The Watcher's TaleBy Medea
DEDICATION: To Anthony Stewart Head, for breathing life into our much beloved Watcher.I think that one who tells stories must always have another to whom he tells them, and only thus can he tell them to himself.
...people will believe anything provided it's the dead who speak.
--Umberto Eco, 'Baudolino'
Chapter One
1. The Unexpected
Expect the unexpected.It's practically the Watchers' Creed. We're trained to deal with the supernatural. Some are experts in demon lore, others in the interpretation of prophecy, still others in the intricacies of magic. And then there is the one among us, the privileged one, to whom the highest honor is given.
The one who, for a few brief years -- longer, if he is very, very lucky -- serves as advisor, guide, and confidant to the Slayer.
For sixteen years, the honor...the blessing...was mine.
The experiences were wonderful beyond belief. Terrifying. Grueling. Astonishing. And yes, unexpected. In her short, brilliant lifetime, Buffy Summers achieved the impossible more times than I could count. Indeed, I lost track, which brought me no small measure of grief from the Council when they found that my records were somewhat sketchy for a few years.
Of course, the Council couldn't be bothered with frivolous explanations along the lines of "Well, you see, I hadn't the time to keep up with my journal entries when I was helping with the battle against a hell god...and against a demonically transformed civil servant...and against a psychotic vampire who murdered the woman I loved..."
Which brings us to one of the chief sources of the unexpected aspects of my career. Certainly, I'd expected to be involved in my Slayer's battles, but as a supporting player. It was my training, you see. A good Watcher nurtures and guides, but never gets emotionally attached to his charge, and *never* forgets the cardinal rule: it is the Slayer's fight, and hers alone.
At least, that used to be the cardinal rule.
Then came Buffy, bless her soul. Never have I met anyone so unconcerned with rules and proper procedure, and yet, never have I met anyone who inspired such fierce loyalty and devotion. That is why I could never leave the fight to her alone.
And it is also why, unlike her predecessors, Buffy benefited from a close-knit, caring group of friends who charged into the fray right behind her. No matter that they were painfully naïve at the outset, or that they had a deplorable lack of discipline at times, or that none of them possessed any special talents or superior strength that might even remotely qualify them. All that concerned them was helping their friend in her lonely, dangerous, and all-too-often heart-breaking quest to make a difference in the world.
But you see, this is where things took an extreme turn for the unexpected.
I went to Sunnydale expecting to shepherd Buffy through her duties as the Slayer.
I never expected that it would lead me to take an entire band of American teenagers under my wing.
Nor could I possibly have imagined that one of them would suffer a dreadful twist of fate that, eventually, overturned everything I thought I knew about vampires, humans, Slayers, the Council...everything.
2. Interlude
"Willow, calm down," Angel urged, gripping her upper arms to halt her increasingly frantic pacing."He's dying, Angel!" Willow snapped tearfully. She struggled to free herself, but was outmatched when her other Mate wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her firmly.
"Easy, luv, this isn't helping any," Spike murmured, seconding Angel's efforts to soothe her.
Trapped between her two Mates, Willow stilled momentarily but it was clear that she was fuming. She raised desperate eyes to Angel's and bit out tightly, "Wesley. Says. Giles. Is. Fading." She paused, struggling to control her emotions, but was unable to prevent her voice from trembling. "He says Giles has slipped into a coma, and he might not last the night. I have to leave right away! Where *are* they?!?"
A familiar voice answered from the entryway, "Here."
Willow let out a sigh of relief as she turned to see Cyrene, Hannah, and Tara walking toward her. Calm flowed into her through the renewed bond with her coven. Angel and Spike sensed the change and released her. Tara reached her first and enveloped her in a sympathetic embrace.
"We came as fast as we could," Tara apologized softly. "Willow, I'm so sorry about Giles."
Willow sniffled against Tara's shoulder, "I know. But he's not dead yet."
Tara gently pulled away and fixed Willow with a tender yet stern gaze. "Willow, you know you can't interfere. That isn't the way."
