The City Watch

What kind of flower am I?

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 01:41:03 GMT

Which is an absurd thought, because all the flowers I have ever owned died an ugly death. That said, I like the name.

The Book Meme

Tue, 24 Jun 2008 23:17:56 GMT

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed. Well let's see.

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicise those you intend to read.
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your own LJ, or not, as you see fit.

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling - all of 'em, multiple times
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee - so great
6. The Bible
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell - it got less creepy once 1984 actually went by, I think
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens - schoolwork. Not a fan. Obviously paid by the word.
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy - Torture
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare - English major
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald - HAAAATE!
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll - Liked TTLG better - 'Twas brillig in the slithy tove...'
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis ? twice?
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini - the first three chapters - too creepy for me
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold - cried at Union Station in DC
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding - v. v. funny
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville - yes, and now I could whale, if necessary
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Alborn
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams - Fave book EVAAAARRRR
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare ? twice?
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl - his best one is 'Danny, the Champion of the World'
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Hmm, 35. Not good for an English major. I notice that it's heavy on the fantasy, the kids books, and the mystery. So pretty accurate.

Movie Review - The Incredible Hulk

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 16:41:22 GMT

BlairSis and I went to see the Hulk last night to free the house for a meeting. We picked it mainly because Mamma Mia wasn't out yet and because Iron Man rocked like a rocking thing, so we were on a Marvel Kick.

It wasn't a terrible movie. But I wouldn't say it's good. (warning: spoilers below)

The good: The superhero actor can actually act. You know, more than three expressions, a visible inner life, body not made of plastic, etc.

William Hurt was a quality baddie, with motivations of his own.

Tim Roth is also a good actor.

Excellent cameos by Bill Bixby, via tv clip, and Lou Ferrigno, who seems to be the only one having fun in the entire movie.

The bad: The movie was so morose. I think Iron Man spoiled me for a superhero who can enjoy life and actually wanted to be a superhero (but then, I guess his superherodom was easier to deal with, as it was a choice.) But the character was such a downer all the time - Mopey about his sad bottling job, mopey about his chemistry failures, mopey about Betty getting a life, mopey, mopey, mopey.... Turning into Mr. Green sucked the fun out of his life, so he's damn well gonna suck it out of ours.

Liv Tyler was awful. Part of it is that the part was very underwritten (least convincing scientist EVARRR!), but another part of it is that she was simply NOT GOOD. It's like she read somewhere that Betty Ross should be doe-eyed and she decided to embody that characteristic completely and develop no others. It's funny - if you had asked me before I saw either movie whether or not a better female character would be an admin or a scientist, I would have said scientist, but no way - Pepper rocked. (And was believable. Except for the shoes.)

There was no chemistry between Tyler and Norton, no click, and their two (count 'em, two) moments of intentional humor fell completely flat. Betty Ross also made ridiculous choices that repeatedly necessitated her being rescued, which Pepper Potts never did. (Weird, and cool, for a superhero film.)

The Hulk knew Betty and actively refrained from hurting her (shades of King Kong and Fay Wray), which, I think ruined one of the central characteristics of Hulk canon, which was that it's UNCONTROLLABLE. If he can control himself as the Hulk, then he really is a killer of all those other nameless people. If he can't, then he's a danger to every-freaking-body. That's the CENTRAL motivation of Bruce Banner (at least it was when Bruce Bixby played him.)

Anyway, that's a thumbs down from me. But definitely see Iron Man - have I mentioned it rocks?

FIC The Futility of Grand Gestures (10/10) (BUFFY)

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 05:03:47 GMT

Title: The Futility of Grand Gestures
Author: blairprovence
Rating:  PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s):  Buffy, Giles
Warnings:  Season 3, Serious Angst
Disclaimer:  All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al.
Summary:   Buffy would do absolutely anything for the people she loves. That's a good thing, right?
Author Notes:   Completed at long last for my scheduled day on summer_of_giles 2008. Apologies to my flist for the mass posting. Set after the events of Graduation, Part 1.


Part 1
Previous Part

He wasn’t really frightened, not at first.

It wasn’t the first time in one hundred and fifty years that he’d awakened to find himself bound and captive. Darla had made something of a hobby of it for over two years in the late 1890s. He had never figured out how she’d managed to truss him up like a turkey without waking him, but it hadn’t mattered much. Bondage could be fun.

Ripper was something of a shock, though.

He hadn’t known that Giles had been fatally injured during the fight at graduation, as he’d left almost directly after the explosion that had killed the Mayor, wary of sunlight’s return after the eclipse. He had managed to use the tunnels to get to the hospital to try and see Buffy, but the chaotic aftermath of the attack had blocked him from her room. He had retired back to the mansion to brood over the events of the past few days and consider the question that held paramount importance.

