Title: Sacrilege
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing/Rating: PG-13, Giles/Xander
Word Count: 16,700 total
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy (and Fox and Warner Bros. and possibly others).
Summary: It turns out that deciding to become a real watcher involves a bit more than just spending more time getting beat up in the training room. Sequel to Watchmen.
Author's Notes: A thousand thanks to both antennapedia and fuzzyboo03 for beta reading. Two pictures of Wastwater, by the way, from my recent trek to the Lake District, are available here and here. I've taken a few liberties with the area, i.e. as far as I know there are no buildings of any kind up there, but it is stunningly beautiful.

There was absolutely nothing on the radio. Xander fiddled with the dials, trying to find a station, any station, but all he got was static. Neither he nor Giles had remembered to bring along any CD's, so that meant they were stuck for now, at least until the next city. England was so small that he figured it couldn't be that long. Just his luck they were in a dead zone. A dead zone with sheep, he thought, staring out the window at the passing pastures. Lots of sheep. Sheep with tails, too, which was weird because Xander hadn't even realized sheep could have tails, but apparently some of them did. Fluffy ones.

That just went to show how much Xander knew - or didn't know. He didn't even know sheep could have tails, and yet here he was, heading off to become a real watcher. There was just something wrong there. Or possibly a whole lot of things.

They went another five miles or so in silence. Xander controlled the urge to babble. He and Giles had four days together ahead of them and for once Xander wasn't out to annoy him. Though if he did, maybe that'd get him out of this - maybe Giles would decide he didn't want Xander to go on this watchery vision quest after all. Which was a stupid thought to be having, because Xander had made his decision, really made it, not just half-assed it. He'd sat in Giles's office with him that night, holding his hand while Giles called Janine's parents to tell them their daughter had died, and decided that if he was gonna do this, it had to be all the way.

He'd been sorta surprised to find out that "all the way" meant more than just working harder on his Latin and fencing - that it meant, in fact, a ritual involving super polite requests to a mysterious mystical whatsit - but that didn't change anything. So having second thoughts now was stupid. And also, way too late. Xander leaned his head against this window and watched the sheep go by.

"Xander?" Giles asked, after ten or fifteen miles like this. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, fine," he said, sitting up and reaching for the radio again.

"You're very quiet."

He shrugged. "Worried about the girls," he said, which wasn't a lie. "I'm still not sure this was the right time for us to do this." Leslie was about one bad vamp fight away from buying her plane ticket home, and a couple of the others weren't much better off. Giles had seemed to think this was something Xander needed to do, so he'd said yes, but ever since then he'd regretted it. He was pretty sure there wasn't any cell phone access where they were going, way up in the mountains. What if something happened?

Giles sighed. "I share your concerns," he said, glancing over his shoulder to change lanes, "but the girls needed a weekend off, anyway, and this was a perfect excuse. Buffy and Faith will keep an eye on things."

Xander nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'm just . . . worried."

"Perfectly understandable. But in the long run, this will be a great advantage for you and them."

"That's what you said before." Xander finally found a radio station that came in semi-clear, even if it was in the middle of commercials. He leaned back in his seat and eyed Giles sideways. He'd given Xander a book to read on the ritual before they'd left, so he knew more or less what to expect: a ritual bloodletting, a fire, some chanting. No naked dancing under the full moon, a stammering Giles had assured him when Xander'd asked, mostly just to see him blush. The house was a council holding on ground consecrated with really old watcher magic, or so the book had said, which would make the ritual easier. Xander kept saying the Latin phrases over and over to himself, worried he'd forget. His Latin was getting better, but it was still pretty remedial. He made Dawn help him with anything hard. And his memory had always been crap.

What he didn't know, and what was starting to make him really nervous, was what the ritual would do to him. Make him a watcher, yeah, sure, but what did that mean? Would it make him suddenly able to read Aramaic and Sanskrit and all those demon languages without even trying? Give him eyes in the back of his head? Make him want to wear tweed, drink Bovril, and crossreference for fun? Neither Giles nor the book had been real forthcoming with the details there. But then, Xander hadn't really asked. No time like the present, he supposed. Especially since they were trapped in a car with nothing but Sainsbury's commercials to listen to. He cleared his throat. "Um."

Giles glanced at him. "Yes?"

"A great advantage how, exactly? I mean, what does it mean that I'll be a watcher? Do I get super powers? Because if you have super powers, Giles, I think you should've let us in on that before now. Could've been useful, you know."

Giles smiled slightly. "No super powers, unfortunately, at least not in the way you're thinking. We - it allows you to be more, more in tune with your slayers' needs. It lets you help them guard themselves, for lack of a better phrase. It's very subtle, but powerful."

"Oh," Xander said. He looked out the window again, away from Giles. He had a question, but he wasn't at all sure he wanted to ask.

"There's a bit more to it than that, of course," Giles said, "but I think perhaps . . ." He trailed off and was silent until Xander looked back at him, eyebrows raised. Giles tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "Are you hungry? There's a pub in the next town Robson and I always stopped at on our way up to the retreat area - or there used to be," he added, sounding suddenly disconcerted. "Goodness, it's been ten years. It might not even be there anymore."

"Well," Xander said, "let's find out." There was more that Giles wasn't telling him, but Xander could have it out of him just as well over food and beer, and it'd give him a couple more minutes to figure out if he really wanted to ask his question.

The radio station finally changed over to playing music, and to Xander's relief seemed to have a Beatles thing going. "In My Life" occupied them the last few miles to the town with the pub. Giles sang quietly under his breath, while Xander tried to go invisible so Giles wouldn't remember he was there and stop. Giles had this thing where he'd only sing in front of strangers, which was too bad because Xander liked his voice a lot. It was smooth, mellow. Nice for singing along to the Beatles in a car on a day like this - gray and chilly but not raining (or at least, not at the moment), with just a little watery sunlight every once in awhile.

