Spoilers and Timing: Takes place four months after the conclusion of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with spoilers for "Chosen," "Never Leave Me" and other episodes of season seven. Season Eight in comic form? What Season Eight in comic form? There’s no such thing, I tell you (btw, I love that they’re doing a crossover with Fray). This story breaks away from Angel canon after season four. This is for one simple reason: when I wrote "The Entity of Seven," I hadn’t seen season five of Angel. Ergo, there is a reference in this story to a character who died in canon. It’s the kind of continuity problem only possible in fanfic. I have embraced it.

Author’s Note: As an American, I have tried my best to convert all pertinent phrases, grammar usage and words to Brit-speak in the scenes from Giles’ POV. If you notice anything amiss, please let me know by e-mail or through a review.

Author’s Note #2: This is a sequel/companion story to "The Entity of Seven" because Xander appears in this story as a Potential Entity. However, this is a Giles story. Sorry, XanderZone readers and all other Xander fans (though if I’m going to apologize to all Xander fans, then I include myself in that apology, and that doesn’t make much sense…). He does play a significant part.

Author’s Note #3: WARNING! This note contains spoilers for the story. You have been warned. This story uses an idea I had I-don’t-know-how-long-ago-though-it’s-been-a-while. I couldn’t think of a good way of incorporating the Council-gets-sent-into-alternate-universe-when-it-exploded plot point into a story until now.

Summary: Sequel/Companion Story to “The Entity of Seven.” The Watcher’s Council was not sufficiently protected against modern weaponry, a situation of which Caleb took advantage when he detonated the bomb at Headquarters. One protection spell ensured that, the moment after the bomb detonated, Headquarters was sent into an alternate dimension, where it was reconstructed. There it has waited to be retrieved by someone still on Earth. That person is Rupert Giles, a man capable of doing terrible things, all of which he has believed were necessary. If he can fulfill his goal and get out of this alternate world safely, then Buffy, Xander and the others will never learn from him the lengths he is determined to go, even now.

*****

Hubris was a simple word. Rupert Giles had thought this before, and he would think of this many more times until he had passed on. It only abstractedly represented a complex idea. Nevertheless, it was not a word to be used lightly.

Rupert was not so naïve to believe he was above hubris. He did like to think, however, that his hubris had never been as terrible as those harbored by his colleagues, now deceased. He was fooling himself. Once upon a time, a young man had shared the opinions and ideals of the Giles family and had believed, wholeheartedly, that the Watchers’ Council was good, and just, and the mightiest of them all.

Near the end, the Watchers had lived comfortable, lazy lives. They claimed to fight on the side of good, but ninety-seven percent of their staff rarely left Headquarters, a building nestled safely in one of the better parts of London. They would send young members, all proud to do their duty, into the field. Some of them came back in coffins. Others returned in tears and in shame. Those who found ways to survive in the world, and so few of them did, would send reports back to Headquarters but would rarely set foot inside the building.

The world was overwrought with monsters, those ninety-seven percent would say amongst themselves. The Slayer would fight them, and she would win. If she didn’t, there would always be another. We need not involve ourselves directly. Our expertise would be better served here, where we could relay any necessary information she and her Watcher needed.

They would bury themselves further into their chronicles and their armories and personal research about demons defeated centuries ago, and they would leave the world to deal with the rest.

Rupert liked to think these things on those days and those nights when he was in a particularly fowl mood. But then the guilt would set in, if there were no distractions to stop him, and he would remember the good times. There seemed to be so many of them, made with his classmates at the Academy, or even earlier, while he was growing up in a proud family of retired and active Watchers.

It didn’t matter, though, did it? Not anymore. His anger with them would never be satisfied. He’d wanted to knock some sense into every one of them with his fists if needed. He’d hated them, but he hadn’t wanted them dead.

It hadn’t been demons or sorcerers or gods that had brought about the fall of the Council of Watchers. It had been a human armed with a bomb. Granted, the human in question had been in league with the First Evil, but he’d operated alone as he’d snuck into Council Headquarters and planted the bomb. It was the contingency for which the Council hadn’t planned. Of course they hadn’t prepared for it. Bombs were a concern for other organizations with normal, human enemies. The Council’s enemies fought their battles with bows and arrows, swords and clubs, spells and the occasional trebuchet or flying sailing craft. As far as Rupert could determine, contingencies against modern weaponry hadn’t entered their minds.