Would Buffy ever forgive him for draining her?

He hadn’t known as he’d dropped off to sleep that the answer to that question wouldn’t matter much at all.

He awakened, bound, mute and helpless, to a nightmare.

Willow and Oz were the first to die, and it was then that Angel really began to understand that Angelus had nothing on Ripper when it came to bloody mayhem.

Ripper brought them to Angel’s ersatz prison to kill them. He dragged Willow in by the arm – she hung like a limp doll in his strong grip, her eyes unfocused. Oz followed them at a run, clearly desperate and much the worse for wear. He took in Angel’s situation with a swift glance before attacking Ripper with bare hands, his expression of fatalistic hopelessness implying he had no actual expectation of success. Ripper backhanded him across the room, where Oz crashed into the wall at just the wrong angle and did not rise again.

Willow had no reaction, even as Ripper’s fangs sank into her neck. After she slumped lifelessly, Ripper swept her up into his arms, offered Angel a mocking bow, and danced her into the hallway.

Joyce was next, following the vampire into the room under her own power, but clearly terrified. When she saw Angel, her face went blank. Ripper curled a possessive arm about her shoulders and murmured, “See, Joyce, I told you he would be punished,” in a voice of sweet concern. She didn’t react, even when Ripper kissed her, and didn’t seem to notice Angel’s frantic soundless repetitions of I’m sorry.

Ripper led Joyce away, down the hall toward the furnished bedrooms. Angel tried not to think about what that meant.

Xander arrived late the same day, by himself, carrying a sword that Angel recognized from Giles’s collection in the library book cage.

The sight of the boy gave Angel sudden hope. He jerked his chin toward the chains and ropes, to indicate Here, cut here! But Xander stood stock still in the middle of the room, glaring at him, and Angel began to wonder what exactly the young man had planned to do with that sword.

Ripper appeared silently behind him, and Angel yelled soundlessly for Xander to run. The boy turned to face his former friend. The sword clattered to the floor.

“Oh, god, Giles,” Xander said, anguished.

“Hello, my boy,” Ripper said kindly, sounding just like Rupert Giles. He reached out to hug Xander, smirking at Angel over the boy’s shaking shoulders. “Are you all right?”

Xander froze, then pushed out of Ripper’s embrace. “You’re a vampire!”

“Yes,” Ripper agreed equably. “But I didn’t ask to be. Never mind that. Were you injured in the fight?” He reached out to gently trace the bruise under Xander’s right eye, cupping the boy’s face in his hands.

Xander, obviously exhausted and thinking none-too-clearly, closed his eyes and accepted the caress. “’M fine,” he muttered. “’Cept I can’t get hold of Willow.”

“You won’t, I’m afraid. I’m all that’s left. Well, and Buffy.”

Angel felt an instant rush of relief at this evidence that Buffy was still among the living. He hadn’t been at all sure that Ripper hadn’t managed to kill her in her hospital bed.

Xander’s reaction could not have been more different.

“Fuck Buffy. If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t…oh, Giles, dammit-“

“Shh, it’s all right, Xander. I’m here. I won’t leave you.” He pulled Xander into another embrace. Xander bowed his head, resting his forehead against Ripper’s chest.

“You promise?” he asked plaintively, voice muffled by tears.

“I promise,” Ripper replied, shooting Angel a triumphant glance as he led the young man from the room. “My dear boy. Just let me help.”

***

Angel was in despair and near to giving up by the time Buffy arrived. He had had no luck attempting to escape. The ropes and chains bit into his skin painfully – there was no give in them at all. Ripper certainly understood the demonly art of perfect restraints. He could have given Darla lessons.

The advent of the privacy curtain had confused Angel, but Ripper hadn’t bothered to explain when he’d left it. But the moment he heard Buffy’s voice he knew that it was simply part of another game.

If only he could speak!

She looked…smaller when he finally got a glimpse of her after the curtain had burned. Smaller, and not in any shape to engage in the fight of her life. So he tried to tell her to run, but, of course, she didn’t listen.

The fight was swift and brutal, and she escaped certain death by inches more than once. Ripper seemed to be toying with her. Angel almost couldn’t bear to watch.

And then a miracle happened.

Buffy won.

She WON!

The relief he felt was immense, even as he witnessed her overwhelming grief, kneeling in the ashes of her Watcher.

“Buffy, let me out of here,” he said. “Please, let me help you.”

She didn’t seem to hear him.

Bootsteps in the corridor made him redouble his efforts to get her attention. “Buffy, you need to let me go right now! Buffy, someone’s coming! BUFFY!”

