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Author's Chapter Notes:
Frankly, at one time or another all genres are touched on...except parody.
This chapter is introductory and expository.
"Mr. Giles, I’m ready to leave now,” Mrs. Adele Reed, Rupert Giles secretary in his office at the New Council said as she peeked into the office door. “Is there anything else I can do before I go?"

Mr. Giles raised his head from the document he was working on and replied, "No, thank you, Mrs. Reed, I've a few things to tidy up and then I'm off myself."

Looking surprised, she said, "You haven't forgotten that you have a 7 o'clock, have you?"

Obviously flustered, Giles nearly knocked over his tea, "What? Oh...I'm afraid I had forgotten. Thank you for the reminder...Well then, I expect I'd best run out and get something to eat now before the shops close...."

Adele still wasn't feeling terribly secure in her new job and offered, "Can I do that for you? Will fish and chips do?"

"No, no....thank you, Mrs. Reed, a little fresh air will do me good." He replied. "Do remind me about that appointment, though, would you? I don't remember approving an evening appointment."

Poor Mrs. Reed, she was a secretary for most of her adult life and never ran across a more puzzling gentleman, hence her constant concern about the security of her job. Ordinarily she wouldn’t since she had been the very first hire as Mr. Giles and his committee set up the school. She jumped, "Oh, yes, two days ago, in fact. The man called and requested an appointment. I told him our hours and he asked if it were possible to schedule something in the evening as earlier was not convenient for him. I did speak to you about it, and you approved,” after considering for a moment and feeling a little bolder she said, "if you don't mind my saying sir, sometimes you do seem a bit distracted."

Mr. Giles, taken aback, drew in a deep breath and answered, "Yes...yes, I know. It does seem there's always a new puzzle to solve. Ah well, what was his name again? Did he mention a reason for the appointment?"

"Let me see..." she said as she flipped the pages of the appointment book over his shoulder, "Yes, there it is.... Mr. Sanger. He didn't say. He was British and it sounded as though you were acquaintances."

Giles polished his glasses, furrowed his brow and said, "No, not a name I recall,” he smiled and finished, “I'll just have to wait and see…” then after a beat, “Oh, he knows most of the staff is off by that time, yes?"

