Part 64 is below Kittens... but first.
Hey there Pixie... Thankyou*S*
And yes I do know how your break was... and you seem to think the same thing which is even better!
I think the ability to love gets to the heart of where Willow and Tara should be (not VW) and as I jhave promised I will get you all & them to that good then yeah... it is critical.
So your counting down to September now? *wink & HUGS*
Part 64 Kittens... Look at in the context of what people actually know and have actually seen. That is all I shall say.
*************************
Title:
The Sidestep Chronicle – Orders (Part 64)
Author: Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome.
katharynrosser@hotmail.comSpoiler Warning: Pretty limited. The story occurs in an alternate universe though reference is made to events that occur in both realities.
Summary: The result of the assessment filters through to Sunnydale.
Disclaimer: I still don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc, etc. I am making zilch from this series of stories.
Rating: 15
Couples: None
Notes: Nothing critical aside from the fact that I hope you will all excuse the fact that we are bouncing around the non-central characters a bit. It’s all for the story as I hope you will all be able to see.
Thanks To: The ever wonderful Jo, Kerry, MC and LMC without whom this would have foundered a little while ago.
The Sidestep Chronicle
Orders
By
Katharyn Rosser
“Faith,” Giles said, noticing her standing by the desk. He had not heard her come in. He had not seen her approach. It was as if she were a ghost. Until she wanted to be noticed. The popping of the chewing gum had given her away, but only when she was ready. And he really would have to get the lock on that door sorted. No matter how certain he was that he had secured it properly people just seemed to walk right on in as they pleased. Larry… that Tara. At least this time he had contacted Faith and asked her to come home early. At least she lived here. This was the time that this had to be done. Whilst Jenny was away visiting her Uncle, he would not get a better opportunity to do this. “Thank you for getting back…”
“At a reasonable hour?” she cheekily finished his sentence with a fair interpretation of both his accent and the critical attitude he adopted when she stayed out far beyond her normal patrol hours. He should probably reconsider what reasonable hours were for Faith, she was very much a night person.
“I was
going to say so promptly. I only despatched the message to you half an hour ago,” he finished.
“‘Despatched the message?’” she joked, “unfortunately the carrier pigeon didn’t quite reach me,” she grinned, “but I got the text message yeah.” She waved the brick like phone in front of his nose. The Council budget apparently didn’t stretch to communication devices that couldn’t also be used to crush a small Yugoslavian car. At least not for the Slayer and her watcher – for whom the carrier pigeon might have been more ‘traditional.’ She was pretty sick of hearing what was traditional. She was pretty sure that it just meant old.
“Perhaps instead of criticising the tools that you are provided with,” Giles told her patiently, “you should, perhaps, just be grateful that I got the damnable thing to work at all.” It had been a long struggle with the phone. An unequal one, and even now his constant and overriding issue with it was ‘why are the buttons so small?’ Aside from that there was the more general question of it being better to talk than to ‘text’ each other. It sounded slightly obscene to him.
Almost like a telegram but without the readability and paper charm. Also, much of the time, it seemed to be in code that would have resisted all attempts to decode it by anyone under the age of twenty-five.
“You didn’t send Jenny
another message asking her to pay special attention to acquiring a hair sample from the werewolf again did you?” Faith asked. Only he hadn’t put it quite that simply had he? It had actually been all about DNA and Lycanthra… somethings. Even when she’d got it forwarded by Jenny she’d had to call the teacher back and ask her what the hell her fiancé was on about. It was no wonder it took him half an hour to compose a message. Predictive text was not going to help with the words that he chose to use.
“No,” he raised a finger, about to launch into a sturdy defence of the humbler, but much loved, fixed telephone but saw that she was joking with him – and even he could see that there was a point behind her jibe at his expense.
“You know for someone screwing a Computer Science teacher,” she was pleased to see him close his eyes as if her language pained him – which it probably did – “you have no idea about any technology after say… Woodstock… do you?” Barcode readers for the library were about his current limit – though she had heard him complain about the demise of ‘the humble ticket’ and the simplicity of the card index.
She had heard it more than once.
