The Watcher's TaleBy Medea
Chapter Five
11. Consequences
We returned home not in triumphant glory, but in grief.
Angelus, thankfully, was gone, although Angel could barely bring himself to look any of us in the eye. Willow and I were equally somber. Not one of us spoke of what happened in London, despite the inevitable questions from Xander, Anya, and Dawn. Even Spike was uncharacteristically subdued, although not out of any regret for what we'd done. Surprisingly, I suspected it was a measure of his concern for the rest of us.
I vaguely remember him removing my shoes, although I've never quite trusted that memory. More likely it was conjured up by my fatigued mind.
Still, he wasn't quite his usual, swaggering, arrogant self. It roused my curiosity enough that I began observing his behavior more closely. Not only his, but Angel's and Willow's as well.
It was like awakening to an entirely different world, but one that had been there all along.
I realized that I was witnessing the kind of familial interaction that vampires rarely reveal -- certainly not under the circumstances in which I'd normally encountered them. Even more astonishing, however, was the moment I understood why I'd managed to glimpse behavior not normally demonstrated before outsiders.
I wasn't an outsider.
What I'd originally perceived as a temporary alliance, a short-term membership in the lair for the purpose of vengeance, had evolved into something more long-lasting.
It would seem I was part of the family.
It's difficult to pinpoint exactly when or how the realization came to me. Most of what I noticed were subtle gestures. Angel, Willow, and Spike tended to stand closer to me than they would to other humans, with the possible exception of Willow's coven. An insignificant detail, perhaps, yet everything about their body language marked me as a member of the pack.
Actually, now that I recall, there was one rather significant clue that things had changed.
The evening after our return, before the others awakened, I'd gone to the butcher for pig's blood. I hadn't even thought of it as a courtesy; it just seemed the thing to do. Angel was the first to help himself to the provisions. He was grateful and not in the least self-conscious about drinking it in front of me. He did make a rather awkward attempt to apologize for every sadistic taunt I'd had to endure from Angelus, but when I waved him off and assured him that his apologies were unnecessary, Angel didn't retreat to his customary, civil distance.
He looked at me so intently it was unnerving. His scrutiny was almost...intimate. Then, more gently than he'd ever spoken to me before, he explained that while his soul had been suspended with Buffy's, she'd asked him to give me a message.
Without any further warning, Angel hugged me.
You've no idea how mortified I was.
Try to understand: I'd known Angel only distantly, primarily through Buffy, and what little I'd seen of him did not involve warmth and affection. Certainly not between the two of us! Angel is a warrior, and has always had a warrior's aloofness. When we'd interacted at all, we'd usually treated each other as walking encyclopedias, each referring to the other for arcane knowledge about a prophecy or ritual or some such thing.
The closest we'd ever had to an emotional exchange was the bludgeoning I'd given him in the alley when he'd shown me Willow out on a hunt.
Bear hugs, no matter how manly or comradely, did not factor into our relations at all.
Needless to say, it was clear that Angel no longer suspected how close Buffy and I had been before her death. He most certainly knew. Yet I sensed no resentment or reproach. Quite the contrary, it felt above all else like an embrace of solidarity, of kinship.
It was still bloody unsettling.
But as I said, afterward, I was more attentive to the behavior of my vampire companions. The novelty of having been, well, adopted, so to speak, was flattering for a while. However, it occurred to me that I also must have changed profoundly. Good lord, if a vampire had expressed a sense of kinship for me when I'd first arrived in Sunnydale, I'd have been horrified. That, or laughed myself silly.
Upon further self-examination, I realized exactly how much I had changed.
Xander and I took up patrolling Buffy's old graveyard circuit a few weeks after her funeral. It was something to do, something to give my life purpose. We'd no idea when or even if the next Slayer would be sent to guard the Hellmouth and reasoned that if we didn't do it, nobody would. It wasn't as if a vast supply of qualified volunteers were leaping to the task.
Very quickly, I discovered that I was far more qualified than I'd ever imagined. Certainly, Xander and I both had acquired some formidable fighting skills in the many battles we'd fought alongside Buffy. More than the ordinary suburbanite, although I have seen some exceedingly barbaric combat over parking spaces at shopping malls. Nonetheless, I'd always had a modest sense of my own abilities. I'd felt that my skill lay in deducing which freshly dug grave to watch or otherwise advising from the sidelines.