The pub was still there, which Xander could tell made Giles happy. The sign out front was so worn away Xander couldn't read it. Too bad - he liked all the funny pub names in England. He ordered a local thing with sausage and a pint of bitter and paid for both him and Giles over Giles's protests. They picked a little table in a corner next to a window that looked out onto a sluggish river flowing by outside. The sky was darkening slowly. By the time they left, it'd probably be raining.

Xander tasted his room-temp beer. He was finally getting used to drinking it warm, though sometimes he ordered a Carlsberg just because it was served cold. Carlsberg made Giles sniff disapprovingly, though, so he didn't do it too often. He watched Giles's throat move as he took his first sip and considered the question he'd thought of in the car. He wanted to ask, but he wasn't sure he'd like the answer. There were things you just couldn't un-know.

He took another, longer swallow of his beer and said, "Giles . . ." Then he stopped.

Giles looked at him seriously, in a way that made Xander want to squirm. Sometimes he swore Giles could read his mind. He wondered if telepathy was one of those not-really-a-super power super powers real watchers had. That he'd have, soon. "You want to know if doing the ritual sooner would have helped Janine."

Xander swallowed. "Um. Yeah."

Giles sighed deeply. "Possibly. Very possibly."

Xander's throat went tight. "Oh."

Giles nodded. "There's no guarantee, of course - every watcher loses his or her slayer eventually, even with the magic. Buffy has lived far longer than most, but I lost her twice along the way. You can't always be there when she needs you. But yes," he finished, looking down at his plate and avoiding Xander's eyes, "when you told me how it had happened, it became clear to me that we should have done this right away."

Xander shook his head. "I wasn't ready right away."

"I know. Which is why I didn't push the matter." Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose and then reached out to cover Xander's hand where it lay on the table, looking him straight in the eye now. "Really, it's impossible to tell if it would have made a difference, and if anyone's to blame it's me. I didn't even give you the option."

Xander nodded, looking at their hands on the table. Giles's was a warm weight on his, almost familiar now after the last couple of weeks. Too much had happened lately, first Janine dying, then Xander deciding he had to do this thing for real, and then finding out that that meant more than just putting in more hours getting beat up in the training room. And then him and Giles. If there was a him and Giles. That part was a lot less clear than the watcher stuff, since all Xander really had to go on was little signs, like the way Giles was willing to touch him like he'd never been before - on the hand, or the shoulder or back in passing, or the occasional hug when no one was looking. A few sideways glances that lingered too long. In short, the sort of thing that made Xander wonder if he was falling in love or just going insane.

It was too much all at once. Worried as Xander was about the girls, he'd felt relieved when Giles had asked him if he wanted to do this. He needed some time away.

Giles took his hand back almost too casually when the waitress finally brought their food. Giles had ordered a ploughman's with fries - chips, Xander guessed. He was still trying to get used to the Britisms. Giles waited till she'd left, then picked up his knife to slice his sandwich in half. "But as I was about to say in the car," he said, "there's a bit more to it. A second ritual, which I will also be partaking in."

"Oh?" Xander said through a mouthful of sandwich.

"Yes. Er." Giles put his sandwich down and wiped his hands on a napkin. "I probably should have told you this sooner, but I didn't want to, to overwhelm you. You see, a watcher does a lot more than just train the slayer. He - or she - guards her, and not just her physical self, but also her soul."

Xander put his sandwich down as well. "You mean metaphorically, right? There is metaphorical soul guarding?"

Giles shook his head. "The second part of the ritual is for us to, to accept a small piece of each of the slayers' souls into our own for safekeeping. I will be doing it as well, since we have a number of slayers and they all need guardianship." Xander felt his mouth drop open, and Giles, nervously twisting his napkin, added, "It doesn't actually involve much. No more actual work, at least. But it is a . . . a responsibility."

"No shit." Xander finally shut his mouth, and then he picked up his sandwich and took a bite, just to give him time to think while he chewed. "So you have a piece of Buffy's soul?" he asked at last.

"Yes."

"Wild. Did Wes?"

"No, because I already did." Giles smiled, kinda small and tight. "Their firing me was a bit of a formality. You can't really fire a watcher and they knew it."

Xander mulled this over along with a sip of beer. He suspected the flipside of that was that you couldn't quit being a watcher either. "What about Faith?"

"Ah. Faith would be the cautionary tale. Of what can happen when a slayer doesn't have anyone to do for her what I do for Buffy."

"Oh." That was a sobering thought, even with most of a pint of beer in him. He drank some more. "Anyone ever tried this with more than one slayer?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"No. I'm not entirely sure what will happen, to be honest." Giles sighed, glancing away. "You can still say no. I'd hardly blame you. It isn't as though this is anything you ever expected from your life."

"No, it isn't," Xander said, slumping. He picked at the remains of his sandwich, but his appetite was mostly gone. "Um. How does it feel?"

"It feels . . ." Giles paused, his gaze growing abstracted. "It feels nice, when I think about it. I don't, most of the time. It's just there. It makes being with Buffy - well, I don't think I realized what it did for me, for us, until it was taken away when she died. And when she came back, I had to do the ritual again, though not - er, there wasn't time to come up here. It makes you want to be with your slayer, be near her, I mean. Being apart is, is hard. Forcing myself back to England after she came back was, was -"

"A really stupid thing to do?" Xander supplied.

