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Again, I'm extremely sorry for the delay in posting!
Giles rubbed his eyes and thought. “You know, it really may not be as bad as it seems,” he commented mildly.

Everyone gaped at him slack-jawed.

“I’m sorry, but what alternate universe are you from? What is it, some kind of crazy loony universe? Are you some kind of ‘evil Giles’ because the one I know wouldn’t look at an army of demi-saints getting slaughtered and say ‘It really might not be as bad as it seems!’ ” Buffy ranted.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked her calmly.

“Yes, but only until I think about this again for longer than two seconds. Then get ready for more wigging.”

The Watcher cleared his throat nosily in a “please shut up” manner and continued to speak. “Yes, well, that’s what I’m talking about. Dracula said that for the first time in its existence, the Hellmouth was vulnerable, yes?”

Willow got it first. “There was no way for the order to win, then,” Willow breathed. “Because there was still some of it in its home plane where it couldn’t be harmed.”

Giles nodded. “Precisely. If the order still existed today, I imagine things would be very different.”

“Yeah, for starters, they wouldn’t have been turned into demon chow,” Faith put in, snorting.

Giles nodded hesitantly. “Well, yes, there is… there is that.” He went back to peering at the screen.

A knock on the door interrupted their grim reverie.

“I’ll get it,” Giles said straightening immediately and, almost dashing to the door, he opened it to encounter a bland-faced man in the familiar brown garb of U.P.S.

“Mr. Rupert Giles?” the deliveryman asked, bored.

Giles nodded. “Yes? Yes, I am he,” he frowned. “May I help you?”

The delivery man thrust a digital clipboard at him and instructed, “Sign on the line, please.”

Puzzled, Giles did so, and handed the device back to him. The deliveryman shoved a large parcel into Giles arms.

With a parting “Have a nice day, sir,” he turned and left.

Giles sighed. “Pleasure was all mine,” he muttered under his breath. “Americans.” With another sigh of strained patience, he brought the package to a table, setting it down.

“And what do we have here?” Buffy inquired, a little color returning to her face as she walked over to inspect the new arrival.

Giles shrugged. “I have no idea,” he frowned. His tenure on the Hellmouth making him very cautious about opening things he didn’t know a lot about.

Buffy leaned over to check its markings. “It’s postmarked from England,” she informed him.

The Watcher snapped his fingers. “Of course, the diaries!”

He immediately set to work on the tape that sealed the box shut. After a few minutes of struggling, he sighed and turned to Buffy imploringly.

“Buffy, would you mind?”

Keeping her smile in check, Buffy punctured the tape with her fingernails and tore the cardboard box open. Smiling, she held her hand up inspecting the nails, blowing a stray piece of tape from one of her nails. Throwing a wry look back, she called out.

“See, Alec? I TOLD you it wasn’t a cheap manicure.”

Alec looked up at her, frowning in puzzlement, before smiling and shaking his head, going back to reviewing the information on the screen with Willow. Giles began taking out several small leather bound sheaves of paper, some with what looked like official seals on them, others that looked to be personalized. He quickly separated them into two stacks.

“In this stack,” he gestured to the stack of diaries that bore the official emblem, “are the collected Watcher’s Diaries, dating back as far as the tenth century; I’ll review these. You and Faith review these.” He gestured to a second, far larger stack of diaries, each one a different shape and size. Some bound in leather looking quite old, others, no older than the one Buffy wrote in. “These are the diaries of the slayers that resided in North America and Europe, stretching back to that time.” He took a moment to give Buffy a stern look. “Do I even need to remind you that these are priceless and utterly irreplaceable and that damaging one is grounds for expulsion from the Watchers’ Council?”

Buffy smiled wryly. “Don’t worry, Giles, I haven’t forgotten that the punishment for damaging one of your books is a horrible screaming death.”

Giles snorted slightly. “Yes, if you’re fortunate,” he retorted dryly.

Buffy chuckled and shook her head, very carefully picking up the first diary and flipping through it with exaggerated care.

“What about that lab equipment from the campus?” Alec asked, looking up from the computer screen.