Then Xander, with his customary flair for annoying nicknames, began referring to me as his 'vamp-dar'. Naturally, I protested his latest neologism, but I was surprised at how earnestly he insisted that it was appropriate. What I considered mere common sense, Xander perceived as an uncanny ability to anticipate the whereabouts and actions of vampires.
It stunned me to realize that Xander was right.
In scarcely more than a week of cohabiting with Angelus, Willow, and Spike, of working beside them, strategizing with them, I'd gained tremendous insight into their existence. I'd learned preferred times for hunting, and that it was as much the simple act of following human timetables as it was fear of the approaching dawn that led most vampires to do the bulk of their hunting before 3:00 a.m. Most of us retire by that early morning hour, you see, so there's less reward for their effort. Like all predators -- lions, cheetahs, and the like -- they can be profoundly lazy.
Although they don't much care to sun themselves while in repose.
Beyond learning to read the rhythms of nocturnal hunting times, I'd learned to listen to its silences, rather than its sounds, as a clue to the presence of the undead.
I'd learned that fledglings were astoundingly predictable and that they could be lured out by something as simple as human sweat. Xander and I took to wearing unwashed clothes from our laundry baskets when we went out on patrol. The newly risen ones fell for it every time.
All of this, I'd picked up from chance remarks made by Angelus, Spike, and once or twice by Willow, or even just by observing them when we'd walked through heavily populated areas of London. A slight flare of the nostrils might be followed by an offhand remark about the qualities they'd detected. Healthy blokes into their bodies, Spike would announce. Or Angelus would frown in distaste at the heavy scent of medications and mutter something about geriatric blood.
It's hard to explain it all, but it amounted to an awareness of how vampires perceive us. This accumulation of bits and pieces enabled me to anticipate their movements to such a degree that, as Xander astutely observed it was almost as if I had radar.
Or Slayer sense.
To my amusement, I learned that there were some in the local demon population that had arrived at precisely that conclusion. I'd gone to Willy's one evening for some information, I can't remember what, but I met with a chillier reception than normal, even for Willy. He couldn't hurry me out the door fast enough and as he shut the door behind me, he mentioned something about not wanting me to scare off his clientele, who thought that Buffy's abilities had somehow managed to rub off on me.
Ridiculous, of course. As if a Slayer's essence could be communicated like germs. I'd merely paid attention, as any Watcher should.
Although...I wasn't a Watcher any more.
Nothing brought this home more clearly than the arrival of Cecil Smythe. When the Council finally sent him to serve as Megan's Watcher it was like seeing myself nearly twenty years earlier. Worse than that, actually. Smythe was even more nervous than I'd been when I first established myself in the Sunnydale high school library. By now, even the newest recruit knew about our massacre. Undoubtedly, the man had his misgivings about walking straight into the lion's den, but come he did.
He looked petrified when Willow and Spike arrived shortly on Megan's heels, although he had sense enough not to try to come between them at first. Perhaps it was out of fear or deference to the fact that Megan's self-appointed vampire guardians had kept her out of harm's way. Whatever it was, it soon developed into guarded admiration once he saw Spike train with the girl. It wasn't quite as impressive as what I remembered from Buffy's sparring sessions with Willow, but Buffy had been a seasoned Slayer in her prime. Still, there was an efficiency to Megan's responses, an edge that I suspect came from early training with vampires. Spike was certainly a strict taskmaster; he didn't shrink from hurting her. Indeed, compared to the way he bullied her, I'd practically coddled Buffy.
Yet for some reason, Megan thrived on his gruff treatment, enough so that Smythe approved of their pairing. At least, for a while.
But Megan soon started talking like Spike. Oh, did she ever! Some of the curses that fell from that child's mouth would have made a sailor blush! Smythe did far more than blush.
As I became aware of his growing unease at the nature of Spike's influence on Megan, I understood the source of his concern. It was one I'd had myself, and not just about Megan, but about myself. This young Slayer had adopted many of Spike's mannerisms and was learning to fight like a vampire. How long before she started to think like a vampire? And where could one draw the line between thinking like a vampire and acting like one?
On which side of that line was I?
Smythe took to excusing himself when the sparring got particularly rough, quietly asking me to make sure that things didn't go too far. It piqued my curiosity enough that, finally, I followed him and discovered his secret.
I found him in the bathroom, two pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
Blood pressure medication.