Though when he’d thought it over, and he had thought it over many times, he wondered if he would have made plans for such an occasion. In any case, it was too late for his former colleagues. The new Council was his concern now.

Xander had phased them from Cleveland into Canterbury, the closest he could manage to get to London. They’d taken the train from there. London was as busy as it ever was. He’d never liked London traffic. Give him the smaller populations of Bath or Sunnydale any day. It was a shame that, when they phased back to the States when this was done with, he wouldn’t be landing in a small town. Cleveland wasn’t as awful as London, at least.

In Sunnydale an hour and a half’s walk would transport a person from one side of town to the other. If this walk took place during the day, one would pass many cars, a crowd or two in the downtown area and fewer people out and about elsewhere in town. That would be all. In London, it was a stupid idea to walk across crowded pavement for an hour and a half; it was a better idea to take the Tube from the hotel, which was a hassle in itself, and then walk ten minutes from the closest Tube station to their destination. Even then, those ten minutes were occupied stopping at kerbs for traffic and weaving around stalls selling souvenirs of Big Ben or the London Eye and around queues of people before food vendors.

"You know," said Xander, as they picked their way down the pavement, "this is my first trip to good old England. Without phasing to another time, I mean. And so far, I have spoken to or heard a whole bunch of Americans, an Italian guy who knew a little bit of English and a couple of French girls. Where are all the British people?"

"Not here," Giles said simply, as they stopped at another street corner. A throng of people filled the space behind and on either side of them, all waiting for the light to turn green. "This is one of the tourist sections of town. It’s along the walk to the Eye."

He wondered how large Sunnydale would have become if its population hadn’t been constantly diminished by the appetites of vampires.

Xander gave him a look. "What, you’re telling me Watcher Headquarters was in the tourist part of town?" He appeared to be trying to stifle a smile without much success.

Rupert rolled his eyes. "It was near one of them, yes. There are so many areas of London constantly populated by tourists, it’s bloody hard to avoid them."

Xander openly grinned. "What’s the matter, G-Man? Don’t like all those foreigners, buying telephone booth coin banks, snapping pictures and oohing and aahing over the silliest things?"

He didn’t deign to answer.

The light turned green, and the throng moved across the street. Some people stared as Rupert and Xander passed by. Their gazes snapped to the eye patch over Xander’s right eye socket. Rupert didn’t often go around Cleveland with the younger man, and he wondered how Xander dealt with the public scrutiny.

Xander didn’t appear to have noticed, or he was ignoring the stares. The buildings around them occupied his attention. The young American had been to England before but not to London, as far as Rupert knew. Rupert wasn’t sure how much time Xander had spent in large metropolitan areas before they’d moved to Cleveland. Xander certainly seemed to be enjoying himself here in London, and it was Rupert’s turn to conceal a grin at the younger man’s attempts to turn his head in every direction possible.

London was a conglomeration of all sorts of styles. A number of them were modern, built within the past sixty years. As for the rest of the buildings, the ground floors had been gutted and modernized, while the facades of the upper floors hadn’t been altered since their construction in previous centuries. It was different from anything Rupert had seen in the States.

A few streets later, they turned right onto a narrow, unpopulated street. Rupert breathed a sigh of relief. Five story buildings to either side formed walls six meters apart. There was enough room for one lane of traffic, but no cars were to be seen.

"It’s not much further," he said.

Xander stopped after a few paces and let out a strange sound, something between a groan and a grunt. Rupert turned to him as Xander rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, I can feel it. Ow."

Rupert studied his grimace and tightly shut eyes. "What do you sense?"

With another grimace, Xander straightened and opened his eyes. He seemed to be acclimating himself to whatever sensation he was feeling, and that was reassuring. The last thing Rupert wanted was to see the young man harmed, not over something like this.

"Just that there’s something wrong." Xander frowned. "It’s a little like when I’m phasing, except that always feels right, like I should be doing it. This feels like…like something else tried to phase, but they weren’t supposed to, like it was against the rules. Does that make sense?"