Willow's expression darkened. "I know, I know...it's just...He's *family*, Tara," She broke off in frustration, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and continued, "If I can just see him once more before..."
Cyrene drew near and placed a comforting hand on Willow's shoulder. "We'll do everything we can. You know this will be tricky, though. We don't have anyone closer to London to anchor you."
Willow's dismay was plainly visible across her face. "Nobody? But what about--?"
"We tried everyone," Hannah assured her sadly. "But on such short notice, we couldn't reach any of our contacts."
"Which means I could end up anywhere within a 200-mile radius of London," Willow murmured, her brow knit tightly in concentration. Tears moistened the rims of her eyelids. In a low, quivering voice, as if speaking to herself, she said, "This can't be happening. There has to be a way..."
Through the anguish that encased her like a shell, a soft, persistent voice made itself heard in her mind. The voice reached out to her with a single word.
Willow.
At the distant echo of her own name, Willow went completely still, her eyes wide. Recognizing her caller, Willow whispered in awe, "Sahu?"
3. The Fatal Weekend
There was no warning.There never is.
We all had plans that weekend, as we normally did, even if they were rather unremarkable plans. Our lives had settled into a bizarre, albeit comfortable, routine, which wasn't surprising. We'd defeated a hell god. After that, everything else paled in comparison. There were still foes to be fought, but increasingly the work of fighting evil came to fit neatly into our schedules, alongside mundane chores like taking inventory at the magic shop. Xander and Anya were busy with their wedding plans at the time, as I recall. Buffy was fretting over her studies, while Willow...
...Willow was off at a conference that one of her professors had encouraged her to attend.
One well-meaning suggestion from a professor who saw great potential in a student; that's all it took to alter our lives forever.
It is astonishing how slowly devastation can creep up on you. The word suggests a sudden onslaught, an intense, overpowering whirlwind, and believe me, we felt all that and more, afterward. But at first, all we heard was the barest whisper that something was amiss.
Willow didn't come home.
A phone call from Angel suggested that all was well...yet something wasn't quite right. When the weekend stretched into the following week, Xander and Tara drove to Los Angeles.
And still Willow didn't come home.
Xander and Tara, however, did.
They brought with them terrible, unthinkable news.
Our Willow, our sweet, steadfast Willow, was dead. Worse yet, she'd risen.
For days, we were mere shadows of ourselves. Xander most of all. Nothing would console him. She had been his only surviving childhood friend, and although they each had deeply committed relationships with others, in their own, private way, they genuinely loved each other.
Buffy was just as heartbroken, but where Xander withdrew into himself for a long while, she vented all her grief and rage on the local demon population. Her rampage was so fearsome that Willy closed his bar and took an extended holiday due to lack of clientele. Even after his patrons cautiously resurfaced, the Slayer's massacre was discussed in hushed whispers, and threats to human life were few and far between.
Sunnydale's human population attributed the greater sense of safety to increased police vigilance.
And poor Tara...
There is a field of sunflowers not far from the UC-Sunnydale campus. Once, it had been simply a grassy patch where Tara and Willow had met for a picnic. I found Tara there, not long after Willow's death, crying into the ground. It took me close to an hour to coax her back home. A cluster of sunflowers sprang up shortly thereafter, and have stubbornly defied all attempts by city park officials and would-be developers to weed them out. Plans for parking lots and playgrounds were abandoned, and day after day, the sunflowers followed the sun in its path across the sky, keeping an eternal vigil.
As one who, since childhood, had worn poppies on the eleventh of November each year, I appreciated the form that Tara had given to her grief, and her remembrance.
Meanwhile, I labored under the suffocating weight of maturity. For the sake of my Slayer and our small, close-knit band, I mourned silently.
Dear God, I wanted to scream.
But I couldn't. The nightmare was real. And as so often happens in nightmares, the power to scream had fled.
And so, in keeping with my training, I watched.
I watched over those who needed me to be their strength, their anchor. Buffy. Xander. Tara. Throughout their grief, I steadied them and gave what comfort I could.