"Ah. Yes. I was going to say 'difficult.'" Giles fell silent and studied the whorls of the grain in the table top for a minute. Xander tried to distract himself from all the sudden noise in the back of his head, which was mostly a voice that sounded a lot like his father telling him that he wasn't worthy of this, there was no way he could be trusted with a girl's soul - multiple girls' souls - when he couldn't keep a goldfish alive for more than three days. Current best way to distract himself: watch Giles. It was getting to be a favorite pastime of Xander's even when he wasn't trying to keep from running screaming out into a nascent rainstorm in some nowhere English town.

"You can sleep on it, if you like," Giles said at last, looking back at him. "I hadn't planned to do the ritual until tomorrow evening anyway. I'd understand if you -"

"No," Xander said quickly. "I mean, yes," he amended. "Uh. I mean I don't need to think about it. I said I would and I will. I want to. It just kinda threw me for a loop."

Giles nodded. "You can change your mind any time, you know." Xander nodded, even though it wasn't really true. Maybe Giles would be okay with it - or at least say he was okay with it - but Xander'd hate himself for bagging now. Especially since he knew now what was at stake. And . . . it was sorta cool. A total mind trip and scary as hell, but sorta cool.

They finished their meal and their pints quietly, Xander mulling over everything Giles had told him. They didn't speak as they gathered up their coats and headed back out to the car, where it was pissing rain and much, much colder, with a wind that made Xander hunch into his jacket and stuff his hands into his pockets while he waited for Giles to unlock his door.

Giles turned the heater up once they were inside. "I hope this clears a bit," he said, frowning. "We've a bit of a climb the last few miles, and I don't really relish the idea of doing it in weather like this."

"A bit of a climb" turned out to be an understatement. They passed a sign saying "Welcome to the Lake District" a couple hours later and then a few towns as they skirted the edge of one of the lakes. There were even more sheep than before, and they were penned in with mossy rock walls that didn't look like they had anything holding them together. "They don't," Giles said, when Xander pointed them out. "Dry rock masonry like that is common to this whole area. Not just walls, but houses, too. Including ours."

"Wait, you mean we'll be staying in a place built like that?" Xander eyed the walls dubiously. "Did you bring me up here just to let me freeze to death?"

Giles smiled. "It won't be as cold as you think. They poured all the bits and pieces down into the walls for insulation. We'll be quite comfortable, I assure you."

Xander was still skeptical, but he decided Giles had probably earned the benefit of his doubt after all these years. They left the lake behind and dropped down into a valley, criss-crossed by more of the rock walls, at which point the sky cleared, the clouds parting to let a little sunlight down onto the valley floor and reveal the mountains Xander had begun to think were a myth.

"Whoa," he said, blinking.

"The Langdale Pikes," Giles said, with obvious relish. He was smiling.

The radio finked out again. Xander didn't try to get it back. They climbed and climbed, leaving the rock walls and most of the sheep behind as the roads narrowed. Rain splattered the windshield intermittently, but nothing too heavy. Xander started to worry about what would happen when they met another car, but there weren't that many people out today. Giles seemed relaxed, shifting gears easily and humming a tune Xander didn't recognize under his breath. He pulled up onto the shoulder when a Jeep came towards them and then back onto the road as though nothing had happened. Xander let go of his death grip on the sides of his seat.

They crested the mountain pass, revealing another valley spread out below them and then, on the other side, a silvery gray mass of water. "Is that the ocean?" Xander asked, raising his eyebrows. He'd thought they were pretty far inland. Though he guessed that England, being an island, didn't really have a lot of inland.

"Yes. The Irish Sea."

"Is the house on the beach?"

"No, on a lake. Beautiful spot." Giles eyed him sideways and his smile widened. "You'll like it, I promise."

After that it was another hour of windy, narrow roads, more walls and buildings made of the same, slate gray rock fitted together, and diving for the shoulder every time someone came their way. The rain started up again for real, making Xander nervous. Giles didn't seem alarmed though, so he tried not to let on. He stopped watching the road and started watching Giles, who drove a lot like he handled a sword: confident, efficient, no flourish, no fuss. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, dark green, just barely tight enough for Xander to see the outline of Giles's relaxed bicep.

Xander's mouth went sorta dry and he wondered if watching the road might not be safer after all. It was definitely less confusing. He was starting to get used to being confused when it came to Giles, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't hope that this weekend away from home and the twenty or so young, nosy women they lived with might help clear up some of it. Part of which, Xander had to admit, was his own, only semi-Giles-related confusion. Willow, Cordelia, Anya, Buffy - they were all women. Xander had never really shown any same-sex inclinations before. But then there was Giles. And he was - he was Giles. Xander liked being with him. He wasn't some random guy Xander had seen and thought, "Hey, he's hot. Maybe I'm gay now."

Not that he thought he was gay. For evidence against, after all, he only had to point to the aforementioned list of girls he'd been way into once upon a time. And Giles had his own list of girls - er, women. But then there was Ethan Rayne, who, now that Xander had reason to think about it, had just about had a glowing neon sign hanging around his neck spelling out "PISSED-OFF EX" in blinking bright red. It hadn't occurred to him at the time, but it occurred to him now. A lot.

So the confusion was somehow both more and less than he'd have expected. But then again, Xander guessed it didn't really matter that much after all, because guy or girl, he'd never been super skilled at the part that came after realizing he had a thing for someone. It just plain hadn't gone well with Buffy. He almost didn't count Willow, because they'd never actually had a thing and besides, she was Willow. Cordelia had just made out with him in the utility closet a lot. And Anya . . . well, no one really had Anya's way of doing things. Somehow he didn't think Giles was going to strip down and offer to copulate with him any time soon. Unfortunately.