At first I was indignant. I'd half a mind to call the Council and ask them what they meant by sending someone with a fragile constitution to undertake one of the most stressful jobs in the world. Smythe pleaded with me to remain silent. Poor fellow.
You see, the Council's change of heart wasn't quite as complete as we'd thought. True, it was now dominated by those who condemned what Lloyd and his associates had done, but most were still profoundly uneasy at the thought of any sort of partnership with vampires.
Smythe, for all his inexperience and delicate health, had been the only one willing to act as Megan's Watcher.
A sizeable contingent of "moderates" on the Council had wanted to do nothing -- nothing! As Smythe explained it, they thought it might be better to let events take their course.
In other words, they would have waited for Megan to die and the next Slayer to be called.
Smythe earned my respect then. If he had his failings, at least he had principles.
So I kept his secret. And when, at last, he did broach the subject of distancing Megan from her vampire mentors, I understood the Council's politics well enough to know what was at stake. Hard as it was for me to do, I supported him. Mind you, I had serious doubts about my judgment. I felt I was betraying not only Megan, but Willow and Spike as well. Imagine! I had a stronger sense of loyalty to two vampires than I did to the Watchers Council.
Yet I'd learned from Smythe as well as my own, discreet inquiries, exactly how tenuous the Council's new, "reformed" outlook was. If we hoped to prevent the resurgence of a hard-line stance, concessions would have to be made.
If Smythe had worried that Megan's training sessions with Spike were a tad too fierce, he got a veritable baptism by fire in the reasons that one does not lightly antagonize a vampire when he suggested that Willow and Spike distance themselves from the girl. Truthfully, I was afraid the man would have a heart attack. Rather amusing, isn't it, considering my situation?
On that particular occasion, I knew on which side of the line I stood. Although I understood the wisdom of Smythe's proposal and had assured him of my support, I made it clear that my loyalties lay with Megan and the others. I closed ranks with my vampire allies as readily as if I were a newly made minion. Nonetheless, when the time came, I backed Smythe and helped him stand firm against the inevitable rage from Willow and Spike.
That, and I prevented Spike from tearing him to pieces.
Sadly, my surrogate family disintegrated shortly afterward. Willow called from Los Angeles to say that she was setting off on some travels. Later I learned that Spike had gone with her. Just like that, I was alone again.
I kept busy enough by helping Smythe with Megan's training, but just as I had after London, I felt oddly empty.
However, if I was slightly melancholy, Angel was devastated. Not that he revealed his emotions to any great degree. He implied that *he* was the reason that Willow had chosen to leave but said little beyond that. Yet as weeks became months, as months stretched into years, his stoic veneer crumbled. Angel's confessions were few and far between, brought on only when the strain of loneliness had become unbearable, but they were poignant moments that made me appreciate the truly profound depths of connection in my odd little family.
I'd never had much of a chance to see Willow and Angel together. Spike had usually been the one to accompany her to Sunnydale. But what I glimpsed from his solitary demeanor spoke volumes. He could be sitting completely still and radiate restlessness. In conversation, he seemed only to half-listen. Oh, it wasn't obvious enough to put anyone off; he never missed important details. Nevertheless, I recognized Angel's behavior: it was what I'd seen Angelus, Spike, and Willow do on a number of occasions in London when they were anticipating each other's arrival. They were opening their senses to each other, if you will.
I imagine you're familiar with the nature of preternatural senses, but it took me a while to understand that vampires occupy more space than just what is taken up by their physical bodies. It was only when I thought of the analogy to spiders that I really appreciated how tangible blood ties were for them, whether between sire and childe or simply among those who exchanged blood regularly. The webs that spiders spin are not merely traps; they extend the spider's sensory network. Each delicate filament can signal its maker about the precise location, size, and strength of prey. In a sense, web and spider are one.
Though vampires are not linked by silk, they have their own sort of web through which they can watch and listen. Angel's senses were always open for Willow. No matter how attentive he was to friends and co-workers who might be right in front of him, there was a part of him that hovered at the furthest periphery of his web.
Angel was wishfully alert for Willow's return.
It was strange seeing him pine for Willow with the same intensity he'd once directed at Buffy. I alluded to his attachment to Willow once, while I was visiting Los Angeles to consult with Wesley about our ongoing efforts to establish a dialogue with the Council. Angel seemed somewhat more relaxed around me, perhaps because he knew I'd seen him at his worst and wouldn't be perturbed by any vampiric mannerisms should he let down his guard. We went for a walk in the early evening and said little for the better part of our promenade. Somehow, our steps led us to the very same alley from which I'd first seen Willow out on the hunt.