Hurrying out the door Adele called over her shoulder, "Yes, I told him the guard would point him to your office and to just have a seat. When you were ready you'd collect him. Good ni..ight," she sang as she hurried away.

~~~

Giles sipped his now cold cup of tea, sat down in the comfortable leather desk chair, and turned to gaze out the window at the waning afternoon. It had been a lovely autumn day. So lovely, in fact, that he cursed the sealed windows. He would have welcomed a fresh autumn breeze. In this quiet moment he allowed himself a moment of reverie.

It had been nearly two years since they closed the Sunnydale Hellmouth. Could it really have been that long? he thought. Yes, that had been May 2003. After too short a respite, he went to England to meet with what was left of the Council to bring them up to date on the new status of the Slayer line. It was clear something needed to be done for all those girls who were finding themselves in possession of unusual strength and skills. Without someone to explain what was happening and to channel their energies, the girls and their families and friends would suffer undue fear, injury and possibly sorrow and loss. Some might even suspect they were going mad. Medical tests would be useless and only lead to more questions. They would be corralled and studied like lab rats.

After meeting with Harold Ainsley, Gerald Cunningham and Lydia Chalmers and other notable members of the Watcher's Council, he was named the new Viceroy, a position that held no interest for him. He always considered himself a field man. However, he found it difficult to argue with the logic that it had been his Slayer who had saved the day and created this brave new world. He was the only one of them who had a clue about potentials.

Prior to this, with the Council being the Supreme Being, each Watcher worked quite independently, neither asking for nor receiving much in the way of direction from the Council. He remembered all too well the CoW’s purpose was to feed and tend itself and kept contact with an actual Slayer to a minimum and then only to follow some ancient, ill-thought out ritual.

Of course, in reality, only one Watcher was truly active at any given time, but interns were roving about the globe on the lookout for information regarding exceptionally skilled young women. These girls were the ones who made headlines. The girls with the record time on the swim team, or the young woman who made a daring rescue while on vacation, that sort of thing. She might then be identified as a potential. That word was never used until the Sunnydale incident. A Watcher might approach her and her family stating that he noted her skills and offered to be her trainer. With so much interest in the Olympics and openings for females in other competitive sports, it was a fairly easy thing to get the girls interested. In most cases convincing the parents was another matter indeed and in others, he thought sadly, the parents were only too willing to rid themselves of the responsibility of their problem child. Of course, they would train in the area that interested them...ice skating, skiing, soft ball, tennis, swimming....but the Watcher would then convince them of the importance of other skills, martial arts, weaponry and.... demon mythology. As a rule the girls were never particularly strong academically and thus accepted the ruse with little objection and were gradually enlightened as to their new role.

Naturally, all that’s changed now. Like a population explosion, hundreds of young ladies suddenly found themselves trying to cope with newfound talents. Many of them had not yet even experienced some of the expected pubescent changes. They were running to their parents or teachers, anyone they trusted, with wild stories of amazing abilities appearing out of nowhere and they in turn went to doctors and clergy desperately seeking answers. Some even went to the government. Needless to say, there was no help to be found there, only suspicion. Then, regretfully there were the girls who came from less stable homes. They were immediately labeled as delinquent or incorrigible, all the while being just as frightened by what was happening to them as those around them.

The clock striking half five startled Giles and he realized he better get to it if he meant to have a brief meal before his appointment. He turned off his computer, locked his desk, turned off the light while grabbing his jacket, and shut the door. He was starting to worry about time and decided to take the stairs rather than wait for the lift. In the lobby, Binne, Eamon Binnemon, the evening desk guard sat thumbing through a pictorial history. He finished his duties for the hour and allowed himself his favorite pastime. Giles was aware that Binne fancied himself quite the local historian. He raised his hand in a mock salute as he watched Giles exit the building.

“G’nite sir,” he said in his full rich brogue, “I’m surprised to see you leaving. I have it here in the log that you have an appointment tonight.”

“Right you are, Binne, I’m just off for a quick bite to eat. Can I bring you something?” he offered.

“Not unless you bring it in a bottle shaped brown paper bag,” he laughed. “Hah! Listen to me talkin’ like that to the Headmaster, himself. A sure way to find myself out on my ear!”

“Don’t worry, Binne, you’re a good man, and I know it.” Giles said.

~~~~~~

Giles crossed to his parking spot to his mini, no fancy sports car for him here. Here, he intended to be the very definition of practical, not cheap! He drove the short trip to The Riderless Horse, a local pub that made a fine thick stew. By this time in the evening the stew would be so thick the spoon would stand up in it. He had just enough time to eat and enjoy a pint of ale.

As anticipated, the meal was thick and hot and rich. As he ate, uninvited, the thoughts of the last few years continued. He remembered that terrible day that they closed the Hellmouth. He caught himself in the second time he made that error today. It was easy enough. It wasn’t really they who closed the Hellmouth. It was that damned vampire. He didn’t know what upset him more, the very fact that Spike had done it or that he had to acknowledge it. Buffy would have it no other way. To hear her recount the events of that time, Spike had done it alone. God, it galled him.

Taking a long slow pull on his ale, he took a deep breath and let his thoughts take him away once again. There actually was a time when he…. it was hard to admit…. almost liked Spike. There were things about him you just had to admire. He was what he was. He made no excuses. He wanted to be a liar, but he was so awfully bad at it. When he liked you, or attached himself to you, he was the very definition of loyal. Giles wanted so much to hate him.

No matter how hard Spike tried to hide it, somewhere inside there was an educated and cultured man with much to offer, a person Giles would have dearly loved to know. It ate away at Giles because it forced him to consider that the vampires he dedicated his life to eradicating were not always monsters and he didn’t like considering that there might be gray in a field that should be black and white.

Still, he was gone now and Buffy told him, like it or not, she understood what Spike was trying to tell her all along. They belonged together. She loved him and she would never get over his loss and furthermore, never intended to. Spike was in her heart for all time. She was his world and he was now hers. He was the only one….the….only….one who stood by her. Giles hung his head in shame as he remembered.