"Xander?" Giles asked, catching his eye in the rearview mirror. "All right?"

Xander felt his face flush. Caught staring. Or, okay, ogling. He kinda slid down in his seat and gave Giles a sheepish grin. Giles smiled back, looking sorta pleased. Like he was happy to catch Xander staring. Which made Xander feel a little bit better, enough to straighten up, clear his throat, and go back to watching the road for oncoming cars.

Finally they came over a little rise and Xander saw another lake - only the second he'd seen one that day, even though this was supposedly the "Lake District." This one was a lot smaller than the one he'd seen earlier, its surface more gray than blue, and flattened out by the rain. Giles turned off the main road onto a bumpy dirt one and Xander was suddenly grateful for the four wheel drive. Giles shifted into low gear and slowed way down.

"I take it we're almost there?" Xander said.

"Yes. Just about fifteen minutes. This is Wastwater," he added, nodding towards the lake.

"Huh," Xander said, not very impressed. It looked kinda small from where he was sitting.

"The bottom of the lake is actually below sea-level."

Xander blinked. "Whoa."

"Mmm. Very cold, very deep, very isolated. We get day hikers up here in the summer, but it's a bit inaccessible for most of them. I highly doubt we'll encounter anyone this time of year."

They rounded a bend in the dirt road, which had become more of a muddy track, and Xander got his first glimpse of the house. It was a low structure, probably to prevent it being seen from the road, set back a little ways from the lake. It looked a lot like all the other houses they'd seen on their way up, except this one was all on its own in the middle of absolute friggin' nowhere. He held very still for a minute, trying to sense whatever was special about it. The book had said the ground was consecrated. It sounded religious. But all he picked up was the sound of the rain on the roof of the car, which had increased from a patter to a steady drumming.

Giles pulled the car around the back, into graveled area by the porch. "I think we're about to get stormed on."

Xander peered out. "I think we already are."

Giles grinned at him. "Oh no, if this were a storm we wouldn't be able to see the lake. Let's get everything inside before it hits."

Giles was right, of course. They'd just managed to get the last of the supplies inside when the thunder rolled in and the rain started coming down in sheets. Xander stood at the window, looking out wide-eyed. "Wow."

Giles's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. "Welcome to winter in England. Shall I build us a fire?" He moved away to start piling wood in the hearth in a tripod, just like Xander had learned in Boy Scouts the one summer he'd been able to talk his dad into paying for camp.

Xander decided to take himself on a tour of the house, which was smaller than he'd expected. Living room, kitchen, bathroom - he stopped and turned on the water for the toilet - and two bedrooms. Comfortable but dusty. A lot less extravagant than Xander had expected, since it'd been built by the old council and he thought Quentin Travers probably hadn't been real into roughing it. This was almost rustic. But then, he guessed the house was probably pretty old, so maybe it had been extravagant for the times.

He claimed the smaller bedroom for himself, dragged his duffel in and dropped it onto the bed, then rifled through it looking for the warm clothes he'd packed. It wasn't nearly as cold as he'd been expecting, but it was sorta drafty out in the living room. He pulled a sweatshirt on over his long-sleeved t-shirt, kicked off his shoes and thin white socks, and pulled on the thick gray wool ones Giles had made him bring. That was better. He padded out to the living room feeling very cozy and glad to be inside where it was dry.

He could hear Giles in the kitchen, puttering around. From the sounds of pots and pans being tossed about, he was probably fixing dinner. Xander flopped down on the couch, which raised a cloud of dust, and stared at the rain-splattered window, sorta thinking, but mostly just zoning. He hadn't gotten to do a lot of zoning lately - there was always something to be thinking about. It seemed he'd lost the knack for it, too, because now he couldn't stop worrying about the girls, even though he knew they were probably fine. They'd decided to make this a long weekend off for everyone, meaning a watchers' retreat for him and Giles and some serious mainlining of chocolate and cheesy rom coms back at slayer central.

Leslie, though. Xander sighed. There wasn't a lot that could help with having your best friend die right in front of you. Xander knew that from experience. Buffy'd said she'd make sure she got some one-on-one time with Les this weekend, but Xander didn't think it'd be enough. And if she wanted to go, well, hadn't that been the whole point? That the girls would have a choice this time?

Xander sighed again, decided zoning just wasn't what it used to be, and went to help Giles in the kitchen.

Dinner was shepherd's pie and salad from the groceries they'd lugged with them all the way from London. Xander hadn't realized he was hungry, but it turned out he was. Lately he'd been eating a lot of sandwiches, standing at the counter in the kitchen, bolting them down so he could get to whatever he had to do next. He tried to make the communal dinners the slayers took turns cooking, but a lot of the time even that took more time than he had.

Tonight, though, he didn't have anything to do, so he let himself slow down and enjoy it. The veggies were only so-so, since it was November in England and everything was imported from a long, long way away, but Giles knew what he was doing with the shepherd's pie. Which was not so much a pie as it was potatoes piled on top of meat, always a winning combination. Giles sort of ducked his head when Xander said how good it was. He took another huge helping, mostly because he was starving now that he let himself feel it, but also to see that little head-duck again.

Oh yeah. Xander was in trouble. Hopefully this weekend would be enlightening in all sorts of ways.

The storm didn't let up for the rest of the evening. Not that Xander minded. He reread the book about the ritual curled up on the opposite end of the couch from Giles, who was, surprise, surprise, also reading, though it was a paperback for once, a spy novel by the looks of things. He'd kicked his shoes off, revealing plain white socks, and Xander spent a few minutes staring at them, trying to figure out a subtle way to play footsie. At least until Giles cleared his throat, making Xander look up.