It was Spike. Spike? What was Spike doing in Sunnydale? What was Spike doing helping Buffy? Spike, who had apparently been the one to stake Joyce...

“I’m so sorry, Buffy,” Angel told her frantically. “You’ve got to let me help you. You can’t trust Spike.”

Buffy stood up and finally turned to face him, holding herself stiffly, not quite meeting his eyes. “This is my choice,” she told him. “Better Spike than the Watchers, anyway.”

What?

“Please stay away from the next Slayer.”

She couldn’t mean what it sounded like she meant.

Spike smirked at Angel as he trailed after her down the hallway, and Angel realized that she did.

“Buffy, no! NO! Don’t you dare, Spike. Don’t you DARE! SPIKE!! I’ll KILL you! Do you hear me? I’ll KILL YOU!”

He redoubled his frantic efforts to escape, which only resulted in the chair falling over backward and him bashing his head hard against the stone floor.

A confused length of time later, Spike reappeared to kneel down in front of him. The other vampire was smiling faintly, wiping at the corner of his mouth. Angel blinked muzzily at him.

“I’d say that was only…ohhh, fifty percent Slayer, at best. Way too many drugs in there – and not the good kind. You always have to ruin the good vintages for other people, don’t you, Angel?”

“I’m going to kill you,” he told Spike hoarsely. “It’s going to hurt worse than anything you’ve ever felt.”

“Ooh, big plans,” came another voice, and Angel jerked his pounding head around to see the Xander vampire leaning indolently on one of the swords. “I think he’s all talk, Spike.”

“And no action,” Spike agreed, smirking as he stood. “This is a good look for you, Angel.”

Light footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the room.

The hope Angel felt when he heard them mingled with underlying shame at the idea that he could ever wish that Buffy had been turned into a vampire, knowing how she would feel about it.

But there was the curse, and that could give them an eternity together.

He tried to school his expression into impassivity, but the sardonic smirk on Spike’s face implied he hadn’t been successful. Angel shook it off, listening hard as the steps drew nearer, impatient for the first glimpse of the woman he loved.

Two small hands slid sinuously into the crooks of the other two vampires’ arms, but it wasn’t Buffy’s slight form that appeared between them.

“Ooh!” Willow said, eyes lighting up as she caught sight of him bound by the ropes and chains. “A puppy! Can I play?”

END

AUTHOR NOTES: I thought about changing the name of this story to “Everybody Dies!” as a sort of tribute for House and Doctor Who fans, but I then thought that would be something of a spoiler.

I didn’t start out to write a horrible relentless downer of a tale. The initial idea had something to do with the way quiet, knowledgeable, competent people become vital to organizations in ways that aren’t necessarily apparent or valued until they’re gone and everything comes crashing down. And I combined that initial conceit with the idea that the scariest villain Buffy could ever face would be one as smart as Giles with none of his heart or compassion. It just seemed logical that by four days into vampirehood, he’d have cut an unparalleled swath of destruction.

And, despite the schadenfreude of the epilogue, I actually did like Angel - once he left for his own show. But the resumed romance of B/A circa season 3 drove me up a wall, especially for the lack of consideration both Angel and Buffy showed Giles in pursuing it.

Thanks for reading! Have some ice cream – you’ll feel better!

FIC The Futility of Grand Gestures (9/10) (BUFFY)

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 03:35:55 GMT

Angel!

Buffy took two unconscious steps toward Angel before Ripper whipped the poker back toward the captive vampire. The glowing hot tip of it lit Angel’s face eerily.

“Tch, no, Slayer,” Ripper said. “Move away or I torch him.” She froze, her eyes locked with Angel’s. “NOW!” Ripper commanded, and she jumped back reflexively, not tearing her gaze from her ex-boyfriend’s face.

Angel’s eyes were wide, dark and urgent. His mouth worked furiously, but he couldn’t seem to make a sound.

Which was weird, really.

Buffy glanced at Ripper, who was smiling in satisfaction. “Bit of a spell,” he told her. “Didn’t want threats and whining getting on my nerves.” The smile turned impish. “And he really is much prettier if you don’t have to listen to him talk.”

“Always was,” Buffy managed, though her mouth was suddenly dry as dust, her heart pounding with faint, painful hope.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

What can I do? her wide-eyed gaze asked Angel. Help me!

He tilted his head, gesturing sharply with one bound shoulder, and clearly mouthed, Get out of here. Run!

Which was the one thing she couldn’t do.

No help from that quarter, then. She turned resolutely back to Ripper. “Chains won’t hold him forever, y’know. And rope? Totally amateur.”