“Faith, would you mind, very much, not describing our love, that is mine and Jenny’s, as ‘screwing?’” he asked her, trying to keep a lid on his frustration with the girl. It wasn’t
just a generation thing – he was sure of that. He wasn't even that old yet. It was just that they were so… well so different.
“So Friday night that wasn’t what I was listening to? The squeaking was just like a trampoline session… the moaning was just-”
“Yes Faith. Right. Thank you! Having reminded me just why I thought it might have been better if you had your own living place where you could pay rent and utility bills, buy your own food…” He was pleased to see that not at all veiled suggestion shut her up and actually brought an innocent expression to her face, “perhaps we might get to the reason I asked you to finish your patrol early?” Patrol was a loose descriptive term. Faith certainly was dedicated to hunting vampires. She was also dedicated to enjoying herself afterwards – still she’d had a great deal of success already.
Too much to be asking this of her. But he had to.
“You mean it wasn't to spend a cosy evening listening to your enthralling record collection?” Faith asked.
It was hardly evening… and… “What’s wrong with my record collection?” Damn the girl… she had distracted him once more. She was so very, very, good at ‘pushing his buttons.’ But now she had mentioned it he just had to know. Besides, the subject he had called her back to broach was not something that he even wanted to mention.
Not to Faith.
Not after all that had happened since she had arrived in Sunnydale. His Slayer had not been alone in her successes had she?
“Well nothing,” Faith told him probably mindful of the idea of being forced to move out, “there are some real classics in there. You do know they have things called ‘Audio Cassettes’ now? And recently some brain trust came up with the idea of a ‘Compact Disc.’”
He wasn't even going to bother rising to that and the fact that ‘disc’ was always spelt incorrectly. There were important things to discuss… things that really could not wait any longer. He had allowed himself to be distracted for far too long. The Council had made a request and he, as Watcher to the Slayer, had not carried them out – or rather he had not yet instructed Faith to carry them out. The Council was not known for its patience in such matters. This one more than most. When this sort of decision was made then certain standards were expected of both the Slayer and the Watcher. As often as not it was a test of them both. “Faith…”
She ignored him and continued. “Now you can get the music of yesterday re-mastered to today’s quality.”
It was so tempting just to let this go. To put it off once more and, yes, even indulge in more of her humorous insults. “Faith… if you please.” He gestured to a chair and took one himself, wincing as Faith leapt over the back of the armchair he had pointed to and landed, no doubt dirty boots first, upon the fabric of the seat.
“Oh dear, a ‘sitting down’ chat G. Must be serious. I told you, I’ll clean up more often down here.” For some reason her Watcher had a thing about finding her dirty socks and underwear in-between the cushions of the couch where she slept.
But hey it’s my bed… he only has to sit on it.“Thank you… that would be nice but it really isn’t about that at all…” he paused, realising what she had said… assumed about his intentions. As long after patrol as it had been. “You really think I would pull you away from your duties-”
“And use a text message,” she added with a smile.
“
And use a text message,” he admitted, “to tell you to tidy up more often?”
She looked at him, wondering if there was a way out of this one. Something that avoided the words, ‘stick’, ‘British,’ ‘old’, ‘ass’, ‘woman’ and ‘up.’ Nope, she couldn’t think of any – but then she wasn't big on evasion anyway. Direct and to a very sharp point was much more her style. “Well Jenny’s back tomorrow and I thought you might be getting all fascist about the state of the place.”
He looked round a little anxiously, allowing himself to put the true matter at hand out of his head for another few moments, wondering if she could actually see anything that needed doing. He hadn’t got ‘all fascist,’ though perhaps he should have done and acquired her assistance. It was more important though that she was on patrol and continuing the good work that she and Tara had been doing. Yes… Tara. “No. That isn’t why I called you back.” He picked up a letter and a box from the table beside his chair. “But if you would please put your feet down on the floor.”
Chastened by his obvious cleaning, now that she thought about it, she uncurled her legs from under her and placed them flat on the floor, rested her hands on her knees and looked straight at him expectantly. Very prim, if not exactly proper.
Neither of them had any idea how long she could maintain that for.
“Yes much better thank you. Now…” he passed her the box and letter.