Giles shook his head. “Only partial success. I couldn’t bring it here, but I did manage to make a reservation for a little later on tonight,” he replied, reaching over to a shelf and taking down the jar containing the three parasites. They floated, nearly comatose, in some sort of clear liquid; he brought the jar over to Alec for him to examine.

The young man gingerly took the jar and peered into it. “Charming. What’s this they’re floating in?” he inquired.

Giles cleared his throat. “Alcohol. Apparently the parasites have some sort of allergic reaction to it, thus rendering them insensate.”

Alec nodded. “Can’t hold their liquor, huh?”

Giles smiled slightly at his son’s ability to take a complex matter and boil it down to a five-second sound bite.

“More or less,” the elder Giles commented.

“Could we use it as a weapon? Get enough alcohol to flush this monster out and then roast it?”

“No, Alec, it’s still too dangerous to confront this creature directly.” Giles sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his noise, trying to breathe deeply and remind himself that this was his son.

“I appreciate your zeal, and your desire to protect your family, but this would be suicide.” He began to count off his fingers. “One, we’re not even sure there’s enough alcohol in all of Sunnydale to flood the labyrinthine passages below the streets-”

Buffy snorted. “I dunno, you should see Spike’s booze cabinet. It’s huge; I don’t see how he got it up the stairs, vamp strength or no.”

Giles ignored her as he continued to lecture his son. “Two, we have no idea what it’s capable of.”

“We learned it hates fire,” Alec shot back.

“Yes, and the explosion that would result from using that much fire on a creature that is apparently methane-based would annihilate Sunnydale.”

“Look around you, father,” Alec gestured out the windows as he spoke. “Sunnydale is already on the brink of annihilation. We need to act now if we’re going to avoid being sucked down the drain one piece at a time after this thing recoups from its attack on Buffy’s house and hunts us down one by one!”

“Damn it, Alec! Listen to me-!”

“If we don’t get down there and kill this thing now-“

“Alec,” Faith called out.

Alec whirled on her, his teeth clenched in anger. “What is it?” he demanded.

“Your dad’s right,” Faith said simply. “Home turf advantage, no idea what it can do, only way to kill it would kill us all in the explosion - even I wouldn’t play those odds.”

Buffy and Alec both stared at her in shock.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Faith advocating caution rather than insane pummeling as she has been prone to doing in the past,” Buffy commented.

“The past is dead, Buffy,” Faith said quietly, turning to face the other slayer. “Let it remain buried where it belongs; keep heading towards the future, and it’ll be five by five.”

Buffy was stunned. Faith had rarely, if ever, called her by her proper name. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it again, opened it again, then just said nothing, exhaling hard instead and looking away from Faith.

Alec turned to look at this father, locking eyes with him.

“Two slayers, …” the half-demon gestured to Buffy and Faith, “… two vampires, …” he gestured out towards the door Spike and Angel had left through, “… and a girl with her head crammed full of over eleven hundred years of demonic lore, …” continuing to gesture outside, where Anya and Xander had also left, “… a brilliant and powerful witch, …-” without breaking eye contact, Alec whipped his hand around to point his finger at Willow.

The finger looked more like an accusation than praise and Willow shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Alec, I don’t think-“ she began.

“-… A third brawler, who is one of the most competent men I’ve ever known, …” Alec continued, steamrolling over Willow’s words as he gestured to Giles, who was scrutinizing his son closely.

“… And you have me, father, someone who has spent a thou-” he stopped, and suddenly shot a glance at Willow, “-his entire life…” he amended, “…studying the occult and martial arts and who has followed in your footsteps, becoming just as knowledgeable and just as combat capable as you.”

Buffy gasped out loud at that, and the others weren’t far behind her - none of them had ever heard someone claim to be Giles’s equal when it came to knowledge and lore.

Alec ignored them as he held his father’s gaze, his tone going from aggressive to conciliatory. “You know as well as I do, Dad, it’s out there right now, it doesn’t sleep, it doesn’t truly need to eat, and it will not stop until we are all dead and this town and the rest of the planet goes to Hell,” Alec explained imploringly. “Now is the time to strike, before it has a chance to gather an army of these… converted and consumed beings that were made ‘part of a larger whole’ to use against us. Because if you’ve forgotten how dangerous this thing can be, I advise to look in your bin, there’s a pile of my scorched flesh that will help remind you that this monster plays for keeps. ”

The room was very quiet as everyone stared at father and son.