“The rope is impregnated with Holy Water,” Ripper replied calmly. “Very tricky to apply, that. And the chains are far from ordinary.” He reached out and grasped Angel’s hair, pulling his head back painfully. “Isn’t that right, Angelus? Keeping them as a souvenir of tortures past, were you? I’m sure Rupert Giles would appreciate your maudlin sentiment. If your selfishness hadn’t just led to his demise, I mean.”

Angel closed his eyes and tried to turn his head away.

Buffy swallowed down sudden nausea and attempted to ignore the implications of Ripper’s statement. “So what’s the deal? You’re into bondage now?”

A grin lit Ripper’s ruined face.

“Bondage, torture – a little of this, a little of that.” He released Angel’s hair and did a half whirl toward the fireplace, snatching up his sword gracefully. “A bit of blood, a bit of gore.” She had just enough time to bring her sword up to parry his swift attack. “I think I’d like to see what you’re really made of, Slayer.” He grinned wickedly. “From the entrails out.”

***

“I must say, you’ve surprised me,” Ripper commented fifteen minutes later, dancing nimbly away from an overhand strike, not sounding at all breathless.

Well, he didn’t have breath, did he? Lucky bastard. They’d been fighting without pause, and she could feel her energy beginning to flag. The myriad of small cuts on her arms and legs stung. She knew that he was merely toying with her.

“That’s great,” she managed, parrying a thrust. “Glad I could-“ CLANG “-keep you entertained.”

“Your reaction to Angel’s imminent demise was so touching,” he pointed out mockingly, blocking her with the fireplace poker. “You rushed right out to commit murder and suicide for him - but the deaths of all of your other loved ones aren’t fazing you at all. I suppose that makes you an exceptionally shallow, faithless bitch. Well done.”

The words shouldn’t have stung – he was a vampire, after all – but hearing herself described that way in Giles’ melodious voice hurt nonetheless. “No, it makes me a Slayer,” she snapped, checking a wild emotional swing in favor a more subtle attack. She was rewarded with a successful slice that bit deeply just below Ripper’s ribs.

“Slayers aren’t robots,” he mimicked in a high-pitched tone, wincing and backing away as she pressed her advantage. “Isn’t that what you’ve always said?” He stumbled against the corner of the low table, and she darted forward, desperate to finally end this torture. “I mean, I’ve killed your Watchers, your best friends-“ she readied the killing blow “-your Mother-“

She froze. Ripper laughed and eeled away.

“That isn’t true,” she said faintly, sword dormant in her numb hands.

“Ah, but it is,” he said. “Ask your boyfriend if you don’t believe me.”

She whirled to see Angel looking determinedly anywhere but at her face. “Angel?” He couldn’t meet her eyes, and that was all the answer she required. Her throat closed up. Mom.

“She took it well, you’ll be glad to know.”

Ripper’s triumphant voice was barely audible over the roaring in Buffy’s ears.

“Had a bit of a reunion romp first, just for old times’ sake,” he told her. “Felt a bit inspired by your fuck with-“

“NO!” Buffy screamed, flying at him like a virago. He brought his sword up, but she blocked it with her own, sending both of the swords flying. She bodyslammed him into the brick wall and trapped his wrists with her hands. Her panting sobs were audible in the sudden stillness.

“There’s my girl,” Ripper crooned, staring into Buffy’s eyes, a half-smile twisting his lips.

She had no more tears to cry. She shook her head. “Giles’ girl.”

Ripper scissored a leg behind hers and used his superior weight to out-leverage her, reversing their positions to force her back up against the wall, pinning her groin to groin. His vampire strength squeezed the thin bones of her wrists painfully, but she didn’t make a sound.

“Giles is gone,” he told her, almost kindly.

She closed her eyes, falling limp in his arms. “I know.” She didn’t struggle as he leaned forward to nuzzle her neck. A cold tongue licked the sweat from her skin, and she felt the prick of sharp canines against her flesh.

Goodbye, Giles.

Buffy brought her knee up between Ripper’s legs, using all her Slayer strength. He crumpled to the floor with an “oof” of surprise. She extracted a stake from her waistband and brought it down over his back.

The shower of dust covered her shoes. She sank to her knees, reaching for the cracked, useless glasses that had fallen to the floor mid-fight.

She was dimly aware that Angel was calling to her, but she couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in her ears.

So tell us, Slayer...the death of friends, the death of families...the death of your Watcher...was it worth gaining a few additional days of un-life for your pet demon?

She tightened her fingers over the glasses; the broken shards bit into the palm of her hand.

No.

Swift bootsteps signaled Spike’s arrival.

“Well, now, isn’t this a picture? Hello, broody! Thought you were dust.” Angel’s voice rose angrily as a pair of feet in scuffed Doc Martens came to a halt just inside Buffy’s field of vision, toeing the dustpile on the floor. “Somebody’s dust, anyway,” Spike continued, ignoring the other vampire. “Got the Watcher, did you?”

