophecy had been very specific, and he had verified it numerous times, checking and cross-checking that his translation and his interpretations were correct.  He had spent the last week poring tirelessly and repetitively over every piece of literature he could find pertaining to Acathla, Angelus, and any references regarding an impregnated slayer. The few small bits of information he had been able to locate merely reconfirmed the conclusion that he had already drawn; as such he had acrimoniously resigned himself to what he must ask his Slayer to do. The father in him, however—the man inside who saw this girl as more than simply his charge, his Slayer, who saw her rather as the daughter that he would quite likely never have—longed to find another way, to say to hell with it, to let the world and its problems find someone else to save them this time.  Surely she had done enough already; she had, after all, died to save the world; why should she be forced to endure this torment as well?
 
Closing his eyes, he allowed his head to fall forward and rest on the beer-stained timber of the table in front of him.  He wanted to rail at the world, to rip heads off, to vent his impotence in blood and pain. He longed to scream out his fury at the injustice that forced a young, vibrant girl with so much life in her to go out each night, repeatedly risking said life in the attempt to save an ungrateful, ignorant world filled with people, half of whom were not worth saving.  He wanted to decry the sacred duty that forced him, as her Watcher, to send her out there into a danger filled world, that forced him to be prepared to sacrifice the girl he loved like his own child in the never-ending struggle of good versus evil, that was now requiring him to give her up like a common prostitute to evil itself, in fact the very epitome of evil in the form of William the Bloody—the Slayer of Slayers.
 
He cringed at the thought of the ritual his slayer would have to undergo, the ritual that she was, in fact, possibly already undergoing.  How could he have gone along with this—even for an instant?  How had he walked out of the flat and left Buffy alone with that creature?  Lord only knew what he was doing to her; Spike’s agreement could have simply been a ruse to get her alone and to carve a third Slayer notch into his belt.  Suddenly frantic from the direction of his thoughts, Giles downed the last of the beer, quickly grabbed his coat and, stuffing his arms awkwardly into the sleeves, stood up and made his way out into the street.  
 
Giles hurried down the darkened streets towards home, his anguish carrying him more rapidly than his somewhat drunken state should normally have allowed.  He was driven forward by one thought, running through his mind like a mantra; he simply must save his slayer.  He had let her down too many times in the past, had failed her and had been unable to avert the tragedies that had befallen both her and himself as a result of his inadequacy. He refused to fail her this time.  The world be buggered; Buffy needed him.
 
As he walked, Giles went over in his mind the words he would say, the arguments he would make to dissuade her from the very course he himself had set her upon mere hours before.  His slayer may not have been the most dedicated the Council had ever known, and it may be true that she had often been quite vocal in her contempt for the Council and its methods; however, she could never be seriously accused of shirking her duty, and her dedication to combating the forces of evil was beyond question.  Having spent a considerable amount of time convincing her that this course of action was necessary in order to save the world from the destruction that Angelus was determined to unleash upon it, was fairly certain that any attempt at convincing her that she should now disregard his previous arguments and for once put her own safety and well-being before that of the world would be met with fierce opposition regardless of her abhorrence of the task required of her.
 
After trialling and quickly dismissing as fruitless a considerable number of arguments and pleas, Giles determined that the most effective method available to him in his quest to save his duty-bound slayer was to simply remove the obligation by removing the vampire in question. A quick stake to the vampire’s heart, and he would have freed his slayer from the repulsive responsibility that he had been sickened to have placed upon her in the first place.
 
Having now decided on his course of action, he continued with renewed vigour his trek back to his flat and to the young girl he had abandoned earlier.
 
A loud scream pierced both the night and his thoughts. Turning in the direction of the sound, Giles hurried into the poorly-lit park, readying a stake as he went.  He slipped as stealthily as possible through the shadows while maintaining as much speed as he was able under the circumstances; pausing to orient himself to his surroundings, he lingered momentarily in the shadows of the trees, ears straining for the slightest sound.  Muffled sounds of a struggle came to him on the breeze, and he focused his attention in that direction.  On a clear stretch of ground beyond the playground equipment, he could just make out the silhouettes of three vampires and their chosen meal.  The girl was struggling, he could hear that much, and he could see her thrashing as they dragged her away.  Without pausing to consider the odds, he threw himself into the fray, catching the vampires by surprise and easily dusting one before the others had a chance to react.
 
