AUTHOR E-MAIL: PhenDog@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Three letters several years apart, speaking about the connection between a Watcher and his Slayer. More or less true to canon, and not exactly happy.
[Response to Monday Mini-Challenge #21 on GilesRulesBaby: POV—Three people think about Giles. This is my B/G muse’s take on it.]
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Buffy, Giles, or anything else except my beloved computer named “Slate.” (Obviously I don’t own them, or I’d own a lot more than Slate and you’d have to pay to read this.) The Buffyverse belongs to Joss, ME (yes I know, old joke), and a whole bunch of alphabetical TV networks, ‘specially now that it’s gone into syndication. Please don’t sue, I know I don’t have permission. Bad me. All my money went to bootleg X-files and Buffy episodes and Slate doesn’t want to leave me!
DEDICATION: To ElizaBuffy…for not telling on me when I spent time e-mailing her instead of studying for my finals! Well that and for betaing my fic late at night when she should be packing for the trip she’s got tomorrow…*hint, hint* Also, you ARE getting more nitpicky!
FEEDBACK: PLEASE!!! Lay it on me at PhenDog@hotmail.com Good feedback will be treasured, printed, and taped on my wall. Flames will be treasured, printed in large typeface, matted, framed, and hung with care on my door for all to see. Either way, you’ll be encouraging me to write more! Constructive Criticism treasured above all else.
DISTRIBUTION: www.buffygiles.com/efiction, GRB, ODD, TweedyBookGuy, the BG Zone, BGL, Britishmanfans. If you want it, color me flattered! Just let me know where and list me as the author!
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Please note: Unauthorized distribution and viewing punishable by penalty of law and private enforcement.
Correspondence Code: 8439.83.4 – Concerning active assignments
February 20, 1997
ATTN: Councilman Quentin Travers
RE: Replacement for Bonded Field Watcher M. Merrick for Assignment to Slayer E. A. Summers
It is with a heavy heart that I performed the search for a replacement for our Merrick. He was a personal friend of mine and of yours as well I believe. Alas, the world continues to turn without him, just as it always has done and just as it will very likely continue to do for quite some time if the current Slayer lives up to her reports—Merrick’s reports, actually.
According to him she is something quite special indeed, which, given the troubled times, I can only hope is true. Given her role in his death, I can’t help but have a few reservations, however. I have to admit that it worries me quite a bit that she’s had so very little training and skimming Merrick’s journals it appears that he was unable to impart much on her either, making the task much more difficult for his replacement—which is of course the purpose of this report, so I suppose I’ll get down to it.
Now Quentin, I want you to sit down for a moment and brace yourself for a bit of a shock—one you won’t much care for, I’ll wager. Anyway, the necessary spells have been said and mumbo jumbo performed on our end, and it seems our Ms. Summers is a rather special case in that we weren’t exactly inundated with suitable candidates with which it appeared she was likely to re-establish the Bond. Of course, this may have something to do with her lack of formal training and, of course, secondary Bondings are always more difficult to begin with—we have only to look back on the Arissa debacle to recall that.
However, for better or worse, there was one among us with whom her pattern correlated quite intensely. To be quite honest, I don’t think I’ve seen a match quite so strong for quite some time, which, under normal circumstances would be a cause for quite a bit of excitement. Unfortunately, the one with whom she correlates so well is our very own Mr. Rupert Giles.
Now straighten up, Quentin, and wipe that grimace off your face. I’ve seen it and it’s quite unbecoming on you.
Still, I have to agree with your concern over this little quandary we’ve ended up in. I remember, perhaps even better than you, the trouble the man caused us when he attempted to sever himself and the state he was in when he finally decided to drag himself back and buck up to the facts of lady fate. I know at the time there were those who wondered if he hadn’t tainted himself so severely that he might never be able to fully reintegrate. Even now, the thought of letting him anywhere near a Slayer, much less trying to Bond him to one, inflicts a small terror in the logical part of my mind!
I had to do a little soul searching myself over this one; to be completely truthful, I nearly didn’t even suggest it. Then I found I had to force myself to see the reality of the matter. The fact is that the world is once again entering into a time of turmoil and we need to do everything we can to prepare against it. I have trouble believing this lost Slayer of ours has managed to even survive this long, much less that she might continue to fulfill the role much longer. However, her triumph over Lothos is…well, it’s simply astounding to me, anyway. Perhaps she really might be as special as Merrick believed. If so, then we simply cannot deny her the chance that such a strong Bond might represent, even if it does mean taking a chance on Rupert.
I have to admit that I was surprised when I looked into his file. While at the Council for training it seems he managed to stay relatively unnoticed—yet, his actual performance in everything from Weapons to Prophesies is absolutely astounding. By the way, it should disconcert you a bit to know that he speaks even more languages than you, Quentin. Quite frankly, if he weren’t such a black sheep I’m rather certain he’d be fairly high up in the administration of our little organization by now, and ignoring his past, I can’t see any reason, save for lack of specific preparation in that area, why he wouldn’t be perfectly capable of training our Slayer.
His latest career at the Museum is rather a credit to him as well, especially considering some of the artifacts he’s managed to recover for us and keep from the public hands. Certainly it appears he did do what he could to redeem himself and it really might be that he has left that past of his behind. We shall have to hope, I suppose.
So there you are. I know you’re not happy with the results, but I’ve done as you asked and found you your replacement Watcher. I know you’d like a longer list from which to choose—and I did include those with which there was even the slightest hint of a weak connection—but in good conscience I really must urge you to consider this match. I am being quite honest about the astounding possibilities hinted at by the probes, and I’ve attached what information I can about the results of the spell so you can see for yourself.
As much as I find myself worrying about what could happen if we let Rupert serve us in this capacity, in the end, I’m more afraid of what might happen if we don’t. You’ve always trusted me in the past, and I urge you to do so now. I just have a feeling about this one, and I hope you’ll agree. If not, look over the other list carefully, as I can’t say that I can find any of them that really jump out at me.
Either way, rumors have it that the Slayer is moving by some quirk of destiny to the site of some new mystical convergence that is forming in a small town known as Sunnydale near her current post in California. Time may very well be of the essence in the matter of finding her a new Watcher, and, although you know where I’d like you to turn, I’ll support your decision either way.
Your Faithful Advisor as Always,
Terrance Polgrant, Master Scryer
Quentin sighed as he read the letter again. Bloody Polgrant knew him too damn well. Still, if the connection was even half as strong as the information indicated…he understood why the Scryer had gone through with the recommendation.
Once more before making the final decision, he allowed himself to scan the short list of names that had been given as alternates—Ulsom, Collins, Barrows, Anderson, Wyndham-Pryce—and had to agree. They were all young, inexperienced, most not even done with their primary training. In light of the choices, Rupert’s file looked like a virtual gem if you once turned the page past the enormous black mark.
Sucking at his teeth and tapping a pen on the desk he finally forced himself to pick up the phone and dialed the number for the British Museum.
“Hello, this is Quentin Travers. I’d like to speak with your curator—a Mr. Rupert Giles?”
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