Buffy closed her eyes. Only one more thing to do. “My mom…” she said.

Spike stilled.

“You liked her. She gave you hot chocolate.”

No reply.

“That was her in the woods, wasn’t it?”

“Slayer-“

She rose to her feet and met his gaze squarely. “Thank you.”

Spike ducked his head, seemingly discomfited. “Wasn’t really Joyce,” he muttered.

Buffy held the glasses to her heart. “No, I know.” She steeled herself and turned to face Angel, who was speaking again. He fell silent at the look on her face.

“This is my choice,” she told him hollowly. “Better Spike than the Watchers, anyway.” Angel frowned in confusion.

She took a deep breath. “Please stay away from the next Slayer.”

Horrified comprehension dawned across Angel’s face as she turned on her heel and left the room, Spike trailing behind her. Angel’s anxious shouts followed them down the hall.

Buffy ended her purposeful march in the stone foyer, still empty but for Oz’s body against the wall. She averted her gaze from the crumpled form to stare at the gibbous moon shining through the window. Her eyes burned. Her fists clenched.

“Do it.”

There was a silent, breathless moment, and then a whisper of cloth; suddenly the vampire was behind her.

“A woman of her word – I like that. But first, do you fancy a bit of-“

“Now.”

He chose a spot on the opposite side of her neck from Angel’s mark. She would have laughed, but the darkness came too swiftly.

The endless night fell as she set off to find them all.

Epilogue

FIC The Futility of Grand Gestures (8/10) (BUFFY)

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 03:31:13 GMT

Title: The Futility of Grand Gestures
Author:  blairprovence
Rating:  PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s):  Buffy, Giles
Warnings:  Season 3, Serious Angst
Disclaimer:  All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al.
Summary:   Buffy would do absolutely anything for the people she loves. That's a good thing, right?
Author Notes:   Completed at long last for my scheduled day on summer_of_giles  2008. Apologies to my flist for the mass posting. Set after the events of Graduation, Part 1.

Part 1
Previous Part

Xander's smile widened evilly, half-morphing into gleaming fangs as he stepped into the foyer. "Hiya, Buff! How ya doin'?"

She sagged back against the wall on trembling legs, sliding down the cold stone, her mind dimly recognizing that she was in shock. Seeing Giles as a vampire had been bad - had been horrible, really -and entirely unexpected, but seeing Xander now was almost worse. His had been the one life among her friends she'd hoped to save, the one Scooby Ganger she'd hoped to spare this terrible ordeal.

Ripper would have known that, her mind reminded her. He's psyching you out. But knowing it and dealing with it were two very different things.

She scooted nervously sideways across the flagstones as Xander approached, regaining enough presence of mind to latch onto the sword as she eased away from him. Xander knelt down next to Oz's body, the unnerving half-smile still on his face, and reached out to grab the werewolf by the hair. He pulled Oz's head up and let it fall back to the stone floor with a muffled thump. "Werewolf." He sniffed, making a face as he glanced over at Buffy. "The one animal in the world that doesn't taste like chicken." He stood up again and gave the body a desultory kick.

Buffy pushed herself up the wall, darting a quick look toward the hallway where she'd left Spike, but there was no sign of the other vampire. Guess I can't count on any help from that quarter, she thought, wondering again why the alliance with Spike had ever seemed like a good idea. Clearly she would have to take care of Xander by herself.

Keep him talking, advised a memory of Giles's patient voice from somewhere inside her head. Buy some time to choose your attack carefully. She licked her lips nervously and cast about for something to say. "D-did Ripper do this to you?" she asked shakily, mentally cursing the audible weakness in her tone.

Xander crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at her, seeming totally at ease though he was entirely unarmed against her sword and stakes. "Ripper? Hmm...oh, you mean Giles, don't you?"

Her jaw clenched. "Yes."

He began to pace back and forth in front of her, long loping strides that bespoke a leonine grace. That, more than anything, marked him as different from the human Xander who had been her friend, whose body language had always revealed his crushing lack of self-confidence. Xander had been a strong, clever young man, but his inability to believe in himself had made him clumsy and self-mocking - now, all signs of that handicap had been eradicated. The demon in front of her resembled Ripper far more than its body's former occupant.

"Yes," the Xander-who-wasn't-Xander informed her airily. "Giles turned me. He's now my Sire in every way that matters." He pivoted smartly on his heel, pinning her with a narrow gaze. "He was the only father I ever really had, you know." He smiled slightly at her wince of guilt. "So when he offered me the chance to spend eternity with him, why in the world would I have refused? So I could stay here, in Sunnydale, with everyone else I loved lying dead around me?" He snorted. "Alone except for you, the one who caused it all? Please."