Giles calmly put his glasses back on his nose, his expression calm, but chilly, as he spoke.

“You are my son, and I love you very much. But you have a great deal left to learn, Alec, and getting yourself killed, or worse, letting your recklessness and lack of discipline get all of us killed, would gain you nothing but a lingering death.”

Alec went bone-pale at his father’s words. “My… lack… of… discipline?” he said in a shaky tone that literally quivered with rage.

“Yes.”

Alec drew a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and opened his mouth to speak words that would give no quarter and ask for none.

Suddenly, there was Willow at his side, gently touching his arm.

“It’s okay, baby. Everything is fine. Calm down,” she whispered to him, and said something under her breath Alec couldn’t understand.

Alec sighed, Well, maybe they’re right. I have been a little wound up since that attack and-

He froze, horrified, jerking his head around to face Willow.

“You used magic on me?” he whispered in accusation.

“What?” Willow looked stunned. “No, I-“

“Don’t you EVER use magic on me without my permission again,” Alec bit out in a tone that had Buffy on her feet in an instant, though what she was going to do was anyone’s guess.

“Alec, I just wanted-,” Willow tried to explain.

“It is a violation against someone to attempt to twist their heart, or their mind, using magic,” Alec spat. “You had no right.”

“I’m sorry, but you were getting so mad!”

“Yes. And now I’m mad at you.”

Willow’s chin trembled at this and she began to cry. Buffy moved to hold her friend close, sending her brother an unreadable look.

“Nice one,” she whispered harshly.

Alec looked around the room - Faith, Buffy, Willow, his father, they had all united against him, none of them appeared to hold to his notion even in the slightest.

“Son?” Giles said quietly.

“Yes, father?” Alec responded.

“I play for keeps, too. Don’t ever forget that. Should you leave me no choice, I shall remind you. With whatever method is necessary to do so,” Giles continued, still very calm.

Alec turned slowly to face his father, he knew a threat when he heard one.

“That sounded rather like a threat to me,” Alec commented.

“It is fatherly advice. Should you want more, my advice is simply this: do not be so obsessed with the pain and suffering that the outside forces can cause, that you ignore your own destructiveness.”

Alec looked at Willow crying, Buffy glaring, Faith looking confused and angry, and his own father; speaking to him in that cold, dead tone that promised a great deal of pain and suffering of its own to those foolish enough to ignore it.

“Okay,” Alec said quietly. “All right. You’re right. You’re all right: going down there would be folly.”

With a cry, Willow tore herself from her friend and dashed into Alec’s arms, squeezing him tightly and burying her face in his shirt.

“I just think about losing you, Alec. You’re so brave, but you just don’t seem to… care if something happens to you and that just scares me so bad it hurts,” she whispered. “It’s like you think you’re invincible, but that you’re the one person that doesn’t deserve saving.”

“Shhh, it’s all right, love,” Alec whispered, stroking the young girl’s hair. “Everything’s all right now, Willow.”

“Everyone receives that which they deserve, in the end, Alec,” Giles commented.

Alec didn’t even look at his father. Instead he just kissed Willow’s hair over and over again as he whispered, “I’m sorry, too, love.”

“I promise not to use magic on you ever again,” she whispered back to him.

Alec smiled slightly. “Well, you know I wouldn’t object to that healing magic when it’s called for. Not that I particularly mind looking like a burnt plate of nacho,” he joked.

Willow laughed a little and socked him in the chest with her fist.

“Sacrilege. Nachos are never burnt. They are perfect. If they are burnt, they cease being perfect and so they’re not nachos anymore,” she insisted.

“Thank you for clearing that up for me baby. When all this is over, I promise you the biggest plate of nachos in California.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, yeah, I promise, Willow. I love you very much.”

“I love you, too, Alec.”

Sniffling, she moved away from him and he let her go. She wiped at her eyes and smiled a little awkwardly.