Neither of the items was sealed, and being a much more interested in the box she opened that first, tossing the letter aside, hearing Giles sigh as she did so. It fell to the floor and she heard him sigh again. He was all sighs tonight. She only heard him because her eyes were filled with the contents of the box. It glinted, winking at her as she moved the box in the light. “Can I?” she asked, gesturing at the knife.
“It was intended for the Slayer yes,” he told her with a tinge of what might be regret in his voice. He did regret that there had ever been a necessity for this weapon and even more so that it should have been passed to his Slayer. For this purpose.
“It’s mine?” she released the fastenings that held the, obviously, very old blade in its container. Grasped the aged, stained grip without showing any distaste. It was darkened by being blood stained if she was any judge - and she did have a kind of professional interest in blood and those that stole it. This though… Not only was it old… it had obviously been used in the past. More than once she guessed; the lines of the stains on the hilt were uneven… as if the knife had been dipped in blood and allowed to dry. Over and over… but it seemed unlikely that it had been just ‘dipped.’
Much more likely that something that was so obviously designed as a weapon had been used.
“No Faith, it is not
yours nor should you ever want it to be. You will simply be asked to use it in the course of your duty. When the
target is no more, only then will you be required to return it to the Council,” he explained to her “It is only issued to the Slayer in very, very special circumstances. Very… serious… circumstances.” Serious was a much better way of putting it. No matter who the target was it was a dangerous thing to give this knife to a Slayer.
To ask her to use it.
“Like?” She watched him cleaning his glasses furiously and knew what that indicated about his level of discomfort.
“You should read the letter Faith. This isn’t really for me to explain.” This was out of his hands entirely. He wished he had never written that damned report – though he had been so proud of them and their achievement in destroying the Master. Pride went before a fall as they said. He saw the look on her face and knew that his evasive statement required explanation before she would even touch the envelope. That was just what made Faith… Faith. He hoped that she would and could stay that way. It was important that she came through this. Important to the people of Sunnydale. Good Slayers had been crushed by the issue of this knife. Emotionally crushed. Faith though… he knew that she was strong enough to handle it. “Even though I am your Watcher, there are certain things that I cannot order you to do… or even just ask. Quentin Travers, the Head of the Council, he has explained it.” He gestured at the envelope. “In the letter.”
Faith set the knife back in the box and placed it carefully on the arm of her chair, then bent and retrieved the letter and… “Oh sock. I was looking for that,” she waved it at him with a knowing grin.
And once again, he thought, sigh. It had taken him long enough to get used to sharing what had always been a bachelor space with Jenny and her little peculiarities. Now he had another young woman in his life… and one that was so much more peculiar than his fiancée had ever been… Yes, sigh was the term.
Sometimes it seemed to be his life.
And not just sighing about that. How could he even pass the letter to Faith? The blade?
Because he was under his own orders from Quentin, much as he might dislike them and a failure to obey them was not going to help matters. It might make them worse. They were both being tested in this – that was the way that Quentin liked to operate. Layers within layers.
If he were to prove incapable of persuading his Slayer to do what she had been ordered to then that ‘worse’ might mean ‘New Watcher worse.’ Who knew how that would end on a Hellmouth? Badly he was sure. The Hellmouth took getting used to. He was lucky to have survived the process.
Faith removed the letter from the envelope, finding it was handwritten on paper she could only assume was expensive. Probably rolled on the thighs of stuffy English Watchers who had nothing better to do with their lives until they were assigned a Slayer and banished to foreign lives away from all the tea. She had the only active one of the bunch right here in front of her. “This letter is dated nearly a month ago G.”
Faith… she might ignore the details but she did not miss them. It was a little over four weeks actually. And he had received them by courier only three weeks ago. He had not been that remiss… Yes he had. “Yes… and thus the urgency now Faith.” That period had elapsed whilst Faith was still recovering from the injuries she had sustained fighting and killing the Master. Along with Tara. The letter and the knife had arrived only a few days after Michael Collins had been here in his home… and had obviously totally ignored the good points that both he and Jenny had brought to his attention regarding the subject that concerned them. They had obviously just focused on his earlier expressed concerns. Genuine concerns but still… Concerns that did not warrant this course of action. Orders, however, were orders. The Council had given him few enough but he still knew how to obey them.