"Xand..." she whispered, her eyes bright.

He spread his arms wide and executed a courtly bow. "So, how do you like it, Buff? Am I man enough for you now? Let's see..." He pretended to tick off points on his pale fingers. "Undead? Check. Demon? Check. Leather? Check. Brooding? Well, I'll work on that." He grinned evilly. "Taunting you over the corpses of your friends? Big check." He stepped forward, stopping close enough to her that she would have felt his cold breath on her neck, had he any breath to offer. "Whaddya say, Buff? Are you in love yet?"

She let out a choked cry and brought her sword up, lunging for him. But he was quicker than she'd anticipated, and danced out of reach of her blade, landing near Oz's body to pull a heretofore-unseen sword of his own out from behind it. "Guess not," he laughed, brandishing the blade. "Too bad." He wielded the weapon with surprising skill, and they met in the center of the room, accompanied by the clash of metal-on-metal.

Buffy knew without a doubt that she was a better swordsman than the new-Turned vampire, but, unhampered as he was by the guilt and anguish that troubled her, Xander still managed to forestall her attacks with little difficulty.

"Angelus must have sucked at the swashbuckling," Xander commented a few minutes later as he ducked under a wild swing, "if you managed to beat him fighting like this. Or maybe you were a little more motivated with him - paying him back for the fuck and run, maybe?"

"Shut up!" she hissed, arcing a two-handed blow toward his shoulder.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" he taunted, dodging with ease. "Well, deal with it, Buffy. You fucked a demon. You tried to murder Faith. You killed Cordy and Giles. All the badness, it's all 'cause of you, and that's the truth."

"You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you in the ass," she retorted, lunging toward him. "The Xander I knew would never choose to be a vampire."

"The Xander you knew is dead," he told her flatly, just missing her thigh with a vicious swipe. "He died with Cordy, and Giles, and Willow. He doesn't exist anymore, because" -clang- "of" -clang- "you!"

"That Xander would want you dead!" she snapped, slipping under his guard to slice deeply into his left shoulder. She smiled in grim satisfaction, but he shrugged off the injury with apparent ease, the unnerving smile reappearing on his lips.

"He'd never want this," she insisted, circling him. "And Giles would never want it either."

Xander dodged behind a wooden table and laughed aloud. "And you care what Giles wants! Since when?" He spun away from her as she yanked the blade away from where her last blow had embedded it in the wood. "You think he wanted to watch you suck face with the demon that killed his girlfriend? Who tortured him for hours right here in this fucking house? You never gave a damn what Giles wanted. You never cared about Giles at all."

"That's not true!" Her swings were wilder now as sheer emotion took the place of precision. "I love him!" His return blow forced her off balance and she barely managed to avoid evisceration.

He used his leverage to shove her back against the wall next to the hallway's alcove. She glared into his demonic yellow eyes, breathless gasps hitching her chest.

"Spare us your love, Buffy," Xander spat, pinning her with their crossed blades. "We're choking on it."

He pressed harder, and she could feel the rough stones of the wall digging into her back. For the first time she realized that she might not even get the chance to confront Ripper - Xander had her immobilized, and his vampire strength was a clear match for her Slayermuscle.

And then suddenly another sword appeared, the tip gleaming beneath Xander's chin. "That's enough, mate," came Spike's quiet voice as he stepped from the hallway into the room.

Xander's sneering attention never left Buffy's face. "Never could fight your own battles, could ya, Buff?"

"Back off!" Spike told him when Buffy didn't reply. "Back off now or you're dust, whelp."

Abruptly Xander shoved away from her, taking his sword along as he backed across the room. He looked far from defeated, however, and the smirk had returned to his face.

"Where were you?" Buffy coughed, rubbing her throat as she slumped against the wall in boneless relief.

"Secret weapon's not much of a secret if everyone in the world knows about it, Slayer," Spike replied, shrugging. "Thought you could 'andle one little demon by yourself. My mistake."

Buffy wanted to offer a stinging comeback, but found she had nothing to say in reply. He was right, after all. "The whole house probably knows we're here by now," she muttered instead.

"Probably," he said. "I'll take care of junior 'ere. You go on." He gestured with the tip of his sword. "Find your Watcher."

She stared at him silently for a moment, before nodding slowly. As she turned toward the entryway she assumed would lead her to Ripper, Xander spoke out one last time. "Be seeing you, Buff!" he called cheerfully.

She shivered a little as she left him behind.

The hallway between the foyer and the main living space was a short one, and Buffy took a few minutes to lean against the wall to pause and catch her breath. The encounter with Xander had unnerved her badly - as it was presumably supposed to have done. Ripper was proving himself to be a master of psychological warfare - unsurprising, given the vast amounts of brainpower and personal knowledge of Buffy he'd found within himself upon Rising. She knew she couldn't face him until she'd regained some semblance of control, or the fight would be over before it even started.