“Boy, I’m glad Xander isn’t here to see me like this. He’d freak,” she muttered.

Just then, the door to the shop swung open, heads turned as Anya bounded into the room, leading a very weary-looking Xander.

“Good morning, everyone!” the normally cranky ex-demon exclaimed cheerfully. Generally confused greetings were returned as everyone attempted to return to normal and relax a little.

Alec sneaked a peek at Xander, who was shambling along at a pace that would have made a paraplegic sloth seem frisky in comparison.

“Xander, you look like you’ve been through war,” Alec observed dryly. “All of them.”

The man in question groaned a little and collapsed, boneless, into a chair. Anya turned to regard Alec.

“Xander and I had sex many times last night,” she informed him. She frowned in concentration. “I’m not sure how many times, I lost count after five,” she stated matter-of-factly. Alec snickered, Buffy and Faith laughed aloud.

“Please, not the ‘S’ word, all right?” Xander groaned and begged weakly.

“Xander, you commando of love, you!” Alec clapped his hands together, laughing, as Buffy came over wiping streaming tears of mirth from her eyes.

“Someone ate their Wheaties yesterday.” She turned to Alec. “What is it about impending apocalypse that makes everyone so…?” she struggled for the right word.

“Desperately horny?” Faith supplied helpfully.

Buffy shot her a look. “I was going to say ‘distracted’, but thank you for that, Faith.”

Faith flashed her a sardonic smile. “Oh, any time, B. I’m here for you, sister.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “That’s so very comforting,” she retorted, before turning back to Xander who looked like he was praying quietly for death.

“It’s a tension releaser,” Alec commented dryly. “Although, looking at Xander, here, that might not be readily apparent.”

Chuckling, he addressed the younger man. “Well, Xander, if you’re feeling ‘up’ to it, why don’t you go limp yourself over to the back room and slip into a nice restful coma?” he suggested wryly. Xander nodded weakly and shambled towards the back.

Anya bounded next to him. “I think I’ll go with you, Xander. I feel like a little… privacy,” she added with a naughty smile, making the man’s eyes widen in an expression of indescribable terror.

Buffy put a hand on Anya’s shoulder. “Now, now, let’s let Xander have some rest. Remember, if you break him, you can’t play with him anymore,” she advised, giving Xander a sympathetic look that was laced with deep amusement.

Anya sighed, disappointed, before nodding. “I suppose you’re right,” she turned her attention back to her boyfriend, who still looked like he may suffer a massive heart attack at any moment.

Anya patted his arm and said, “You go back and rest, and I’ll come wake you up in an hour.” She smiled and turned away, completely missing Xander's expression of dread, before he slumped his shoulders and marched into the backroom, closing the door behind him morosely.

Alec turned to Anya, amazed. “What did you DO to him?” he asked incredulously. Anya leaned over and whispered something into his ear. Alec’s eyes widened in astonishment as he turned to regard the smaller woman in awe and a little fear.

“And he can still WALK?” he exclaimed. He turned his attention back to the closed door of the back room and shook his head in wonder.

“Hardy lad,” he commented, before chortling quietly and heading back to the computer.



A few hours later, Faith and Buffy were poring over the Slayer diaries; Alec and Giles, the Watcher diaries; and Anya and Willow were still reading the book on St Michael.

Buffy sighed resignedly, and tossed the Slayer diary she was reading onto the table.

“Nothing, not a thing about the Hellmouth or how to fight it. All it talks about is a few vampires and why the Puritans were a bunch of creeps.”

Faith looked up from the diary she was reading, which bore a tie-dye cover.

“You should read this one, B, it’s from a Slayer during the seventies. Some pretty sordid details here, including a tryst with some blond vampire at Woodstock and a pitcher of kool-aid,” she grinned and returned to the diary.

Buffy snorted. “Terrific, so far all these diaries have yielded are editorials and pornography,” she sighed disgustedly then her brain caught up with her. Blond vampire… no, it couldn’t be, she thought.