"Um…not really, no." It gave Rupert an inkling, but it wasn’t the most straightforward explanation he’d ever heard. Xander often had trouble describing the part of himself that made him the most unique.

Xander gave him an apologetic smile, shrugged and nodded toward the far end of the street. "Let’s go."

The street soon ended at another. They turned right, then left and emerged onto a wider street. It could have allowed two lanes of traffic, but so many cars were parked along the kerb that only one lane could pass between them. Men and women in suits passed by, heading to and from the many non-commercial businesses that lined the street.

The street turned sharply to the left, forming a ninety degree angle. At the turn was an empty pit between buildings. Seven meters deep, the L-shaped pit was large enough to be a dug foundation of a building. Water pipes emerged from the dirt walls, but the lot had been empty for some time.

The empty space above the pit afforded Rupert and Xander an excellent view of one of the many bridges that crossed the Thames and the heavy traffic that crossed the bridge.

They paused beside one of the building that stood adjacent to the pit. Xander grabbed Rupert’s shoulder as he swayed. "That’s it." He swallowed and nodded at the empty lot. "That’s where Watcher HQ used to be."

It wasn’t a question. Rupert didn’t bother confirming it. The International Headquarters of the Watchers’ Council had stood proudly at this spot for just under a millennia. If Rupert and Xander had anything to do with it, the headquarters would return. That was why they had come.

"Are you all right?" the Watcher asked.

Xander wiped sweat from his forehead. "I’ll deal. What exactly are we looking for? It doesn’t look like there’s anything there."

"No." Rupert watched the Potential Entity closely. "But something is there, isn’t it?"

"Yeah." Xander squirmed. "Okay, now it really, really itches. I think I preferred the disorientation and wanting-to-puke feelings from a few seconds ago."

Rupert shivered. Goosebumps covered his arms. "It’s not just you, apparently."

A woman across the street walked parallel to the empty lot. She rubbed her arms and quickened her pace.

Xander and Rupert left the protective building facades to their right and strode onto the pavement alongside the pit. There was nothing there, not physically. There was no rainwater, though he couldn’t see any drains. No weeds grew from the dirt, and there were no bird droppings and no birds. The oddest detail of all was a lack of signs of an explosion. It had been nearly a year since the bomb detonated, but even if the pit had been cleared of debris, the buildings to either side should have had some indications of damage or repair.

Rupert felt another shiver. Xander began to shake. "G-Giles-I-" His eye rolled into the back of his head.

"Xander!" Rupert grabbed his arms and shook him. Xander’s eye snapped open, but it was unfocused. Rupert cursed, draped Xander’s arm over his shoulders and half-dragged, half-led the younger man to the other side of the street.

Xander gasped. He closed his eye and held on tightly to Rupert as he coughed. "Shit. I think I should stay over here, yeah?"

"Quite."

Xander let go, put his hands on his knees and took deep breaths. "Something’s definitely there. Do you really think it’s the Council building?"

"With any luck."

It was no wonder he hadn’t been able to phase the two of them here directly from Cleveland as they’d originally tried to do, if this was the reaction he experienced by being so close to the source.

"Run that by me again." Xander took one more deep breath and straightened. He was looking decidedly pale. "You said that the Council building was chock full of protective spells, and that when it went kablooey-"

Rupert winced.

"-one of the protective spells activated some sort of fail-safe…or…something and sent the building into a pocket dimension?"

Rupert sighed. He’d always hoped that, if he repeated himself often enough, his American friends would assimilate one of his explanations. He gave it another attempt. "The Council was not prepared for an attack by technological means, but they had prepared a spell that would be enabled if the building was destroyed or otherwise irreparably ruined. It would freeze time for the building and anyone and anything inside it. Then it would deposit the building in a pocket dimension, where any repairs would be made magically to the structure. All harmed persons sent to the pocket dimension would also be healed, no matter the extent of their injuries. The building would be kept safe in the pocket dimension until it could be retrieved."