Giles raised his eyebrows and lowered his book. "Is there something particularly fascinating about my feet?"

"No. Um." Xander swallowed, considered saying saying something really cheesy, like, No more than the rest of you, and luckily stopped himself just in time. Giles didn't look annoyed though - in fact, he had that kinda pleased look like he'd had in the car, like he was happy to catch Xander looking. For some reason that just made Xander more nervous, even though it should have made him less. "You have nice feet," he blurted at last and then turned red. Why was a hellmouth never around to swallow you whole when you needed it to?

Giles broke into a wide smile. "That is possibly the strangest compliment I've ever received, but thank you."

"That's me," Xander muttered, "your source for bizarre commentary, irrelevant asides, and stupid clichés."

"All of which goes quite well with my sarcasm," Giles said, picking up his book again. "Some might call us synchronous."

Xander blinked. "Really?"

"Mmm." He looked up and caught Xander's eye. "I hope so, at least."

"Yeah, um." Xander swallowed. "Me, too."

He pretended to read for a minute, but the book no longer seemed to be written in English and he mostly just felt hyper-aware of Giles on the other end of the couch. He wondered if he should say something. Anything. Or at least anything other than, You have nice feet. He didn't have the chance, though, before he felt the couch cushions shift and he looked up, worried Giles was leaving, but he'd only turned, propping himself up against the armrest and bringing his feet up onto the couch. Xander shifted his own, just a couple of inches, and there they were, feet touching. At least a little bit. It wasn't exactly footsie, but it was close enough.

After a couple hours of mostly silent page turning and very little real reading - for Xander at least - Giles stood, stretched, and went into the kitchen, and came back with a two glasses of scotch. Xander didn't really like scotch, but he took it anyway. He sipped, since Giles only ever drank the good stuff and knocking it back would get him Patented Giles Stink-Eye #4. Or maybe not, tonight. Still, he managed not to cough or make a face. It burned on the way down and made his stomach feel warm. By the end of the glass the rest of him was warm, too, and sleepy. Which was probably why Giles had given it to him in the first place.

It loosened his tongue, too. Not a lot, but enough that when Giles got up to take the glasses into the kitchen, Xander said, "Hey." Giles turned back, and Xander licked his lips, taking cover in the warm, sleepy feeling. "You - do you really think this is a good idea? Me, being a watcher. Guarding souls. I mean, I'm sort of a disaster." I'm the guy who just complimented your feet, he didn't add, since he kinda thought it went without saying.

Giles smiled, warmly, gently, that smile Xander was starting to think was maybe only for him. "Yes, I think it's a good idea. And of all of us, Xander, I really think you're the least of a disaster." He paused and blinked. "If that made any sense at all."

Xander laughed. "It did. Thanks. Good night, big guy."

He found some extra blankets on the top shelf of his wardrobe and piled them on the bed. The scotch put him right out, once he got warm enough to relax. The storm was still going outside, he could hear Giles moving around on the other side of the wall, and it was easy to just sink down into the mattress under his pile of down comforter and wool blankets.

Which was why gasping himself awake, a half-swallowed scream in his throat, at quarter past one came as a huge shock.

Dark. Total dark, not city-dark or even small town Sunnydale dark. Pitch dark. Way, way too dark. Xander fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand, half-hoping that he'd made enough noise to wake Giles up. But he could hear him snoring lightly on the other side of the wall, so Xander was on his own to huddle in his blankets in the pool of yellow light cast by the lamp and relish his not-so-impending panic attack.

It had just been so vivid. The smell of the grass and the dirt in the cemetery, the chill in the air, the way a headstone had felt under his palm when he'd paused, leaning against it. He'd known what was coming, too, in the dream, but couldn't stop it. His eyes stayed riveted on Vi and her vamp and he couldn't look away even though he'd known - he'd known - that right behind him Janine was getting cornered by a fledgling. And then her cry, which still rang in his ears, and he'd turned. Leslie had shoved past him, pushing him into the headstone - he'd forgotten that part, how could he have forgotten that part? - and then the blood, over Leslie, smeared over the grass. Xander fell to his knees next to Janine and the vamp exploded into dust over his head, showering him.

Janine had gasped once, twice, her breath rattling in her throat, and then she'd gone still. And Xander had woken up.

It wasn't the first time he'd dreamed about it. He'd dreamed about it a lot, as a matter of fact. But never - never quite like this. He'd woken shaken up before, but never actually shaking. He lay back down and resisted the urge to pull the covers over his head. Or go knock on Giles's door. Nothing said grown-up like, "I had a nightmare. Can I sleep with you?"

Just nerves, he told himself. He was nervous because of the ritual. The nightmare came from the same place the voice that sounded a lot like his dad did. He could deal with that. He'd been dealing with that for years. And just that night Giles had said - Giles had said - that he was the least disastrous of all of them. That had to count for something.

He lay down again, turned the light off, and wrapped himself up in the comforter. He lay awake in the dark, eyes wide and staring, until eventually the patter of the rain on the windows and the gentle rhythm of Giles's snoring lulled him to sleep.

By the time the sun came up - or, well, the sky went from black to gray - Xander was ensconced on the sofa, wrapped in his comforter, and hoping like hell this wasn't the day Giles decided to sleep in. He'd had the dream twice more before his nerve broke. Taking a shower hadn't helped, couldn't get the imaginary vamp dust off of him or stop him shaking. He was shivering as bad as he had been that night on the porch, but Giles wasn't there to help. He couldn't quite bring himself to wake him up either. It just felt way, way too stupid, considering what he was going to do that very evening.

What he was supposed to do that very evening. Sleep on it, Giles had said. Ha.