A large, hulking creature held the girl, his hand over her mouth to prevent any further screams while his other arm banded around her upper torso, pinning her arms to her sides and her body hard against his massive chest, leaving her feet dangling in midair.  A blonde mop of hair hung over his eyes, obscuring to some extent the large overhang of the vampire’s extremely prominent brow.  The second vampire was dwarfed by his companion; small of frame, sinewy and slight, in life he would have been no more than sixteen.  He had short, neatly-trimmed raven hair and a face that could easily have been referred to as sweet had it not been distorted by the ridges that proclaimed his vampiric status.  Something about the boy tugged faintly at Giles’ memory, but he pushed such concerns away as redundant; whoever this boy may have been in life, he was now no more than a cold-blooded, evil killing machine.
 
Giles braced himself for their retaliation, adopting a firm fighting stance and holding his stake at the ready.  The massive blonde vampire dropped the girl, knowing he could easily recapture her after this foolish miscreant was dealt with.  Growling furiously, he turned his attention to the man who had dared to interrupt their hunt.  The other, smaller vampire also turned to fight, but kept more of a distance, allowing the large neanderthal to take the fore.  Giles watched with grim satisfaction from the corner of his eye as the girl whimpered softly to herself, climbed to her feet, and ran off, stumbling into the night.
 
The large vampire made his move, launching himself furiously at the Watcher.  Giles easily avoided the attack; Neanderthal may have been large and exceptionally muscular, but he was not, however, a graceful fighter, bulky in movement and with a tendency towards telegraphing his moves clearly to his opponent.  Neither was he fast, and Giles had plenty of hours under his belt training with his slayer; a spinning kick from the watcher connected with the vampire’s back as he charged, bemusedly, past the victim he had been intent upon ploughing down, and the added impetus from the well-placed kick sent him stumbling face first to the hard-packed dirt. Giles’ eyes followed the hulking vampire’s progress to the ground; thus distracted he almost he missed the move by the smaller and more agile demon, resulting in a punishing blow that glanced off his shoulder as he quickly shifted sideways.  Years of intense training at the Watcher’s Council served him well as he shut himself off from the pain in his shoulder and quickly engaged his new opponent. He was careful not to allow himself to be turned around; the last thing he needed was to be battling this new and considerably quicker rival whilst leaving himself open to a rear attack from the previous one.
 
Giles could feel himself tiring; he had countered several rapid attacks already, and the larger of the two vampires was slowly rising from the ground to join the attack once more.  He knew that if he had to fight the two of them at once, he stood very little chance of living through this encounter.  Shifting his weight onto his back foot, he feinted and threw his opponent off enough that he was able to close the short distance between himself and the behemoth who was lumbering to his feet; planting his stake in the creatures back he prayed that his aim had been true and that his backhanded blow contained enough force to penetrate the vampire’s ribs and reach into its unbeating heart.  A cloud of dust swirling to enclose him was his only, although much appreciated, response to his fervent prayers.  Mouthing a quick ‘thank you,’ he turned his attention once more to his remaining foe as the vampire launched an all-out attack on him.  A fierce blow to the left side of his chest caught him and sent him stumbling backwards, his breath catching painfully as he felt the sharp stab of broken ribs.
 
Steeling himself against the pain once more he continued to fight, each blow, whether landed or received, sending a fresh jolt of pain coursing through him.  He felt himself weakening, his breath now coming in quick shallow gasps and his movements becoming clumsier by the moment. Giles knew with chilling certainty that it was only a matter of time before he slipped up, and a wave of frustrated anger swept through him.  He had known since becoming a Watcher that he was likely to die in the course of his duties, and he had accepted that fact years prior; the imminent fulfilment of that scenario did not in itself cause him much more than a moment’s sadness.  Rather, it was the fact that his demise was coming at a time when his Slayer so greatly needed him that was the cause of his acute frustration.
 
The vampire closed once more with the rapidly failing human, seeking to end the fight quickly and eagerly anticipating the taste of the warm blood as it slid across his tongue and down his throat.  
 
With a growl of anger reminiscent of the very creatures he had spent the better part of his adult life combating, in one form or another, Giles ignored the screaming pain as his broken ribs grated against each other and, grasping the vampire firmly around the head, twisted his upper body sharply with the last of his remaining strength. A slow sadistic smile slid across his face at the loud welcoming crunch of bones, and he dropped the vampire to the ground, its head twisted at a nauseating angle.  He knelt and delivered a quick blow to the vampire’s chest, the wooden stake driving home to end the creature’s suffering in a swirl of dust.  With a ragged sigh, he brushed himself off and climbed carefully to his feet.  He still had one more vampire to deal with this night.  
 
Pocketing the stake wearily, Giles turned to leave the park, only to come face to face with a pair of cold brown eyes, dancing with a uniquely cruel mirth.
 
“Well, well.  Rupert.  Fancy meeting you here.”
 
Giles felt his blood run cold just as his world went black.

tbc

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