From somewhere behind her she could hear the clash of swords, and in her mind's eye she pictured Spike and Xander battling one another. She hadn't had a chance to quiz Spike about his skills with a blade, but she had to assume he wouldn't have volunteered to take over if he hadn't any confidence in his abilities. At any rate, he was almost certain to make a better show than she had - he definitely labored under none of her emotional handicaps.

But while Buffy was willing to let Spike take care of the Xander vampire for her, she would not - could not - allow him to do the same with Ripper. The demon who'd taken her Watcher's body was her responsibility, and she would allow no one to shoulder the burden but her.

Unfortunately, Giles had been a damn sight better with a sword than Xander. And her inability to kill her former friend hadn't done much to bolster her confidence in her own skills. In the past, she hadn't much liked to practice fencing with Giles - aside from the unpleasant associations it held with regard to Angelus's Acathla ritual, it was also something at which she couldn't automatically defeat her Watcher, and her ego was just fragile enough to make that a big un-fun. Whenever he gave her a choice for weapons practice, she'd made a point of choosing something other than swords, something that required stamina and strength more than strategy. Their previous sparring sessions had gifted her with the rather disconcerting knowledge that a human Giles could best her more often than not - and a vampire Giles, with strength and stamina to rival the Slayer's, would be that much more difficult an opponent.

And she hadn't even been able to defeat Xander.

No! Buffy told her doubting self. You can do this. You're going to do this for Giles. She took a deep breath and moved forward down the corridor.

Buffy paused again when she reached her destination. From the hallway she could not hear any sound coming from the room, but something inside her told her Ripper was there, nonetheless. He was there, he was waiting....

She stepped over the threshold.

***

He stood across the room in front of the fireplace, his back toward her as he warmed his hands over the open flame. The room was bare and dusty, the only furniture a single low couch, a black silk stand-up privacy screen over in the corner next to the fireplace and a low wooden table and chest resting against the far wall. It was also not a little warm inside, and Buffy found it odd that a vampire would have built such a huge fire - fire being a tremendously effective cause of death for vamps, for one thing. And it wasn't as though he had a body temperature he needed to maintain.

She swallowed uneasily as she tried to think of something to say, but he beat her to the punch.

"So you've come, then," Ripper said, without bothering to turn around, and Buffy spent a fleeting moment wishing she'd thought to bring her crossbow. It wasn't really an indoor weapon, and tended to be pretty much useless in close quarters fighting, but right at that moment one would have been a godsend.

He knew you wouldn't bring it along, the doubting part of her taunted mentally. He knows you that well, and you are so dead.

"Shut up," she hissed fiercely under her breath, and Ripper turned to face her, raising an enquiring brow as a small smile graced his lips. The flames danced in the cracked lenses of his glasses. The scarring that marred his body was even more hideous in the full light of the fire than it had been in the dim shadows of her hospital room, and Buffy felt her heart wrench as she was forced once again to face the pain Giles must have felt as he lay dying.

"Pardon?" Ripper murmured, clearly enjoying her discomposure.

"I wasn't talking to you," she told him, flushing slightly in embarrassment.

"Talking to oneself can be considered a sign of incipient madness," he returned mildly. "Of course, then, sometimes it's the only way to have a decent conversation when surrounded by drones and idiots."

"Minions not living up to your demon hype?"

"I was thinking of faculty meetings, actually," he replied. "Though it would seem you managed to deal with my minions after all. Not that I assumed Wesley, at least, would give you much trouble-"

"None at all," Buffy interrupted, ignoring the fact that if it weren't for Spike she would have died at Wesley's hands without, quite literally, knowing what had hit her. "Wes, Larry, Xander...pieces of cake." His gaze narrowed briefly as she concluded her list, but he didn't reply, so she continued to goad him. "Can't say I think much of your taste in stormtroopers, Darth. I mean, c'mon, Wesley?"

Giles shrugged. "It was a matter of chance, really - I happened across him and found him annoying...though, to be honest, he didn't really improve post-draining." He turned his back on her and reached for the poker to stir the fire.

Buffy swallowed nervously, but managed to stay the impulse to fly at him. His undefended back was a tempting target, to be sure, but logically she knew he could snatch up the sword canted against the fireplace and turn around in plenty of time to defend himself if she were to attack him. No, she had to be smart about this. She had to be smart, or she'd be dead and he'd be free to continue his reign of terror. "And Larry?" she asked him, just for something to say.