He had always thought Michael a fair man, if ruthless with it. What had he seen which might have resulted in this? “You were injured at the time, then events rather overtook us – as they are wont to do – and here we are, nearly a month later as you say. Read the letter if you will Faith.”
Faith accepted what he told her, knew that it was true because what her Watcher said always was. However it only took her a few lines of reading to know that there was another reason he had waited to spring this onto her – it was not just the injury. He had been afraid to give it to her and when she looked up she knew that he still was. She wanted to explode with rage, tell him to stuff his letter, his knife and the Council – what had the Council ever done for them? She didn’t though. He had taught her the value of control. Of listening. Reasoning and asking. Rather than just lashing out.
Lashing out came later. On the bad guys.
Even so… Her hands were shaking, the paper was ripping where she held it, but she forced herself to finish the letter before she spoke up. He should have been proud of her, but they were both far beyond any form of pride. Not with the letter there between them. And it was between them. “What do they think I am Giles?” she said, slowly, quietly and carefully – though that was the most neutral and unimportant of the things she wanted to say. She wanted to scream at him and get him to say that this shit wasn’t what
he wanted. But he might be as much to blame as the Council, the letter had said he had made a report... A report about Tara?! How could he do that after all her friend had done for them? The Master would not be dead without Tara. The people around here wouldn’t be starting to go out in the dark again.
They wouldn’t be living without fear of getting eaten without Tara. Faith knew that she could not have done any of it alone. At least not so fast. They had saved lives just with that speed – never mind the rest of it. And Giles had made a report? That had led to this?!
Did Jenny know? No. That was why he had waited. Jenny certainly didn’t known about this… Jenny would have stopped him from ever showing it to her. That was the sort of good person that she was. She probably have told him to go fuck his Council.
Faith wished that Jenny had. It would have prevented her from having to know what he had set in motion.
He
must have told them what Faith herself had said about Tara’s vampire… Oh god, it was what had she said? Had she done this to Tara? So now she was to blame too? It sort of stopped the blind condemnation of her Watcher dead in its tracks. This was more complicated than it seemed.
There was a problem with Tara and that Willow bitch. It was one that Faith had known she might have to sort out. But not like this. She had never dreamed of this.
“They,” he started very cautiously trying to work between the pillars of her quite justifiable anger, “think that you are the Slayer. They think that you will do your assigned duty and that is why they have sent you the properly sanctified blade.”
He knew that was not the way that it should have been . Collins had done the assessment. If anyone had been forced to deal with Tara it should have been Michael himself, taking the responsibility that he had always revelled in. It was right up the Australian’s street.
“Sanctified? Piss on ‘sanctified’ Giles.” She picked up the knife, holding it by the blade, intending to throw the thing and bury it in a wall somewhere behind him. She saw that then, at the moment she held the flat of the blade in her hand, that he was afraid of her. He was actually afraid that she might do something to him. A few months ago she might have done. She might have reacted that badly to this. But then a few months ago she would not have known Tara either. She wondered, then, who had changed her? Giles or Tara? They had both been good for her… but right now there was an urge to do something bad. That neither of them would want. She put the knife down again. “I’m not a murderer G. I’m a vampire Slayer. We stretch that description… I’ll kill all kinds of demons for you. But I don’t kill humans.”
“Would you kill the Mayor?” he asked, still being careful. He had anticipated this defence, hoped in fact that she would use it. It showed that she had entirely the right attitude to survive this and still function as the Slayer – after. And if she had gone off in some unexpected direction his careful rehearsals for this moment would have been in vain.
At least he hoped that attitude would allow her to obey, survive and function.
After.
“We’re not sure he
is human. Remember?” she pointed out to him, quite reasonably considering the circumstances he had to admit.
It was possible that she was in some form of shock. This was something she had never had any reason to believe might ever be asked of her. It was a line that she had never been meant to cross. It was against every moral code in society. “If he was human then,” Giles argued.
Faith barely hesitated, even though she must have known how he would make use of her response. “Yes I would G. He’s what I’m here to fight. She’s not. She’s on my side,” she told him firmly. “Our side. She kills vampires. She’s racked up a kill total I can only dream of… if I live as long as she has. That’s a lot of vampires that aren’t out there killing or making other vampires. A lot.”
