The graveyard screamed in silence as night fell over the town. Tombstones standing like little towers glistened white in the glow of the half moon. The streets were sleeping, as the night folk awoke: crickets began to chirp merrily in the bushes, the croaking of the toads forming a sweet harmony. And the Watcher and the vampire went to work.

Giles was never certain of himself when he was around Angel. Something about knowing a vampire with a soul just violated all of the Watcher quotas he had committed to heart. To consider a vampire a friend took some getting used to; realizing that this vampire was romantically involved with the Slayer was something else. Some more "by the book" watchers would have staked Angel, if only to preserve the Slayer.

Observing the vampire’s profile in the moonlight, the finely drawn lines of the chiseled brow, Giles knew he could never stake him. Buffy had never confided much about her relationship with Angel to him, but still… he knew how emotionally attached to the vampire she was. *If anyone killed Jenny… I’d…*

But those thoughts were broken when Angel spoke:

"See anything?"

"What? No, not yet…" Giles came out of his thoughts and turned to pure business mode. His eyes scanning the dark recesses of the graveyard, he slipped a hand inside his tweed jacket. Curling a hand comfortingly around his concealed stake, he felt the usual surge of power.

Power he had felt as Ripper, but that power had been dark. This power was more safe, more right. *As if the days of old had returned, and Arthur came ba--*

Giles’ face whipped back roughly from the punch landing on his jaw. Bringing it back to focus, he realized that a group of six vampires had taken he and Angel by surprise. Grabbing at the stake, he pulled it out, at the same time throwing a swift jab at the vampire in front of him. All of his training sessions with Buffy had given him a great deal of fighting prowess… but still, he was no Slayer.

Kicking his knee forward, Giles landed a solid blow to the vampire’s stomach. As the demon huddled over, the Watcher planted the stake firmly in his chest.

Wiping the dust off of his face quickly, Giles looked up to see Angel taking on four vampires at once. Then, in a cloud of ash, there was three. Giles smiled in appreciation as the fully vamped out Angel grabbed one and slammed it against a tombstone. But just as Angel threw it up against a tree, signing it’s death warrant, Giles was tackled from behind. He fell forward, scraping the side of his head on a low monument. Stuggling to turn over on the grass, Giles looked up into the distorted face of another vampire. A vampire who had his arms pinned down. And was going for his throat. Struggling futilely, he tried to turn his head away from the gleaming fangs.

But just as Giles could feel the vampire punching into his jugular, the weight was suddenly gone. And the Watcher was covered in ash. Looking up in surprise, he saw a young woman, a stranger, standing over him with a stake in her hand. But before he could say anything, she spun around quickly, and, with one blow, finished off the last vampire on Angel.

And suddenly, there was a silence. Giles struggled to his feet, and touched his face. Seeing the dark red on his fingers, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the wound.

"Are you all right?" he asked Angel, looking at the girl in wonder.

Swiping at his mouth with a shirtsleeve, Angel replied softly, "I’m… fine…"

At the hesitant sound in the vampire’s voice, Giles turned to look at him. Angel was staring fixedly at the strange girl, his eyes even more haunted than usual.

"… Kathryne…??" The surprise and wonder nearly dripped off of the words.

Turning his attention to the new person, Giles took in the girl. Her hair, black as midnight, was swept off of her face in a loose ponytail. She leaned easily against the monument, her tall form clothed in jeans and a black ribbed turtleneck. As he watched, she pushed herself up into a seated position with one combat booted foot.

"Um, well, hello there, miss. Thank you…" Giles’ voice trailed off. It was obvious that this young woman had eyes only for Angel.

"Angelus." Her voice was almost musky, but edged with a hard bitterness that stole any and all song from it.

Angel continued to stare at her, his hands trembling from where they rested. To Giles, he looked as if he was seeing a ghost. A very painful ghost.

Turning her head slightly, the young woman spoke offhandedly:

"Well, hello there, Watcher." Seeing her eyes for the first time, Giles was struck dumb. Their dark depths, a deep, impenetrable blue, seemed to hold an ocean of sadness. But yet he could find no softness, no gentleness. These eyes were like Buffy’s when she trained. The eyes of a fighter. The eyes of a killer.

Suddenly Giles was scared.