Fortunately it wasn't too long before Xander heard Giles moving around in his bedroom. He sat up and pushed the comforter down. Giles emerged from his bedroom still buttoning his shirt, and paused, eyebrows rising, when he saw Xander on the couch.

"Morning," Xander said.

"Er, yes, good morning. You're up early," Giles observed. Then he looked closer and his expression went from mildly puzzled to outright alarmed. "Are you all right? You look a bit -"

"More than a bit, yeah." Xander rubbed his face. "Bad nightmares. Bad, bad."

"What -"

"Janine."

"Oh." Giles was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Why don't you come and sit with me in the kitchen while I make us some breakfast?"

Xander nodded and followed Giles into the kitchen, where he started pulling out pots and pans and stuff from the fridge. Bacon, eggs, tomatoes, bread. Xander hovered for a minute, until Giles shooed him into one of the chairs set around the kitchen table. Xander slumped into it, put his head in his hands, and rubbed his temples. A moment later a mug of tea and two white tablets appeared at his elbow. "Paracetamol," Giles said gently.

Xander nodded and swallowed both. He didn't look up until again the bacon was sizzling, filling the kitchen with a smell that made his stomach growl even though he'd been convinced he couldn't eat. When he finally did look up, he caught Giles watching him, a worried furrow between his eyebrows, and realized he had to say something. "Giles, I don't - I don't know. I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I should do this."

Giles finished sliding the bread into the grill over the oven and then came to sit across from him. "Was this the first time you'd dreamt about it?"

Xander shook his head. "No. It's been happening sorta off and on ever since. But, but not like this. This was different. This was . . . it happened three times. Every time I shut my eyes, I was right back there, and it was just so vivid, I can't -" Xander swallowed.

"Excuse me," Giles said, and stood to rescue the eggs. A moment later an enormous plate of food appeared in front of him, along with more tea. Giles sat down across from him. Xander slowly picked up knife and fork and cut a piece of bacon - weird English bacon, not like the stuff from back home. More like ham. "Xander," Giles said, after a few minutes of silent chewing, "I think - well, I imagine you're quite nervous. I was, before I did the ritual. I'd heard stories, of course, so I knew more or less what to expect, but I still had doubts about whether I was worthy."

"Yeah," Xander said slowly, moving the food around on his plate. Giles didn't answer. Xander was glad. He already knew Giles thought he was good enough for this, and that was about all that was keeping him from bolting altogether. But Xander had to make up his own mind about whether he should go through with it or not. This wasn't something he wanted to regret, either way, and he didn't think the chance would come again. If he said no, Giles would figure something else out. Xander could be Window Guy again. Or an unofficial watcher, like he'd been up till now. An unofficial watcher who got his slayers killed because he was too chicken to do what they needed him to.

Finally, when Giles's plate was clean and Xander had managed the toast and eggs, and most of the bacon (but not the weird squishy fried tomatoes), Giles said, "I'd planned for us to take a walk around the lake today, if the weather was cooperative. But I imagine you're a bit knackered after last night."

"Yeah. I might sack out on the couch for a bit, if I can."

Giles nodded. "You have until about four o'clock to decide. Then we'll need to start making preparations, if only for myself."

It was barely nine now. Seven hours. Xander nodded. He washed the dishes and put them away in the cabinets while Giles took a shower. Then he found Giles's spy novel on the table next to the couch and opened it up to the first page. He didn't want to think anymore. TV was always Xander's first choice when he wanted to check out for awhile, but that wasn't an option way out in the middle of nowhere like this. Reading wasn't quite the same thing - his mind tended to wander when he read, and it took a lot more effort than TV did - but it was better than nothing.

Giles came out of the bathroom and went into his bedroom, shutting the door quietly. Xander let the book fall so it lay open on his chest. Giles was obviously giving him space, letting him decide for himself. Which was nice, but Xander wasn't sure space was really what he wanted. He sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and then, book in hand, went to knock on Giles's door.

"Come in!" Giles called.

Xander eased the door open and then stood there, hand still on the knob. "Hey."

Giles was sitting on the made-up bed, reading a different book now, since Xander had his spy novel, this one with a ship on the cover. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, I just. Um. Wanted some company, I guess."

It sounded pathetic even to Xander, but Giles didn't bat an eye. "Ah. Well, it's a bit cramped out in the sitting room - and do remind me to get an armchair in there at some point - but you're welcome to join me, if you like."

"Thanks." Xander shuffled over, kicked his shoes off, and sat down on the edge of the bed. He slumped. His head hurt even though he'd taken the Tylenol at breakfast. Sleep sounded like all kinds of good, but he really couldn't deal with another nightmare. Dammit, leave it to him to screw this up.

"Xander." Giles's hand came to rest on Xander's shoulder. "Lie down, all right? Everything will look better once you've rested."

"Yeah, sure." As retorts went, this was pretty weak, especially since Xander followed Giles's suggestion. He lay looking up at Giles, who slid down and propped himself up on one elbow. Xander licked his lips, suddenly nervous, and saw Giles's eyes darken, just a little bit. Whoa. This was, um, a bed they were sharing here, and yeah, they'd done that before, not that long ago, in fact, but they'd both been so exhausted then and reeling from everything that'd happened, there hadn't been a snowball's chance of anything actually happening. But now - now -

Too much. Brain on overload. Mental red zone. Giles must have seen it in his eyes, too, because he was sitting up already, clearing his throat and reaching for his book. Xander squeezed his eyes shut in equal parts relief and disappointment. Okay, make that one part relief to two parts disappointment, but this wasn't the time. Even Xander knew that, and he'd made a career out of having the worst timing in the world. Especially when it came to relationships. He sighed, rolled onto his back, and picked up the book again.

