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Thank you to Shadows Dancing, who beta'd this chapter.
In this chapter I used a chunk of dialoque from the episode Bring on the Night. As always,anything you may recognise from other sources is not very likely to be mine, I'm just playing with it. Please don't sue.
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Methos leaned his forehead against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall. He let the warm water run over him. For just a few minutes, he had privacy and the opportunity to relax his guard a little. He let go of the grief he had suppressed until now. He held on to his anger, however. He hardened it into a tight knot of determination aimed at finding whoever or whatever had caused Marie’s death, and then…
Well, he still had to determine his subsequent course of action. But it would not be pleasant for the recipient.
When he had arrived at the Slayer’s house, he truly hadn’t expected her description as ‘condemned’ to be accurate, but it actually came fairly close. The front window had been expertly boarded up, and most of the planks of the porch were chipped and scuffed. A few brand new ones did seem to indicate that someone was doing repairs.
He had caused quite a stir when he walked into the house. The older gentleman who opened the door had been struck all but dumb upon seeing Marie, the sight eliciting no more than a shocked ‘Oh dear lord’. Inside, the crowd of mostly girls all reacted differently, but mostly silently. Of one girl he had only seen brown curly hair when she fled to the kitchen. From the sounds that had resulted, Methos guessed she was being sick.
Introductions had been little more than Giles, designated doorman and obviously the senior in the house, asking his name before mentioning everybody else’s. He’d held on to his Adam Pierson identity, which was the only one with a connection to the Watchers, and Methos still felt that they might have something to do with all this.
Strangely enough, the girl that seemed least affected also seemed to be the youngest. Giles had introduced her as Dawn, Buffy’s - the Slayer’s- sister. She alone came closer to look at Marie, and it had been she also who had pointed out the bunk in the cellar as a place to lay Marie down so she could be cleaned up before burying her. She had instructed the one other male, a tall, dark-haired kid by the odd name of Xander, to take Marie out of Methos’ hands, and then all but ordered Methos to the shower.
The shower he was now getting out of. Luxuriating could be done later. Methos had more dilemmas to solve. Just one more second.
Methos resolutely turned off the tap. When the flow of water stopped, the thoughts started streaming again. He still didn’t know how everything fitted together. He still didn’t know how he would fit in here. Hell, he didn’t even know why there were seven kids barely out of puberty sitting downstairs with no more supervision than an aging Brit. And to top it all off, just at the moment Xander had taken Marie from his arms, he thought he had felt the buzzing of a pre-immortal. Then Dawn had slapped his arm and sent him upstairs, so he had had no time to confirm the sensation.
He sighed. It was just one more problem on the steadily growing list. At the top of which was, currently, his clothing.
Everything he had worn today was beyond rescue. Several rips indicated that at least one of the vampires had come a bit too close for comfort. All of it was stained with blood, some of which might even have been his own. He did have a change of clothes in his backpack, but that didn’t include a coat long enough to comfortably hide his sword in. He only had a jacket that was just long enough to carry it along his spine. Not the most comfortable, nor the safest or even the most inconspicuous way of hiding it. It would have to do for now.
When he came downstairs Giles approached him.
“Adam…Buffy has been gone for an awfully long time. Xander and Willow and I are going to find her. I need you to watch over the others.”
Why was Giles trusting Methos –or rather Adam Pierson, the new arrival, with these kids? Giles was taking away what seemed to be the most capable people in the house. With what he had encountered out there that didn’t seem like all that bad an idea but how safe would this house be then?
Not that Methos voiced these suspicions. He just nodded. Giles seemed to need no more encouragement.
“Very good. The weapons chest is here, use whatever you need. Do try to put it back; it's enough of a mess already. Dawn will help you with the rest.”
And that was it. There were a few quick good-byes to the rest and the trio was out the door.
Of course it wasn’t Dawn that came to help him. Instead, the two other girls battered him with questions about the men in cloaks –Bringers, apparently - and about Marie. They both seemed to be assuming that he was Marie’s Watcher. Why would a girl like Marie, who quite obviously wasn’t even pre-immortal, let alone Immortal, need a Watcher? And how would these girls know about it? Add another puzzle to the list. He answered their questions as superficially as possible. He didn’t deny being Marie’s Watcher, but he didn’t confirm it either. It was getting quite uncomfortable, in the end.
Finally Dawn started to run some interference. She called from the kitchen that there was food, and both the girls ran to get it. Peace at last.
He spotted a stack of books on the coffee table. He picked up the top one, but then the embossing on the cover of the second one caught his eye. It was similar to the Watchers sigil he carried on his wrist, but more elaborate and detailed. Methos took that one instead. He opened it.
“Typical. Show a Watcher a book and he’s got his oversized nose in it before you can blink.”
He ignored Anya. The things she said and the way she said them sounded like she didn’t really expect anyone to be listening, anyway.
On the first page, the seal was repeated, this time beautifully colored in, parts of it gilded.
There was also a title beautifully calligaphed over it:Commentaria Deregi Senatorum Servatores
Someone had scribbled a translation at the bottom of the page, in pencil: Handbook of the Council of Watchers.
This was getting interesting. As far as he knew, the only ‘Council’ -like organ the Watchers had was the Tribunal, and that was only for Watchers who had committed major crimes, like befriending an Immortal. He started leafing through the rest of the book. At least three people had written notes and translations in the margins. In several places loose pages had been inserted. A lot of it did read like a Watcher’s journal of a few hundred years ago, Latin text full of strange beasts and occurrences. Strangely enough, there were no descriptions of Quickenings or the lives of any particular Immortals. There was, however, a long list in the back. It had dates in it, followed by a woman’s name, the name of a location, and another name, this time mostly a man’s. At first glance, none of it looked familiar. He turned back to the beginning.