"So…the building’s intact? And the Council’s still alive?" Xander frowned. "I thought you said that…"

"They aren’t." Rupert looked away. "I was unaware of the spell until recently, when Frederick informed me of some research he’d done into spells utilized for the Council’s protection." Frederick Benton was one of the few field Watchers who hadn’t been at Headquarters when it was destroyed. There were only four of the original Council left, including Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, newly reinstated and on standby status. "The spell would…preserve all persons inside the pocket dimension for a period of four weeks/three weeks." He closed his eyes. "If the building is retrieved in that time, the people would be retrieved with it. If the building is retrieved after that period, only the building would return from the pocket dimension."

"So we’ve got an empty building to retrieve filled of useful spell stuff and books and weapons, not to mention Watcher files, chronicles and, hopefully, bank account information. I got that part right, right?"

"Yes." Rupert glanced up at the sky. It was mid-morning, and it was a day of good weather. He wondered how long that would last. "If we perform the retrieval ritual properly, then yes."

"Always with the if." Xander gave him a weak smile. "Let’s do it, then, before I throw up."

He sighed. "Yes, well, that is where the difficulty lies."

He wished the ritual didn’t require so much daylight. It would have been preferable to return here at night, when there would be no possibility of onlookers. That was another reason he’d miss Sunnydale; as much it had frustrated him that the town’s citizens were so consistently blind to the obvious, it was at times welcome. Londoners, he was sure, would be far too curious. There was no helping it.

He turned back to Xander and realised the younger man was looking at him. No humour could be found in Xander’s expression. "Spit it out already, Giles. Where’s the difficulty and how do we get around it?"

Xander looked tired and far too old. Rupert knew that he, too, looked far older than his forty-nine years. He wondered how much longer it would be until Xander began to go gray. It could happen anytime.

They needed a break. In the four months since the collapse of Sunnydale, they hadn’t had one. Perhaps, after they retrieved Headquarters, Rupert could go on a short holiday to Bath to see his sister and her children. He would like that, if it proved to be possible.

That was assuming he could make this work. He couldn’t let his own hubris interfere today. The longer the building was in the pocket dimension, the harder it would be to retrieve, and it had been ten months already.

"The difficulty lies in the fact that I will need your help. You, specifically, as a Potential Entity." Rupert cleaned his glasses. "And, judging from what has just occurred, it’s going to be painful for you and possibly for me as well, due to the side effects I could experience."

"While I’ll get the up-front effects?" Xander stared across the street and shook his head. "I don’t know, Giles. Just being over here feels like Gene Kelley got out his tap shoes and decided to perform a two-hour musical in my head."

Rupert grimaced and glanced at his watch. "We’ll get something to eat." They would need the energy, and Xander could use the chance to recover before starting anew.

"Better call Buffy, too, for a progress update," Xander said.

Rupert couldn’t fault his friend’s paranoia. Neither of them had been so far away from ‘home base,’ as Xander put it, since they had settled in Cleveland. He nodded in agreement. "We can also stop at a magic store I know. Perhaps it will have something we can use as protection. If we can’t find anything suitable, we’ll have to reconsider this venture at a later time." He needed Xander for this, but if Xander became sick every time they came near the site, they would make little to no progess.

Xander shook his head. "We really need all the stuff in the old headquarters. Not to mention an already firmly established base of operations for the Watcher’s Council." Xander rubbed his hands up and down his arms. "And the sooner we get them, the better."

They didn’t return to the throng of tourists, but instead went in another direction, to a place a street away from the magic shop. A pizza restaurant Rupert remembered was still there. It was a good distraction for Xander, who ordered the largest pizza on the menu and ate three-quarters of it at an outside table.

Rupert quirked a smile. "Feeling better?"

Xander gave him a quick, distracted smile and returned to his observation of the street around them. "Anya would have loved it here. Especially all the capitalism going on."

Rupert started. After a moment, his smile returned, this one more fond. "Yes. She would. Though it is likely she had been here before."

Xander nodded. After a moment, he smirked at Rupert. "You know, British people aren’t as stuffy as I’d thought they’d be. All those years of seeing you in tweed had led me to believe it was the height of fashion over here."

Rupert rolled his eyes. "It’s wonderful that you’ve finally been exposed to reality after only seven years in my association."

It was an hour later when they finally returned to the street. Rupert carried a coiled-up rope over his shoulder. Less people were about outside, which was favourable. Just as many cars traveled along the bridge beyond the gap where Headquarters used to be.