He fell asleep somewhere in the middle of the second chapter and woke to an empty room. He blinked at the ceiling for awhile, trying to get his sleep-fogged brain in working order. Giles must've covered him up after he'd passed out, because there was a blanket tucked over him, and the book was on the nightstand. If he'd dreamed, he didn't remember it. Xander breathed a sigh of relief and finally forced himself to sit up. It was almost three. He was starving.

Giles was nowhere to be seen, but Xander found a note on the kitchen table that said he'd decided to take advantage of the sunlight while it lasted and go for a walk. He'd be back by three-thirty. There was a sandwich in the fridge if Xander was hungry.

Xander took the sandwich, made with thick, soft bread and leftover bacon, and a Coke out to the porch, because wonder of wonders, the sun actually was out. Not that it was warm, but at least it wasn't raining. Xander would take what he could get, weather-wise, in England. On the other hand, that meant he wouldn't be able to put off making his decision for another day.

Not that that seemed so bad now. Sitting in the sun, slowly munching his sandwich and drinking his Coke, better rested if not exactly well rested, it was hard to remember why he'd been so thoroughly wigged earlier. Yeah, the dreams had been bad, but living on the hellmouth he'd had worse. Or, if not worse, then at least as bad. He knew not to listen to the part of him that said all he was good for was fixing windows and building pommel horses. He knew that. So . . . all right. Time to tell it to shut up and do this thing. It was scary, sure, but lots of things were scary. That didn't mean they weren't worth doing.

He'd finished his sandwich and was drinking the last of his Coke when Giles came striding up the path. He looked wind-blown and pink-cheeked, way more outdoorsy than Xander was used to from tweedy book guy. Not that Giles was really tweedy anymore - or ever had been, Xander was starting to think. "Hey," Xander said. "How was it?"

"Bracing," Giles said with a smile. "You look better."

"Yeah. Sleep really did help."

"Good, good. Ah," Giles paused, "that is, er -"

"Let's do this thing," Xander said, pushing himself up from the porch.

Giles's face brightened instantly. He broke into a wide smile. "All right, then. Let's."

The preparations took a lot less time than Xander'd expected. Giles fetched the paper sack full of supplies from their local magic shop. Xander followed him down to the shore of lake, out of sight of the house. The beach was rocky and the water looked cold. It was already starting to get dark, and the hills around them were looming, hulking figures, sorta ominous. Xander's hands shook as he helped Giles stack the wood inside a protective circle of red sand. "Stand back," Giles said. He lit the bonfire with a match, just like the fireplace in the house, but then he said a word over it in Latin and it caught instantly, roaring up into something huge and half-alive. Xander felt a blast of heat on his face and chest and took an extra step back. The fire died down after a minute.

Giles came around and caught him by the arm. "Are you sure?" he said quietly.

Xander took a deep breath. "Yes. I'm sure. Let's do it."

Giles nodded. "The first part is for you. I throw the herbs on the fire and then -"

"I bleed on them. Right. And then the Latin."

Giles nodded and offered him a small knife. It had runes up and down it and a white handle that was smooth and polished in Xander's fingers. He thought it might have been bone, or maybe just ivory. He looked up and met Giles's eyes, serious but sparking in the firelight. If this went well, Xander decided, he'd say something to him tonight, no more excuses. Maybe he'd even say it well.

Giles was still holding the knife out. Xander swallowed and accepted it. Giles stepped away and retrieved the sack of herbs from the bag. Xander felt something in the air, swirling around them, and then Giles was throwing handfuls of herbs on the fire, which leapt again to full strength. Xander wondered how he was supposed to get close enough to bleed on it.

The smoke blew over him. It smelled of something more than wood now. Something bitter and old and dark. Magic. Xander got a good lungful. He didn't cough or choke on it, but it made his head go funny. Swimming. "Now, Xander!" he heard Giles say, distantly, but he'd known that already.

He barely felt the knife cut his palm. Straight across, a clean cut. He held his hand out, ignoring the heat, squeezing his palm to get blood from the wound. The drops splattered into the flame, and Xander stumbled back. He'd been worried about remembering the Latin phrases, but they came easily now. "I implore the spirit of the watcher line," he said, not even pausing over the declensions, as though the words rose up from some place in the back of his brain, drawn by the fire and the bitter smell of the smoke, "to grant me the power to undertake that most sacred of duties, to guard the slayer and her soul, to serve as others have served before me." The fire was roaring now, higher and higher, the light seering Xander's vision. "Grant me entrance, oh guardian, allow me -"

The fire roared and this time it wasn't a metaphor. The sound was like an animal, a furious, enraged predator, and Xander was its prey. He fell back, stumbling to his knees. "NO!" it screamed, rising up with the flames. He could only just make out shapes in it, shifting, changing, threatening shapes. "NOT YOU. SACRILEGE, SACRILEGE, SACRILEGE!" He felt something bearing down on him and crouched, instinctively covering his head and neck with his arms, but it passed over him, shot out across the lake, and was gone.

***

The sudden silence was overwhelming. Xander cowered and didn't even care, gasping in clean, smoke-free air. He heard footsteps, running, then someone landed on their knees beside him. He flinched away. "Xander, Xander, my God, are you all right?"

Giles. Giles. Xander lifted his head slowly. The fire was out and full night had come on. No moon or stars. It'd clouded over. "I -" Xander managed, and then fell forward to his hands and on the rocky shore, retching violently. "Shit," he managed and retched again. His body felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out. He could feel Giles's hand on his back, in his hair, but it was as distant as the sting of the cut across his palm.