In every generation, there is a Chosen One. She alone has the strength to stand against the forces of darkness…
Nothing he hadn’t yet read a dozen times over on various websites, except this time in Latin. He skipped slightly ahead.
…But of course she cannot truly stand alone. That strength needs direction; the Slayer needs training and guidance. Our order was created so that we may guide and prepare these young women for their battle. Within these pages is contained the information deemed most necessary by the Council for Slayers and their Watchers to know. May it serve you well.
Two organizations calling themselves Watchers? No, then the sigils would not be so similar. This had been one organization, once. Methos felt the need to curse long and internationally rise ever higher. Why hadn’t he known about this?
Then the headlights of an arriving car threw beams of light through the remaining gaps in the boarding of the living room window, and everyone but Methos rushed for the door. The Slayer had come back, and she didn’t look too good.
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It hurt. Why did it always have to hurt so much? No. It hurt more this time. This time, she hadn’t been able to beat it. This time, she failed. In the other room, her friends were talking. Buffy listened, almost catatonic, and not really noticing the man sitting quietly behind her, also listening.
Then she heard Willow say something.
“What do we do if she can't fight, if she can't beat this thing?”
Did they have so little trust in her? After all the pain, all the hurts they’d been through together, did they not think they could beat this, together? Buffy got up and made her way into the kitchen. She just caught the end of something Giles said.
“I don't know if we can fight it.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong, but was that a reason to give up? Buffy stepped further into the kitchen. She felt some movement behind her, but she paid it no attention. She had to do something to get all of them on the same level again.
“You're right. We don't know how to fight it. We don't know when it'll come. We can't run, can't hide, can't pretend it's not the end, 'cause it is.”
And the world had ended before, too. This was bigger, so this group had to fight bigger as well.
“Something's always been there to try and destroy the world. We've beaten them back, but we're not dealing with them anymore. We're dealing with the reason they exist. Evil. The strongest. The First.”
It wasn’t going to be easy. It was going to be hard, very hard. And she was already exhausted. Giles had noticed that, too.
“Buffy, I—I-I know you're tired.”
He didn’t know the half of it. “I'm beyond tired. I'm beyond scared. I'm standing on the mouth of hell, and it is gonna swallow me whole.”
Like it had before, at least twice. Would it be any less painful this time? Hell no.
“And it'll choke on me. We're not ready? They're not ready. They think we're gonna wait for the end to come, like we always do. I'm done waiting. They want an apocalypse? Oh, we'll give 'em one.”
Buffy looked around the room. Looked at Molly and Kennedy, the two Potential Slayers who still survived. At Giles, Willow and Xander, who had stood beside her since the beginning. At Dawn, a little sister to be protected. And at Anya and Andrew, former enemies turned reluctant allies. One of those under her protection had already died. Who would be the next?
“Anyone else who wants to run, do it now.’Cause we just became an army. We just declared war. From now on, we won't just face our worst fears, we will seek them out. We will find them, and cut out their hearts one by one, until The First shows itself for what it really is. And I'll kill it myself. There is only one thing on this earth more powerful than evil, and that's us.”
She paused. Then: “Any questions?”
There was a second of silence. Then, behind her, someone started clapping their hands. The slow slaps oozed sarcasm. Buffy turned around. Leaning against the doorframestood a vaguely familiar looking man. Who the hell was he? Then she looked in his eyes, and recognized the look. That same casual arrogance had flashed across a face above a sword, earlier this evening. This was the man who had held the sword. Then, the look had disappeared in an instant, but now it seemed to be here to stay.
He was a Watcher, right? His accent and behavior earlier this evening did make that likely. His behavior now as well, really. The only Watcher who had ever given her any respect at all was Giles. She was also far beyond taking any of that crap. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”
The man snapped to attention. “Of course, General.” He ripped off a textbook salute; Riley could have learned from it. Then he slouched against the doorframe again. “So will you go and rip this ‘Firsts’ heart out, or will it be up to one of us good little soldiers? How many will it take?”
Didn’t he even get that everything was just beginning? “I…”
“You don’t know. Do you care?” The man paused, looking her over, his eyes lingering, not on her hips or her chest, but on the big bruise on her cheek and the long cut on her arm. “You aren’t in any condition to fight.” He gestured around the room. “And the rest of us wouldn’t even know where to begin. What a fine army we’d make.”
That did it. She pushed him back into the anteroom. Behind her she heard various ‘Hey’s’ in response to the Watcher’s comment, but that was no longer relevant.
He was stronger than he looked. He had been taken by surprise by her first push, but after that he put up admirable resistance. It didn’t matter. She pushed or dragged him all the way into the hallway, out of hearing range of the others. Buffy thrust him against the wall, causing the man to flinch. Then she jabbed her finger against his sternum.
“You need to understand something. The only way this will ever end is if we work together. If that means we form an army with me as the general, then so be it. When we’re all working together, then we can find out how to beat this, and we can fight it. The First won’t be beaten by some Watcher fresh off the plane from England telling me what to do. That didn’t work before, it certainly won’t work now. So you can either shut up and work with us, or you can go.”
She let him go. The Watcher had closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, the arrogance was gone, replaced by something deeper. Grief? He opened his mouth to say something, but thought the better of it. He looked down and shook his head. This time the look was one of resignation.
“I’ll stay.”