Nothing had changed, she told him. It was still her destiny to die young and when she did, she was confident she would be reunited with him. No, she was not suicidal. There was no fear of that, just an understanding and acceptance of reality. Hers was a mystical world. Thoughts of being normal were gone. She laughed when she said it, the very idea of a real life with a vampire…. Absurd, but it was the only thing she wanted.

She endured so many losses and still she coped. She threw her shoulders back and did whatever had to be done, because she was THE chosen one. And now she was back at work and giving it her all…. She tried to be a real girl, she said. She really tried when she went to Rome with Dawn and engaged in what was supposed to be a new and different life. After the better part of a year, Giles remembered, she called him and told him she wanted to work in one of the schools. She wanted to stop pretending and get on with what she knew she was meant to do.

Giles thought about how he suggested that perhaps she might find a niche working with Angel at his investigation agency. She laughed out loud and said, “That ponce?” Clearly, she was channeling Spike..

~~~~

“That it, Mr. Giles or can I get you another pint?” Martin, the innkeeper asked.

“What’s that? Oh, no, no, thank you Martin, I have to be on my way. I have a meeting in a short while,” he said pulling bills out of his pocket and handing them over. “Will that do?”

“More than do, sir. You have some change comin’.”

“Not necessary, Martin, it’s always a pleasure to have your good wife’s stew,” he said as he prepared to leave.

“I’ll be sure to tell her you said so. G’nite, Mr. Giles.” Martin watched the headmaster take his leave as he cleared away the dishes and wiped down the table and thought to himself what an odd man he was. The local merchants often talked among themselves about what the business of The New Council could be. They came up with some pretty wild ideas in the year or so it was set up in the old Harcourt Estate. Great imaginations, his neighbors, Martin thought, as he drained the last few ounces of Mr. Giles’ ale.

~~~

Giles made his way back to the Council Offices and parked a little closer to the building than usual. Evening was fast approaching and old nighttime habits die hard. He no longer carried precautionary stakes with him since he was rarely, if ever, out after dark. He recognized what cars there were in the parking lot so he assumed his appointment had not yet arrived. “Good,” he thought aloud, “it will give me a moment or two to tidy up my desk and check to see if I have any information on this fellow.”

Binne nodded to him giving him a quick thumbs down which, he thought, meant to confirm his suspicion that his guest had not arrived. On a full stomach, he decided to treat himself to the lift instead of the healthier climb up the stairs.

The building was deadly quiet. The business day ended and the cleaning staff wasn’t due until 9 p.m. He knew who was still here by the cars in the car park. Mr. Poole from the business office was still here as was Emily Hemple, the librarian. Not unusual, their cars were usually there when he left every day at six or seven and of course, Binne was on duty. Odd that he felt as though he needed to do this inventory, he thought as he went about tidying his desk. He was never particularly afraid of the dark and rather relished alone time as a rare gift.

Finished, he sat at his desk, drew a deep breath and looked around enjoying the solemn quiet of his richly carpeted dark mahogany paneled office. He never before noticed how warm and comfortable it seemed in the glow of evening lamplight. He smiled, content.

He glanced at his appointment book. There it was, 7 p.m., Mr. W. Sanger. No. It didn’t ring any bells and Adele hadn’t left any notes alongside as she often did. He chuckled as he glanced at the comment that was next to an earlier appointment he had with a mother of one of the girls. In her cramped handwriting, it said “pinched voice, whiny, watch out!” Bless her, she meant well and often her instincts were spot on. He looked at the name again.

“Sanger,” he said out loud, his brow furrowed.

He looked up suddenly, his face aghast. Ripping off his glasses and rising to go to his bookshelf, he cried, “O, good Lord. It can’t be.” He went to his French-English dictionary to look up the word sang.

Sure enough, the word meant blood. Mr. W. Blood. Surely this must be some sort of sick joke. Spike was dead. Incinerated in the closing of the Hellmouth. He gave new meaning to the phrase ashes to ashes, dust to dust. At that moment he heard the outer door to his office open. He looked out the window and saw no new car. Perspiration began to show on his forehead. He chose to sit for a moment to compose himself before opening the door. After all, it seemed he may be about to have a meeting with a ghost.





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