All the while longing for the luxury of youthful rage.
When the chance finally came, however, I slipped quietly away. And once again, I watched.
It was one of Willow's first nights out since...
...since...
Angel knew where she and Spike had gone. He took me, and stood by as I watched her from the shadows.
And the silence broke.
I knew why she was there. Without Angel needing to make excuses or explanations, I knew, as I watched her stroll with Spike a few paces behind an unsuspecting couple.
And I wept.
Rage, seething inside me ever since Xander had broken the news, pounded at my chest with every sob.
Angel made no move to deflect my fist; merely stood there with a mournful look in his eyes as I struck out at him, as if he'd expected it. For an eternity, it seemed, I spent my fury, raining blows upon him, crying for an innocent child who had been one of my most precious hopes for the future.
Now, a killer.
With resigned empathy, Angel offered no resistance as I battered him until his face was bloody, one eye nearly swollen shut.
Later, I realized that he'd done for me exactly what I'd done for Buffy, Xander, and Tara. At the time, however, I felt only pain. It was the pain speaking when I gave him a warning.
Willow hadn't been a monster. Her soul had been purer than mine, far purer than his. If he let her become a monster, if he permitted her demon's thirst for blood to defile everything she'd been in life, if he let it come to the point that someone – God forbid, Buffy – had to stake her, then I would stake him.
I never forgot his reply.
Without anger, and with an ancient calm, Angel assured me that it would never come to that. That I would have nothing to stake, since he would give himself to the sun after staking Willow himself.
Neither of us ever spoke of the incident again. So far as I know, Willow never learned of it.
I returned to Sunnydale and, slowly, we went on with our lives.
Our amputated lives.
4. Interlude
At the sound of Sahu's voice resonating softly in her mind, Willow paused. It had been many months since the ancient vampire had spoken to her through the astral plane, and Willow had a dreadful suspicion that it was no coincidence that Sahu was contacting her at the very moment that Giles's life hung in the balance.During her stay with Anubis and Sahu in Algiers, Willow had learned that they had a fascination with death that went beyond what was usual for most vampires. They had said little about the reason for this fascination, other than that they had roamed the earth for a very long time, and in that time they had discovered horizons beyond mortal dreaming.
Willow tried to relax her mind so she could better communicate with Sahu, but she was unable to keep her thoughts from flashing to Giles.
Have no fear, Willow, came Sahu's voice in her mind. He will not pass across without you. Your presence is awaited.
"Awaited? By whom?" Willow wondered out loud.
Her Mates, who had stepped aside at the arrival of her coven sisters, now approached cautiously, frowning in concern.
"Willow?" Angel murmured as he placed a hand on her arm.
"You all right, luv?" Spike asked.
Willow nodded absently, sparing them a quick glance but holding up her hand to stave off their questions as she concentrated on hearing Sahu's words.
A path to your friend will be opened, but the path is for you alone.
Willow's eyes widened as she understood Sahu's message. Turning first to Angel and Spike, then to Cyrene, Hannah, and Tara, she warned, "Stand back. Some pretty powerful magic is on its way."
As if confirming her warning, the air in the Hyperion's lobby suddenly cooled and a slight breeze stirred. Sensing the build-up of mystical energy, Tara, Cyrene, and Hannah followed Willow's advice and moved away. On the other hand, Angel and Spike tensed and pressed closer to Willow, instinctively shielding her from a potential threat. Earnestly, Willow caressed their faces and assured them, "I'll be all right. Trust me, please."
With wary reluctance, Angel backed away, drawing a resistant Spike with him. The younger vampire scowled and strained to return to Willow's side, but relented at Angel's sympathetic but firm glance. Turning uneasy eyes toward Willow, Spike murmured with heartfelt urgency, "Be careful."
Willow smiled and nodded.
At her Mates' withdrawal, a dark vortex appeared. The darkness pooled into an oval portal six feet high. Light seemed to bend toward it, streaming inward as if an invisible current were drawing all radiance into the portal's depths.
Bracing herself, Willow stepped forward.