We stopped. Angel merely rested his palm on the brick and stared wistfully at the wall as if he might see her there. I remembered that night when I'd lashed out at Angel in utter despair and reflected on how far Willow had come, how far I'd come since then. I guessed that Angel might be having similar thoughts and offered him what I hoped were a few words of consolation about the tremendous effect he'd had on Willow.
For a long, silent moment, he was absolutely inscrutable. Then his expression softened to a thoughtful sadness and he made a cryptic remark about alleys. I can't quite remember it -- something about alleys having given him that which he held closest to his heart. Before I could puzzle too long over that, Angel confessed that Willow's effect on him had been just as profound as anything he might have done to shape her.
That was all he said, but I understood. He'd loved Buffy completely, of that I had no doubt, but Kalderash secrecy and obsession with vengeance set them on a collision course with disaster which, as dearly as they might have wished to, Buffy and Angel never quite overcame. On the other hand, when I'd seen him with Willow, he'd always seemed more himself.
That perception was more accurate than I realized when it first struck me.
When Megan was still very new to her calling, scarcely more than a little girl, a sizeable company of vampires invaded Sunnydale. Smythe and I both feared it was a bid to take over the Hellmouth while the Slayer was vulnerable and Angel was good enough to come to our assistance. Very quickly, however, he discerned that the threat was not to us.
According to Angel, the group was a retrieval party, something he said he'd used on Spike when his childe strayed too far without his permission. Sure enough, within a week the interlopers were gone. Indirectly, they'd even done us a favor. Angel had done some scouting and learned that the wayward childe in question had been in the process of setting up a lair and building a circle of minions. Apparently, his sire hadn't approved of his bid for independence.
Naturally, the Watcher in me was curious about the practice of retrieving childer who'd flown the nest, so to speak. Something more to add to my journals, after all. Angel offered a guess as to what had happened in this case based on how he'd gone about it in the past. He speculated that the retrieval party had most likely staked all the minions and that the childe would spend anywhere from several weeks to several months in chains. He didn't say so explicitly, but the look in his eyes suggested that torture would be involved. When I asked him how old childer typically were when their sires finally lost interest in chasing them down, he merely blinked at me as though I'd asked him when vampires stop needing blood.
His expression took on the faraway look I'd come to associate with his ever-vigilant efforts to sense Willow and it occurred to me that I'd touched a nerve. Just as I was about to apologize for my obtuseness, he began to reflect on what it was that bound him to her as tightly as if she were his own blood.
Willow was special, he said. Though not a true childe, she had chosen *him*. The instinct to sire had taken hold of him when he'd come into his own as a master vampire, but all his efforts had misfired. Penn had been a fanatic, Drusilla insane, and Spike...Angel paused, his weary expression softening for a moment, then confessed that Spike had been the most promising, but they'd barely had two decades before the curse.
Willow had reawakened long-dormant impulses and given him the opportunity to express a side of his vampire nature that could never have been part of his relationship with Buffy. Not that he would have kept it from her out of shame or deceit; it was simply too greatly at odds with her calling as the Slayer. He never could have shared that aspect of himself with her as he could with Willow.
Angel described it as a profound sense of completion.
In that quiet moment, when I was privy to one of the very rare times that Angel revealed his heart, I suddenly had an overwhelming suspicion as to the real reason that Willow had felt compelled to leave.
Yes, vampires could love. Just as painfully as humans, it seemed.
I wanted to set that down in print and discredit all the sordid fictions and fantasies that perpetuated themselves once and for all. For the sake of my friends, I didn't. Out of respect for their right to privacy, I remained silent on the more intimate details of their existence, despite the fact that I could have easily corrected a host of erroneous assumptions harbored by my peers.
And if the fact that Angel had a soul left me with any doubts about a vampire's capacity to love, there was always Spike.
I honestly don't know where to begin.
Perhaps I shall just say that before Spike and Megan began their involvement, I'd never expected to hear the phrase: You're a hundred and forty-six years old, why can't you act like it?