Xander scratched his arms until they were covered in red streaks. He draped a drawstring bag of herbs around his neck and breathed a sigh of relief. "That’s good stuff," he said. "We should go back and ask for the recipe."

Rupert, who had been shivering in an absent wind, put on his protective amulet and nodded as he stopped feeling the magical cold. "These are unusually potent, aren’t they? I’ll have to remember to go back there later." He nodded to the lot further along the street. "Let’s see just how well they work."

Xander took in a deep breath and let it out. "Okay. Either this’ll work, or this’ll end up being incredibly embarrassing."

"Not to worry." He smiled and looked away quickly. "I’ll be sure to pull you away if you faint again."

"I did not faint," Xander muttered as they neared the pit.

Rupert uncoiled the rope and tied it to the bottom of a light pole. Passersby would simply have to walk over it. He pulled it taught and then scaled down the concrete and dirt side of the pit. Xander followed him a moment later.

Xander shivered as he stepped onto the dirt, but nothing else happened to either of them. "I wish the aftereffects of the Council spell or whatever this is would make up its mind about how it affects people near it. I’ve had way enough of the constant shift from shivers to itching to dizziness." He shivered again and stuck his hands in his pockets. "So, what exactly do you need me for?" His voice echoed slightly in the large space.

Rupert removed a small notebook, a short and fat blessed candle, a candle tray and a cigarette lighter from his jeans pockets. The dirt was dry but packed, and he kicked up a light layer of dust as he sat on the ground. He motioned for Xander to sit across from him.

Xander crossed his arms. "Wait a minute. We’re going to perform a ritual that will make the Council building re-appear in this very spot. Shouldn’t we be sitting over on that nice handy sidewalk only a few feet that way?"

"This is what the spell requires. If this is to be done properly, then we should find ourselves sitting in one of the lower rooms of the building, completely unharmed." Which meant, though he had no intention of pointing this out, they would find themselves in the dungeons.

"You sure about that? We’re not going to end up materializing in a wall or a tea cozy or, like, the floor?"

"I’m reasonably sure," Rupert said.

Xander plopped down on the ground. "Oh, yeah, you’re the spokesperson of reassuring."

"Move back two inches," he said in lieu of a reply. Xander complied, and Rupert placed the candle equidistant from either of them. He reviewed his pocket-sized notebook again, making certain he’d memorized the pronunciations of the words of an ancient language archeologists hadn’t discovered yet. When he was certain, he put the notebook in his lap. He leaned forward and lit the candle with a practiced movement, then returned to his seated position.

"This candle will act as a focus of concentration for both of us," he said. "By focusing on it, we will create a bond between our minds. I will use that bond to draw on the energies you use in order to phase through space but not time. Then, I will use those energies to attempt to access the pocket dimension where the building is being held. You might feel some tiredness, and it might be a short time before you are able to phase again. I do not know how long."

"That sounds like heady stuff. How come we didn’t bring Willow with us?"

Rupert wished she was doing this. Her time with the Coven a year ago had significantly strengthened her mental willpower, which meant she had greater control than he did. "Because the Retriever must be in some way tied to the original Council, either by blood or by employment." Rupert fit both requirements.

Xander’s teeth chattered. "Okay, then. Candle-watching it is." He shifted position and studied the candle.

The candle was enchanted with a spell to assist those people with thoughts that strayed too easily. Within seconds, his tense frame relaxed, his breathing became even and his transfixed stare remained open and unblinking.

It was nearing eleven, according to Rupert’s watch. He needed to get started. With a sigh, he turned his complete attention to the candle.

He liked to think his own concentration was better than the younger man’s, but his own thoughts strayed, for a moment. He remembered the last time he’d been here, at this very spot. Had it really only been two summers ago? It felt as if much more time had ….had passed…

Thoughts faded as he was caught in the candle’s enchantment. He focused on the flame until all things around it, including Xander’s outline and the looming building behind Xander, blurred beyond recognition.

Something else was there. No, not something else, someone, just on the edge of his mind. Rupert’s eyes remained on the flame, but his mind focused on the new presence until it took on the sense of someone he knew.

Hey, straggler, the presence said, in a mentally broadcast voice a little older and louder than Xander’s physical voice. Perhaps it was the voice Xander heard when he spoke. Welcome to the party. How long has it been?