“She works for the Mayor, a man you just admitted you would kill,” he reasoned. What he implied was that Tara might, in her role as his assistant, be a barrier to Faith’s stated objective to kill the Mayor. If that proved to be the case, how would Faith react, what would she do to Tara in order to defeat the Mayor? He knew that trying to give Faith orders was not the answer. His own reaction to what the Council, or rather Quentin, had instructed had been similar to hers, but by now he’s had time to come to terms with that. Time during which he had not dared mention the assignment to either Faith or Jenny. She had to see the reasons for the order – and there were some. He could see them. Faith had to be able to see them too. Were they good enough? Maybe. He wanted this almost as little as Faith.
“I work for you and your Council G. Your Council are trying to turn me into a killer, and then say ‘well everything is spiffy because you have that sacred blade so it doesn’t matter.. You can still be the bally Slayer.’ Does that make them or even you better or worse than the Mayor?” she asked him, not meaning to drag him into that but… she couldn’t give in and do this. “Would it make me better than the Mayor?”
“I don’t like it anymore than you do-” he started to tell her, it was a reassuring cliché. But it was also the truth. He didn’t want this – mainly because of what it would do to Faith. Tara had to be secondary to that – even if she was, in his opinion, a good person. A good, if flawed, person. Everyone had flaws. But he had no option and the reasons were there. For all to see. If, he admitted to himself, you only approached this issue from a certain point of view. The Council’s point of view – and that really meant Quentin’s. He knew Quentin. He had done for longer than he had been a watcher. Quentin had visited them when he had been young.
Quentin, having ordered this, was not going to change his mind. It would be.
“I’m sure that isn’t true Giles. You say it, that you ‘don’t like it,’ but you can sit there and you can tell me to do this anyway. You
know what she’s done for us. For everyone. Neither of us might be alive if it weren’t for her. Or Jenny. And,” Faith pointed out, “she helped kill the Master.
That was something I couldn’t have done alone and walked, well limped, away from.”
“Those are all good things and the reasons why I don’t like this Faith, but how many people would be alive if she had killed Willow Rosenberg? Or allowed you to do it?
That vampire is still feeding, still killing,” he pointed out. “Her very existence invalidates much of your defence of Tara in anything but number terms. Which life is more important? One of Willow’s victims or one of the Masters? She saved more than she killed admittedly, but her morals must be questioned.”
“Her morals…” Faith started. How the hell could he question Tara’s morals? But then… there was always Willow as he said. There was the Mayor. It was easy to see Tara as being on her side… but really was she somewhere between? Playing both sides? Faith was quiet for a moment or two. “She thinks she’s in love G. It’s freaky I know, but it’s the truth. She thinks that she’s in love.” That was moral. Love was moral. Surely it had to be.
And he had to know about being in love.
Perhaps if she had ever been in love she would have been able to answer that question about the morality for herself. But she sort of loved Giles and Jenny… and Tara. That seemed moral too.
“And the truth, as they say Faith, hurts. She is protecting a vicious killer. She is dangerous herself, an extremely powerful magic user with access to some particularly nasty spells. Eventually she will use them. Magic is like that; it draws you deeper and deeper into darker places if you use it as much as she is forced to.” He knew that very well, he had been there himself. Albeit in a more limited manner than she would be capable of if she fell from the light. “Even if you are doing good with magic… if you go too far then it will claim you. It will twist you.” The magic was his biggest personal concern – though the Council had barely mentioned it in their instructions. He was shocked that Tara had made it this far – for this long. But it was inevitable that the magic would claim her one day. “Mark my words she will be asked to kill more than just vampires for the Mayor. And with the Master gone she has no focus for her powers
and so it is the judgement of the Council that she represents a clear danger to humanity.”
That was all that was needed. Those words. Said by the right person. And the knife.
“And that’s it? She hasn’t actually
done anything and she gets whacked anyway? More than that they want me to do the whacking? With no warning? No chance?” Faith asked. “What if she had never come to Sunnydale,” she continued without waiting for his answer. “This town would still be in the shit without her. I might be dead. You, Jenny too.” She saw that have an effect. “Willow Rosenberg would still be out there, killing without any restraint. Things are better now,” Faith told him. “Not five by five… but… better.”