Alec looked up from the Watcher’s diary he was reading. “Count your blessings, sis, …” he gestured to the book he held, “… this Sir Reginald, goes on and on for pages about what kind of scones go best with what kind of tea,” he sighed and turned to his father. “Was the Council always this… dry?” he asked.

Giles shrugged. “I happen to consider what scones go best with what tea very useful knowledge, thank you,” he retorted, a little miffed.

Faith snorted in derision. “Yeah, and if we're gonna invite the Hellmouth over for a tea party, we’ll know what to serve it just before it devours the entire world.”

Alec and Willow snickered, and even Buffy smiled at this. Anya looked up, a little perplexed.

“We’re serving it scones and tea? I want scones and tea,” she demanded.

Buffy sighed and turned to her. “Anya, it’s metaphorical scones and tea, not real scones and tea.”

Dejected, Anya sat down, crossing her arms. “I still want scones and tea,” she pouted.

Alec suddenly sat up in interest. “Here’s something: a reference to the head of the Watcher organization, ex, actually - ‘Alastair de Counde’,” he frowned. “Says, here, he was ousted recently too.”

Buffy came over to stand at her brother’s side, peering down over his shoulder at the book. “Does it say how recently?” she asked.

“No, in fact, it’s all very discrete, almost concealed deliberately. It just mentions his name, and another Watcher named ‘Abigail,’” he finished.

Faith jerked her head up suddenly. “My watcher’s name, the one that died,” she whispered, “her name was ‘Abby’, is that her?” she asked.

Giles shook his head as he spoke. “I doubt it, Faith, for three reasons. One, the diary deliberately makes no mention of when this ‘Alastair’ was deposed; if it was written fifty years ago, World War II would have been considered ‘recently’.

“This book doesn’t look like its fifty years old, Dad,” Alec pointed out.

“You can thank our superior archivists for that,” Giles replied, a hint of professional pride in his voice. Everyone exchanged amused looks at that as Giles began to scratch under his nose, absent-mindedly.

“Okay, Dad, that’s one reason; what are the others?” Alec asked.

Giles cleared his throat. “The second is that, often times, when these meetings are held, the attendees go by pseudonyms,” he explained.

“For secrecy,” Alec said, comprehending, “That makes sense, I suppose.”

“That still sounds like paranoia to me,” Buffy commented.

“Yes, well, when dealing with the supernatural elements that the Watchers are exposed to, one learns to be careful,” Giles replied. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Okay, that makes sense. What’s the third reason?”

“Ah… Ah…” Giles began.

“Dad, you okay?” the younger Giles asked as he put the book down and came to his father’s side

“AH-CHOO!” Giles sneezed loudly.

And the book just burst into flames. Faith leapt out of her seat with a yelp as she was closest to it. Everyone else just gaped at it until Faith grabbed a fire extinguisher and hosed the flaming book down.

“What the hell was that all about?” she demanded.

Giles, finished now with wiping his eyes, and his glasses now back on his face, explained.

“Oh, yes, now I remember. Occasionally, these books will have flash packs, minor explosives, set into the binding, or magic glyphs that are imbued with the ability to self-destruct to keep the book’s lore secure.”

“By incinerating it?” Alec asked incredulously. “That’s a strange way to keep lore ‘secure’.”

“On the contrary, son, with this method not only is the lore kept away from the eyes of those who would use it for ill, but it serves a powerful message, a warning, to those who would attempt to pry where they are not wanted.”

“ ‘Touch our books and we’ll blow you up’,” Buffy commented wryly. “Yeah, that’s a pretty strong message, Giles. You guys over there better be careful or I sense fiery-explosion badness in your future.”

“Yes, well, that only happened once,” Giles replied a little testily.

Everyone caught the hint.

“I have to go talk to D’Hoffryn,” Anya declared as she got to her feet, “Maybe he will have scones.” With that, she strode out of the store.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll go patrol,” Buffy said aloud.

“Yeah me, too,” Faith added, turning to Buffy. “How many graveyards are there in Sunnydale anyhow?”

“I’ve lost count.”

“So, two or more?”

Buffy scowled at Faith’s attempt at humor. The dark-haired slayer went from grinning, to looking very uncomfortable, very quickly.