"Ah, well, now - Larry wasn't mine, you see. It seems he was injured during the battle with the Mayor, much as I was, and turned at about the same time. However, his Sire apparently died in the melee. I found him afterward, feeling quite at loose ends, and offered him a place at my side. A charming boy, really, if a bit simple." Ripper turned again to look at her, the same small, smug smile gracing his lips. "Much like Xander."

Buffy felt herself stiffen. "I know why you killed Xander," she informed him in arctic tones.

His smile widened. "Ah, yes - you think it's all about you, do you? What would you say if I told you I hadn't planned to do anything at all to young Mister Harris?"

"I'd say you were a liar."

"Well, of course I'm a liar," he replied matter-of-factly. "I am a demon, after all. But why should I have sought out that boy? He'd have done quite enough damage to you on his own, I should imagine - the one person amongst your little cadre who had the stones to hold you responsible for the havoc you wreak."

She recalled the furious expression on Xander's face when she'd awakened in her hospital room the previous afternoon. "He hated me," she breathed, finally taking Ripper's meaning. "He wanted me to pay."

Ripper grinned. "Exactly. There was always anger in that boy to rival a demon's, courtesy of a home life you never cared enough to investigate. I was quite looking forward to seeing what he would do to you, actually. But, alas, he came to me here instead, and I felt obliged to help him."

"Help?" she scoffed, her fingers curling about the sword hilt. "You call that help?"

Ripper arched his un-singed eyebrow. "Why, yes, actually. Helping him to channel his rage into something more...productive, I suppose you could say. He made quite a demon. It's a pity you destroyed him."

"The Xander I knew would have wanted it that way."

"The Xander you knew disappeared long before I killed him. About the time the lovely Miss Chase drew her last breath, I'd say." He smiled as she winced. "Come now, Buffy. As much as you'd like to blame me for the terrible ends your friends have met, we both know I'm not the one at fault here."

"I know my responsibility," she told him steadily.

He considered her silently for a moment. "I see - my apologies," he finally replied. "Though you have to admit it wasn't an unreasonable assumption on my part. To accept your role in creating all of this...is a somewhat unprecedented action on your part, isn't it?"

She felt her cheeks redden but kept her gaze resolutely on his. "It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing does. Nothing except the promise I made to Giles." She raised the sword. "The promise that I'd kill you."

The disquieting smile returned to his lips. "Ah, yes. Your promise." He absently stirred the fire with the poker. "Hearing you give your word relieved him to no end, you'll be glad to know. Well, that, along with other things." The smile dissolved into a smirk.

"Wh-what?"

"Did you think I wouldn't know? I told you that your Rupert and I were sharing this body. When he's here, naturally I feel his presence, and when he's not...."

Another 'what?' stuck in Buffy's throat as she considered the implications of his words. She wanted to ask him what he knew about her afternoon - wanted him to confirm her belief that Giles, her Giles, had been there with her in that bedroom. But somehow she knew hearing the words pass his lips would cheapen what had happened. Ripper would make what had evolved between them seem sordid and desperate instead of right and beautiful.

And the fact that he seemed to know about it proved enough, didn't it?

"I don't want to talk about that."

The smirk widened. "Of course. My apologies, once again."

"Stop it," she snapped. "Stop apologizing. You're not sorry. You're not sorry about any of it, so stop pretending you are."

"As you wish." He turned back to the fire.

Her body was almost humming with repressed rage and frustration. She'd had enough of his waiting game. "What do you want?" she bit out, rocking forward on her toes. "For God's sake, let's just finish this!"

He chuckled. "High Noon in the drawing room? No, no, my dear, it's not quite that simple. You see, I'm not entirely sure you've learned your lesson yet."

"Well, then, why don't you just spill it, Teach, or I'll be taking you down at recess. I'm running out of patience."

He turned to face her, the poker still in hand. "A quality you never possessed in abundance, true. Oh, very well." He whipped the poker out to the side, and she flinched back reflexively, though he was too far away from her for it to do any damage.

"What-" she replied, as the glowing hot tip of the poker came in contact with the silk privacy screen. The smooth material immediately ignited, the flames billowing upward in an impressive pyrotechnic display. The gritty ash floated down to settle on the stone floor, and as the smoke from the brief fire cleared, she could make out the outline of a figure seated in a chair behind it.

Or not just seated, rather, but restrained by and straining against several lengths of metal chain and rope wrapped securely around arms, legs and torso.

His face wasn't really visible, a one-quarter profile turned toward Ripper, with his dark hair obscuring his features, but she'd spent over two years of her life studying that form, and she knew his body as well as her own.

Her heart stopped, and his name was barely a whisper on her lips.

"Angel?"

Ripper grinned, brandishing the poker like a magic wand. "Surprise!"

Part 9