“Yes,” he had to agree with her assessment. There really was no denying that things
were better. “However the Council thinks-”
“Screw the Council! What do
you think G?” Faith didn’t care if her language shocked him, if was a pretty shitty thing that he was asking her to do - so let him be shocked. “If
you think that she is that dangerous, that she deserves to be killed for what she
might do without even a warning then I’ll go out there and I’ll do it. I’ll hate it, but I will do it. But if I do… then I’m finished with this Council and their orders. After that it’s just you and me… and you can tell them to shove their orders. It’s up to you Giles. If
you ask me to I’ll do it. I will be who they want me to be one last time if you say so.” Besides it wasn't going to be quiet that simple.
They both knew that wasn't fair on him, but they both also knew that asking her to do this, to kill a person she thought of as one of the few friends she’d had in her life wasn't fair either.
“She is a threat,” he said, hoping that the words would be sufficient to get his meaning across. But he knew that Faith was never going to accept less than a totally direct answer.
“No G. You tell me that
you want me to kill her.” It was a taunt, an accusation and a demand. An invitation to condemn himself.
“You must realise that I never wanted any of this Faith. I simply made my feelings about Tara’s associations, my concerns if you like, clear to the Council whilst noting that she was of tremendous value in other regards. And even if I had thought, right from the start that she should have been… got rid of,” he couldn’t even bring himself to say the words.
“You mean ‘killed.’”
He nodded, slightly ashamed, and continued, “If I had thought that then you must know that I would have never, ever have asked you to do it. It is not the role of the Slayer.” He had to admit that to her. He had to reassure her of that. Especially as he could not do anything but believe Faith when she said that they would be finished with the Council. If he agreed then they would be on their own as she said. She would see to it, and frankly he wasn't sure he wanted any part of the Council anyway. Not after this.
Still judgement was required.
He and Faith, they would not be ‘right’ after this… but they could not be ‘broken’ either. They still had to work together – for the good of everyone.
“Not the role of the Slayer until now Giles. Until now,” Faith shook her head at him. She could see where he was leaning, but she wasn't going to let him have this easy. Why should she? This was Tara he was talking about.
“There have been occasions that it has been necessary for the Slayer to deliberately plan to take a human life. This… may well be one of them.” He thought back to the rather heated conversation that he’d had with Quentin on receipt of the letter. He had, after explaining Faith’s medical condition and winning them some time, found out the full details of the witch’s experience with the Special Operations unit. As Quentin had said, ‘The Slayer is her friend.’ Though Quentin had treated that like any other ‘F’-word. He suspected that senior Watcher saw this more as a test of the Slayer than an order to kill a human being. ‘She will not suspect Faith,’ Quentin had continued, ‘and the kill can be made quickly and cleanly. Best for everyone that way I’m sure you agree.’ When he had pointed out to Quentin then it was hardly the best for Tara Maclay, all the man in London had done was chuckled as if he had been making a joke. But it was clear that Quentin had no plans to be swayed on his decision.
This would happen. One way or another. The question was a matter of how.
Apart from anything else, Faith should have no longer needed testing. With Tara she had killed the Master, something no Slayer in hundreds of years had managed despite many attempts. Even the highly regarded Miss Summers had met her fate at the Master’s hands and she had survived in action far longer than most Slayers.
Faith had won. With a little help from Tara.
Jenny was Tara’s friend too – Michael would have known that.
Could Quentin be testing him – his commitment to his fiancée over his duties? Giving an order that would test both Slayer and Watcher? He would have liked to think not, but then he knew that the tests the Council administered frequently allowed for fatalities. Even to the Slayer. But somehow… somehow he doubted this was a test. They had only just found the Slayer, after months with no clue who or where she was. It was too soon. It was too risky to allow that to happen again.
But they were going to lose the Slayer anyway when she quit the Council. They would never have foreseen that in their calculations. It was unheard of. No one had ever quit the Council before. They had been dismissed or ‘disciplined,’ but no Watcher had ever left voluntarily – not entirely.
Let alone a Slayer.
“She’s my friend Giles, aside from Jenny, my
only friend.’ He did not miss that she left him out of that very short list. And why should she have included him after this? It was not what friends did. And Jenny… how would he explain this to Jenny when Faith, inevitably, told her. Faith continued, “and you want me to shove this knife,” Faith held it up in the light again seeming to get lost for the briefest of moments, in the wonder of its strange, deadly beauty, “up into her heart?”