“I’ll just… check out the sewers,” Faith amended.

“Do that,” Buffy replied in a cold tone.

“Yeah…” Faith headed out the door without a word as Buffy watched her go.

Alec had watched them both, as had Giles, and they now exchanged a frustrated, concerned glance with each other.

“I believe I’ll remain here and finish going through the diaries,” Giles gestured to the fire-damaged table. “I believe I’ll also attempt to get the scorch marks off my table…” Giles added dryly before looking pointedly at his son, “…again.”

“Dad, if you want me to stick around, I figure I owe you for the scorched mess I caused earlier?” Alec assured his father with a grin.

“That’s quite all right, Alec. Why don’t you go patrol with Faith, I’m sure you can catch up with her,” Giles suggested.

Buffy looked irked. “What? Why?” she demanded.

Giles sighed with strained patience, Alec didn’t look much better.

“Because,” Giles explained, “you have the home advantage: you know where to fight, where to run, and what to fight and run from - she does not.”

“Oh. Fine,” Buffy replied, gathering her coat and heading away from the pair without looking back.

“Oh, this isn’t going to blow up in our faces at all,” Alec commented darkly.

“One would think that by now, you’d be used to that, son,” Giles joked with a small smile.

Alec laughed uproariously. “Fair enough, Dad, see you in a bit.” With that, he left.

As soon as the door closed, the smile on Giles’s face vanished, replaced by the cold look he had worn during his evening with Lily.

Giles tossed the red foci stone he had palmed during his argument with Alec on the table. Personally, he couldn’t fault the young man his temper or impatience. He himself had been far worse when he was Alec’s age, but the argument made for a nice distraction while the Watcher gathered what he would need to cast the evocation spell that would destroy the book.

Reaching up, Giles took down another crystal, this one a pale blue. Arranging the diaries of both Slayer and Watcher in a tidy stack, he placed the crystal on top and his palm over that.

“Alastair de Counde,” he said out loud, “ Abigail or ‘Abby’ Starkweather, Quentin Travers, Knights Templar: 1307 to 1308, Ethan Rayne, Philip Henry, Dierdre Page, Thomas Sutcliff, and Randall.” One by one, Giles listed off names, dates, people, and places.

“The demon Eyghon, The Lazarus Project, The Cruciamentum,” Giles stopped, sighing, he hung his head for a moment and took off his glasses, tossing them carelessly on the table before taking a deep breath and looking back up again.

“Giles: Anthony, Rupert, Alec.” He finished.

There was a small hissing sound and printed words slithered out of the books, like black snakes, and crawled up into the crystal. Giles closed his eyes as the sound of all the different passages were whispered aloud as they were sucked into the foci: this was the part of the ritual he hated - having to listen to every last word that was being purged.

The last sentence crawled over Giles’s hand and into the crystal. The books suddenly became thinner, empty pages being removed, passages being condensed to accommodate the sudden loss of content. Soon, the very last trace that there had been anything removed from them, vanished.

With a sigh, the Watcher slipped the blue crystal into a hidden pocket in his tweed coat: tweed was always good at hiding things away without exhibiting a tell-tale bulge. Giles smiled as he remembered Wesley attempting to do the same with an amulet and failing miserably.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Giles reached out and knocked over the stack. The books all fell into a heap on the table, once again looking like a disorganized mess as they had been left by the others.

Giles went into the other room and came back with a tumbler of scotch and a glass.

He frowned suddenly at the still smoldering remains of that one Watcher Journal. Alec had been too quick with the fire extinguisher and there were still pages left undamaged.

The Watcher poured a glass of scotch and splashed it onto the blackened remains of the book.

Palming the red crystal again, he aimed it at the book.

“Ignis,” he invoked, not needing to cover the word up with a sneeze this time, and thankful he didn’t need to coat his finger in dust again to bring about the sneeze in the first place.

The book burst into flames anew. Giles sat down in a chair and poured another drink for himself, setting the bottle back down on the table, within easy reach for the inevitable refills.

Raising the drink in a sardonic toast to the flaming book, he sat quietly, sipped his scotch, and watched it burn with cold eyes.





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