When Smythe called me at four in the morning to meet him at Megan's dormitory, a number of dreadful scenarios ran through my mind. Demon attack? Another fraternity performing dark rites to a reptilian patron? Rift in dimensions? From the damage I saw in the lounge on Megan's floor, it looked like all three. I was just thankful that in modern construction, interior walls generally aren't weight-bearing.
Angel was there, looking very much the beleaguered parent. He explained that no, it wasn't a supernatural threat, it was just Spike.
Spike, who apparently believed that heaving chairs out the window was the way to demonstrate his affection. I could easily imagine Megan's reaction. All I had to do was look at the lounge coffee table, flipped over, missing two of its wooden legs. Out of habit, I scanned the floor for dust. Angel caught my glance and informed me that Spike was chained up in the trunk of his convertible.
Yet as tempestuous as their early courtship was, Spike was just as fiercely devoted to Megan as the relationship matured. Every year on the same day he gave her a band-aid. I never did learn the meaning of their private joke, although Megan blushed to her roots when I asked once and brandished her stake in Spike's face in silent threat should he reveal anything. It wasn't her birthday, though. That, he remembered with displays of simple tenderness that would have warmed even the most cynical heart. Her room strewn with roses and candles one year. A moonlit drive along the coast another year. And those were only the details she was willing to divulge in mixed company. Discretion prevents me from speculating on anything else.
It didn't surprise me, then, that her death hit him very hard.
For all the grief he'd given Megan's Watcher, at her funeral I saw Spike do something I suspect even you may never have seen.
Poor Smythe, he mourned her as deeply as I'd mourned Buffy. All the others had gone, save Smythe, Angel, Spike, and myself. As Smythe stood over Megan's grave, looking drawn and tired beyond his years, Spike approached him, bit his own wrist, offered it to Smythe and promised to eradicate the entire line of vampires responsible for Megan's death.
Angel had told me about blood oaths once, not long after Willow had removed Spike's chip, but I'd never thought I'd witness one, let alone one between a vampire and a human. It was certainly a night for surprises, because Smythe showed none of his customary squeamishness. He brought Spike's bleeding wrist right up to his mouth and drank.
Spike kept his promise.
Perhaps it was some, small consolation for Smythe. I don't really know. He returned to London not long afterward; he did maintain sporadic contact with me, although he seldom spoke of Megan. Instead, he sent news of the Council.
It wasn't good.
Apparently, the Council was once again having difficulty locating the next Slayer. It was a source of considerable consternation. All of the Council's usual mechanisms for pinpointing the whereabouts of the Chosen One were failing. It was more than an embarrassment; it called into question the very future of the Council. Supernatural forces brought forth the Slayer; all that kept the Council going was discipline and an established system that had proven effective for several centuries. There would continue to be Slayers without the Council, albeit disadvantaged without the accumulated wisdom that the company of Watchers had to offer.
What would become of the Council if they could no longer assist the Slayer by fault of being unable to find her?
I made a few inquiries with Angel, but unfortunately Cordelia had received no visions this time, although none of us could understand why the Powers were silent.
So, when Smythe called me again to ask if I would be willing to lend my expertise on vampire behavior to help with the search, in the hopes that we could discover the Slayer's location indirectly by studying activity in vampire communities, I agreed. Mind you, I warned them of my limitations. I'd learned a great deal through my association with Willow, Angel, and Spike, but they certainly weren't typical vampires. Nonetheless, I was willing to share whatever knowledge might prove useful in guaranteeing the Slayer's welfare.
I never expected to become the Head of the Council.
12. Interlude"Advocacy? What?" Willow bit out in exasperation. Her temper mounted but instead of launching into a tirade at Hypnoi's aggravatingly cryptic remarks, she grimaced in sympathy for her friend. "Can't you see how hard this was on him? He looks so sad." Willow's demeanor softened as she paused and regarded Giles. "He only did what he thought was right; and it was. Megan needed space to find her own way. She couldn't have done that with Spike and me hovering over her."
Inclining his head in agreement, Hypnoi observed, "It is not easy to oppose those one holds most dear."
"But that was Giles!" Willow exploded in earnest, resting her hands on the desk and peering wistfully at his immobile face. "He tried to do what was best, even when it was hard for him, even when it hurt. Every Slayer should be so lucky to have a Watcher like Giles!"
Even as the echo of her voice rang in the air, Willow understood Hypnoi's purpose with a sudden jolt of clarity. She blinked and slowly turned toward him.
"Oh. My. God."