Only a moment, I believe, Rupert replied, though he felt disconnected from time. He could have been lost in the candle’s flame for hours, perhaps days.

He began to chant. He wondered if his lips moved as he thought the words. Perhaps it was all in his mind. Either way, it would be sufficient, as long as the words were imagined correctly.

Though still separate entities, their minds were linked. It was possible that he heard Xander’s metal voice join in during the chant, though he would never be certain, so intent on the power transferred by the words was he.

Inkh’ -ca hip. Ink-ha, a metal image of a cluck of his tongue, a pause, stick his tongue to the roof of his mouth and pull away, ka, pause, heep. The translation, "From him to me,’ was as blatant in his mind as their pronunciation.

He paused as a feeling of strength entered his being. The energy transfer spell had begun.

Inkh’ –ca ta’hip. From him to me to outside.

They were two simple phrases, but they needed to be repeated forty times, and each incantation must be thought carefully, slowly and with the same inflection as the time before.

In other circumstances, such a task would have been tedious. The candle flame prevented his mind from straying and helped him focus on each syllable of each repetition.

Little by little, warmth flooded his body and his mind. Finally, while his heart pounded, he thought the final syllable.

Nearly unbearable heat flooded his senses and his thoughts, though he somehow still saw the candle flame clearly.

Along with the energies of the Potential Energy that coursed through him, memories, feelings and the sensation of past experiences opened up to him. The memory of the first time Xander had intentionally phased appeared in his mind.

Rupert never realised Xander had seen their Cleveland home so many years before they arrived there. Exactly how much did the Potential Entity know about the future?

Way too much, Xander’s mind replied. And way too little. Andrew’s always pestering me about it. Some of the newbie Slayers do, too.

His mental tone was flippant, but over the link, he couldn’t hide what he was really thinking. Rupert plunged deeper into memories that weren’t his own.

Rupert knew he was not innocent of treating Xander in this manner. He hadn’t realised just how often it had occurred.

His guilt faded away, however, as other sensations overrode it. Power flooded him, reaching a height he hadn’t felt in years. It was such a heady feeling, to be able to reach into someone else’s being and experience his or her power for himself. The last time he’d felt this way was during a ritual with Ethan, Phillip and Dierdre…

Woah. This is…this is amazing, thought Xander. His mental speech seemed far away, and his awed words were slurred. The tiredness induced on his end by the energy transfer had entered his mind as well as his body.

Rupert snapped out of his own excitement and awe. Soon, Xander would fall asleep, in order to replenish the energy he’d given to Rupert. Rupert needed to continue with this process before that occurred, or they would have to start again tomorrow…though perhaps not. A second attempt would not be as kind to Xander as the first attempt. Rupert would also have to spend a hundred pounds on another enchanted candle. No, it must be done today or not at all.

How do you phase, Xander? He asked, hoping to jolt the man back into alertness for a least a moment more. Xander never could explain it out loud; Rupert prayed that he could explain it now.

It’s easy…Xander replied faintly, and once again, his memories were open to Rupert. Rupert remembered not just what happened, but how.

Yes, he said, as understanding dawned after all these years of wondering. It really was all very simple, and the transferred power now filling his veins near to bursting point made it possible for him to experience, at least once, what it would be like.

Sort of. Rupert was about to use that phasing ability to access a dimension Xander never would have reached on his own.

In the physical world, Rupert closed his eyes. He couldn’t stare into the inviting light of the candle any longer; this would require his full concentration.

Everything in his mind turned black. The link between him and Xander was severed, but that was all right. He’d already taken all the energy from Xander that he would need, or so he hoped, because there was no going back.

He felt disoriented and cut off from any sensations that would have anchored him to the physical world. He began to panic and struggled to calm himself.

Abstractedly, he knew that his body must have existed somewhere, but his mind had been separated from it. Whether it was a temporary or permanent separation remained to be seen.

Xander’s memories were gone, leaving only Rupert’s own store of experiences. This was what he needed. Xander’s mind would not hold the memories Rupert needed for this next part of the ritual.

Rupert’s mind called up all of his memories of the London Watcher Headquarters he could think about. Images flashed in the darkness of his mind, surrounding him, plunging him back into the past, even if it was only in his imagination.