He considered, knowing that Faith would ultimately do as she was asked – if he should be the one that asked her. Not Quentin. Not the Council. If he asked her she would do it. She might hate him for that, but she wouldn’t be the first Slayer to feel loathing for what she had to do… or for her Watcher. It didn’t, necessarily, stop a productive relationship. But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be the Watcher his grandmother had been. An ogre to the Slayer and totally different to everyone else. They, Watchers, tended to forget that Slayers were people too. He wanted things to continue as they were.
Sometimes, he knew, what one wanted didn’t matter. Maybe he couldn’t have something akin to friendship with his Slayer anymore. Maybe Faith couldn’t have a friend in Tara. Maybe Tara couldn’t have the vampire she wanted to love. In spite of everything else – Wolfram and Hart, the magic use, even working for the Mayor, he couldn’t believe that any of this would be happening were it not for that perversion of emotion that Tara seemed to have for a vampire. It made him shudder even to consider it… how could anyone love a vampire knowing what it was that they were doing? If Jenny were a vampire, or Faith…
He’d kill them in a heartbeat. Why should Tara be any different. Perhaps because Willow, as long as Tara could have known her, had always been a vampire. Perhaps if she had been turned it would have been different.
And to expect love in return from the creature? The vampire had no soul… it was a demon and whilst there were types of demons out there that could lead normal lives and even love… vampires were not one of those species. Love was going to get Tara killed. He had comforted himself in the run up to this conversation with the thought that one day the vampire Willow might have killed Tara… or worse turned her. He was saving her from that. He was saving the world from that. He didn’t want to think of what Tara could do as a vampire, wielding such magic. And with no conscience to restrain her as it did now…
So finally, the ultimate decision had to be a simple “Yes.” He wasn’t just looking at Tara as she was now – he had to look to the future. As far as he could tell, Tara had three possible futures: she would kill for the Mayor, she would be a vampire or the magic would claim her. What way was there out of that life?
A life that was not, in any turn it might take, good for her or for the world.
Faith’s face dropped, disbelief flitted across it as she searched him for a sign that he might take that three letter word back. She couldn’t believe that he, he alone, would take that decision. That the Council had convinced him – despite the evidence of his own eyes. Despite Tara saving his life. Faiths… Jenny’s.
He couldn’t believe it himself. “I think we must,” he concluded to reinforce it. He had to think of more people than themselves. He had to look to the future. Everyone’s future. A future safe from what Tara might become. He was afraid of the magic. Either it would claim the witch or she would lose her restraint with her soul. She had resisted so far, but how strong was she really?
Faith picked up the knife, looked at once more. Perhaps imagining its appearance after a new coating of blood. She shook her head. “I’ll do it.
But in my own time, when I choose… I might be able to…” she shook her head again. “I have to give her a chance first Giles. She has to have that from me. We owe each other our lives and she’s my friend.” Tara had to have some sort of chance.
That, he knew, was not the sort of debt that was wiped out by being equalised – that was something that stayed with you. If Faith saved Tara’s life a hundred times it would only be because Tara had saved her that first time.
He was about to argue, to tell her that the decision was made. The Council had made it. He had made it. Faith herself had made it – or so it seemed until she started talking about ‘chances.’ He was about to tell her that putting it off would just make it harder or worse expose them all to the risks that they feared. But it was Faith who was going to have to do this. The Council wouldn’t like it. He hadn’t told Faith that it was a test of her as well. That would cheapen it. The Council might think his Slayer was failing right now – but he knew better. Faith might not be the perfect Slayer – or the perfect lodger - but she was one who was trying to remain a person. The one who had the sense of duty to do what she must, but enough compassion to give Tara the chance they both thought she was due.
He knew that Faith would do it… if she had to – she was already carrying the knife. But he actually hoped that she might find that other way. So he didn’t say a word.
Chance.
*************
), I actually printed out 100 pages of this to read on the plane last week. (As I think you've heard, my trip was wonderful!!! 
) And I've just read parts 62 and 63. 
at: 7/24/02 12:53:09 am