JUNE 5, 2002- LONDON, ENGLAND
The savagery of what Willow had done made the trip to England after the funerals of Xander Harris and Tara McClay taxing enough. Willow hadn’t said a word for hours, perhaps because of the well-founded fear that he, or the Council, would have to kill her for what she had done, and what she tried to do, back in Sunnydale.
She was remorseful and horrified at what she had done. And, he was glad to see it. It meant that he hadn’t completely failed.
Even taking into account the gruesome nature of what she had done, both to Tara’s murderer and her friend, Giles wasn’t entirely sure he could, in good conscience, turn Willow over to them. What she had done, however destructive, was not due to malice. It was a grief-stricken response. A response he felt he would have been able to anticipate, and stop, had he only been there.
He’d abandoned his charge, his children, and his duty to them. Willow murdered Warren Mears, but Alexander Harris’s blood was on his hands. He was responsible.
He had to do something to help her, to save her.
That was why he’d placed Willow in the care of the coven in Devon. Because he knew that the Council would not see reason in this, and someone had to, for Willow’s sake. The coven, and Althenea could teach her to use the powers that now coursed through her veins.
That was something he knew the Council had no interest in.
Someone had to look after her soul, her humanity. And knowing the Council as he did, Giles was positive that the Council did not hold humanity in as high an esteem as he did.
She had no idea what awaited her, and, truth be told, neither did he. He had no idea what the Council was planning. Though, given its past actions regarding things of this nature, rogue Slayers and the like, he had a clear picture of their intentions.
Because of that, he had no intentions of handing her over to them.
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It really amazed Giles how fast rumors in the demon world could spread. No sooner had he gotten off the plane with Willow, than the Council was demanding that he report to headquarters for a debriefing regarding the situation in Sunnydale, and the effect it would have on the Slayers, and the Council as an institution.
Giles walked into Council headquarters and politely informed Quentin Travers that he was no longer employed by the Council and did not have to adhere to their directives.
Quentin sighed as he pushed his leather wingchair away from his desk, “Yes, I am acutely aware of that,” he walked over to a filing cabinet and removed a file. Placing it on his desk, he resumed his seat, “It is precisely because of this that I have contacted you. If this proves to be true, it could shake the Council to its core. We need someone who can be objective. Someone who has no allegiances that would favor one side or the other.”
“There is Wyndam-Price,” Giles suggested pointedly. He did not relish the notion of being the Council’s lackey once again, “I’m certain he would be happy to…”
Quentin nodded, anticipating the argument, “…I’m certain he would, as well. However, Price has some…prejudices which may color any unbiased reporting in this matter.”
That reply intrigued Giles and tugged at his inquisitive nature. Almost unconsciously, he found himself taking the seat opposite Travers, and asking, “What exactly is in that file?”
Quentin sighed again and opened the file. He shuffled through the file, looking for any specifics and finding none. He looked up at Giles and said, “It started with just a trickle,” he handed the file across the desk, to Giles, “One or two reports coming out of Africa. Nothing more than rumors, really, and what they claimed was so outrageous that the Council gave no credence to them, initially.”
Giles narrowed his eyes in skepticism, “What changed?”
“One report can be dismissed. Half a dozen cannot be ignored. The Council’s integrity is in jeopardy if this is true.”
“I’ve never known the Council to indulge in rumors before now. I’m not going on a fool’s errand. Tell me why the Council would want to enlist my help in this. Tell me why I should care one wit about the reputation of this institution, an institution that, I’m sure I’ve no need to remind you, discharged me because I dared to care about the young Slayer that it placed under my care. Quentin, please tell me why I should be concerned in the slightest.”
“Perhaps,” Quentin said, “because those reports,” he gestured toward the file that still sat inertly on the desk, unopened by Giles, “concern a creature you know of, rather intimately, if I’m not mistaken. A vampire called ‘William the Bloody?’ Its last known whereabouts were, in fact, Sunnydale, California. Is this not correct?”
Giles’s mind flashed on what Dawn had told him had happened to Buffy at Spike’s hands and his breath quickened with the anger he felt, “Yes,” he said bitterly, “But, he is no longer there and I do not care to know where he is.”
“If those reports are to be believed,” Quentin stated, “And, I am inclined to believe them because they come from very credible Watchers, which you would see if you would take the time to look at the file…”
“There would be a point to all this rambling, wouldn’t there, Quentin?” Giles asked, clearly weary of the other man’s protracted explanations.
“The point, to be succinct, is that ‘William the Bloody,’ at last report, is in Africa.”
“Again, why should I care?”
“You should care,” Travers replied, “because what that vampire has reportedly done is something no other demon has ever done. If this is true, if the reports can be substantiated, the Council’s very existence may be called into question. As you have a knowledge of this creature’s habits, I’m asking you to investigate.”
“Just what is it Spike is supposed to have done?” Giles asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“This vampire,” Quentin sighed, “it’s rumored, has gone on a quest.”
“That’s nothing new. Vampires go on quests all the time,” Giles shrugged, “That one in particular has made quite a pastime of it, I should think.”
“Yes, but it is what the vampire is questing for, that is rather, shall we say, unorthodox.”
“From what I know of Spike, that is par for the course. Just what is it that’s got you in such a snit, Quentin?” Giles couldn’t help but smirk at the purple rage he could see bubbling just under Travers’s skin at his remark.
“Have you ever known a vampire, or other demon, to voluntarily seek restoration?”
Giles caught his breath, “Do you mean…?”
Travers nodded, “I do. That vampire has sought out his soul. I’m asking you to verify this. The existence of this institution is in your hands now, Rupert.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I read somewhere that, in an early draft of "Grave" Xander was killed off. I took that and ran with it.
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Thanks to Nemo for the beautiful banner!