He needed to focus on the details of the building and not the events that took place there.

Like many other buildings around London, the Council building had been in a constant state of flux. The original building was constructed centuries ago, and many remnants of it still survived. The rest of it had been destroyed in battles and reconstructed in the styles of the current time period. Still more parts of the structure had been added, torn down or renovated in accordance with the organization’s needs or the Head of the Council’s fancy.

There had been some attempt at consistency. Keys appeared at corners throughout the ground floor level, which complimented well with the buildings to either side, while the upper floors had adopted a classical design, including engaged columns and statuary.

He recalled every detail he’d ever noticed about the place, both consciously and subconsciously. He tried to remember the feel of a bookcase as he brushed his fingers against it while removing a tome two centuries old, or the colours used in a painting hung in a conference room. He pictured every detail possible in the plaster and mural ceilings of the ball room and practice rooms; the patterns in the carpeting in the corridors and the sounds they made as he stepped across them; the carvings in the wooden stair railings.

He tried, desperately, not to think about Rebecca Thorn looking up and smiling as he entered her office, or Charles Green focused upon an uncatalogued treasure, or Quentin Travers’ frown as they seated themselves in the parlor and discussed an unknown entity named Glory. But his memories were populated by men and women he liked and disliked and who equally liked and disliked him in return.

With any hope, the building that was taking shape in his imagination, haunted by ghosts, would be enough to transport him to the pocket dimension where the actual building waited.

Strengthened by borrowed power and as accurate an image of headquarters as he could hold in his mind, Rupert phased.

*****

One moment, their minds were joined; the next, his thoughts were completely and totally his own.

Xander blinked, and the candle flame went out of focus. Xander looked about in confusion before he remembered. He was in a big hole in the ground because he and Giles had climbed down there to do a spell, and…

"Giles?" The Watcher was nowhere in sight. Alarmed, Xander searched the area franctically. The walls of the concrete and dirt-lined pit were too high to get a clear view of the streets to either side. The sky above was still day, but according to his watch, it was now six in the evening.

Xander tried to push himself to his feet and collapsed back to the ground. The rush of adrenaline that had only just hit him was fading, fast.

"The energy transfer." It made sense. He wished he’d known he would end up feeling this tired, though.

His entire body felt incredibly heavy. Giles already forgotten, Xander lay back on the dirt and closed his eyes.

His eyes snapped open. The candle’s flame burned brightly in the darkness. Streetlights added softer illumination, and passing car headlights lit up the walls of the buildings adjacent to the pit.

Xander groaned and sat up. He felt stiff everywhere, but a night on a dirt floor would do that to anyone.

"Man, Giles, the things I do for you, buddy."

There was no answer. Giles, apparently, was still nowhere in the vicinity.

His watch said it was after three in the morning, but on what morning? He felt his chin; there was stubble there, but no more than a day’s worth.

His cell phone beeped. He jumped. The phone’s screen was really, really bright. It informed him he had seven messages.

He didn’t bother playing them. Instead, he dialed ‘001’ and then the number.

Dawn answered. After a moment or two, Willow came on the line, then Dawn, then, finally, Buffy. Xander swallowed in a dry throat and repeated his answers four times. Next time, he was going to recommend doing this via speakerphone.

"I felt him phase," Willow said. "It was a little bit like the feeling I get whenever you phase, but this had a whole lot of power behind him, probably a combination of his and yours. How much energy did you give him?"

"I’m thinking a lot. I was out for a while. I feel fine now, though. Fully refreshed and charged." Xander rubbed his neck. "Any way of retrieving our wandering Watcher Head?"

"I don’t so. The pocket dimension where the Council building is being stored got rid of its human population a long time ago, and it’s currently only designed to hold inanimate objects. So, Giles can exist there only in a hypothetical state. If we try to pull him out, the pocket universe will have confirmation of his existence. That would be of the bad. If he can get himself out, then he’ll be fine. If we try to go in after him, he’ll be erased."

Xander stomped his foot once. "I knew this was idea was of the bad and not-thought-out. I never should have let him do this."

Overhead, the stars went out. Clouds in a cloudless night formed over the lot.