He finally managed to stop heaving. He swayed from exhaustion, and Giles grabbed him to keep him from collapsing. "Can you stand?" Giles asked. Xander groaned, but Giles pulled him to his feet. Xander clung to him, letting Giles guide him around the edge of the lake - Xander shuddered, pulling away from it - and back to the house. He was a little more sure on his feet by the time they climbed the stairs to the porch but still relieved to collapse across the sofa. Giles left. Still reeling, Xander lay back and zoned until Giles returned with a mug of tea and a first aid kit. He held it to Xander's lips and Xander sipped. Way more sugar than usual. Xander got his hands up, somehow, wrapped both of them around the mug, and hung on. Giles sat beside him on the couch, hovering, his arm around Xander's shoulders. Xander leaned into him. He was still shaking all over, almost too much to drink the tea.

"What happened?" Giles breathed at last. His fingers were moving slowly through Xander's hair.

Xander didn't answer. His teeth were chattering. After a minute Giles took the mug out from him and went away again. Xander wrapped his arms around himself and shook. Giles came back with a blanket from the bedroom, wrapped it around them both, and held him. Xander buried his face in the crook of Giles's neck and decided he didn't give a crap if it was pathetic or not.

"Xander?" Giles asked tentatively after awhile.

"Yeah," Xander managed, turned his face to the side so it wouldn't be muffled.

"Are you all right?"

No. "Think so."

"Can I look at your hand? Is it still bleeding?"

Xander had almost forgotten about his hand. He pulled it out from beneath the blanket. Giles reached over and switched on the lamp. It wasn't bleeding, but it looked kinda nasty.

Giles tsk'd and began cleaning it with an alcohol wipe. "Do you remember what happened?"

Xander swallowed, flinching at the sting of the wipe on his palm. "Did you see it? In the flame? The - the thing?"

Giles let out a breath. "I didn't this time. But I have before. When I did the ritual."

"Oh. Well, I saw it. It was - I can't describe it. Scary as hell, but that doesn't really cover it."

"And did it - did it speak to you?"

"Yeah." Xander shut his eyes. "It said, 'No. Not you.' And then the word 'sacrilege' three times."

Giles went still for a moment, and then to Xander's relief tightened his hold on his hand. "Oh. That's . . . oh dear."

"It rejected me," Xander said numbly, as though Giles was somehow going to not get that. "All the worrying I did and it didn't want me." He gave a weak half laugh. "Guess it doesn't matter if I think I'm good enough or not, because it definitely doesn't. Least you'll have someone around to fix all the broken windows."

Giles was silent. "Sacrilege," he said at last. "That's . . . very odd. The magic has rejected people before, but it's never so, so dramatic. It simply doesn't take. And there were always, well, reasons - the candidate was, er, flawed in some fundamental way -"

"Not helping here, Giles," Xander muttered.

Giles's hand squeezed his shoulder. "Sorry. What I meant was that I can't possibly think why it would reject you. I was afraid that it would reject me, you see, when I did the ritual because of what I - what I'd done. Eyghon, I mean. But it . . . it didn't. I don't understand why it would - why it would reject you. Or so strongly."

Xander shrugged. "I guess it probably doesn't matter. For whatever reason, it did."

"Hmm," was all Giles said to this. He put a clean, white bandage over the cut, slid his arm back across Xander's shoulders, and pulled him close again.

Normally Xander would have asked him what flavor of "hmm" that was, but he just didn't have the energy. He felt wrung out in more ways than one, and exhausted, and, well, rejected, which he should be getting better at, considering all the practice he'd had. He remembered what he'd decided earlier, in that moment of ill-fated optimism, that if things went well he'd finally make his move with Giles. Not a chance in hell now. He didn't think there was a huge likelihood that Giles would reject him right out of hand, but there was always a vague possibility and Xander just couldn't face it right now.

Also, and this was possibly the first time since about age twelve that Xander could honestly say this, but he had exactly no interest in sex at the moment. None. Zilch. He felt like curling up in a little ball and pulling the covers over his head. Though if Giles wanted to keep holding him like this, that was okay. He was totally cool with that.

Eventually, though, he felt like he had to pull away. So he did, reluctantly, and sat up, rubbing his face with his uninjured hand. "Anyway. I guess we're up here through tomorrow anyway, right? 'Cause you didn't get to do your part of the ritual with the soul stuff?"

"Er, yes, I need to stay here. But if you'd rather go back to London, I can drive you to the train station in Windermere tomorrow. I'd understand completely."

"Nah, it's fine. I mean, it's nice up here, when I'm not worried about being eaten alive by watcher spirits." Plus, he really wasn't looking forward to getting back and explaining to everyone that he wasn't actually good enough to do the job he'd been doing all along. This put a whole new spin on the guilt trip he'd been nursing over Janine's death.

They sat together on the couch in silence for a little while longer, until Giles glanced at his watch and suggested they go out for dinner. There was a little hamlet not far away, with a pub that he and Robson had gone to a bunch of times. Xander almost said no, then decided it sounded like just the thing. It forced him up off the couch and into his bedroom, where he rifled through his bag and tried not to feel creeped out by the shadows. He didn't want to go back to London, but after everything he couldn't say he was in love with this place. Definitely not like Giles was. He seemed to have a lot of good memories here, most of them with Robson.

Xander wondered, not for the first time, if Robson was an ex or just a good friend. Xander had never met him - he'd been off collecting slayers ever since the spell - but Giles talked to him a lot on the phone and always seemed happy when he called to check in. But then, Giles was happy whenever any of them called while they were away, so maybe that didn't mean anything. Or maybe it did. He felt a little tendril of jealousy uncurl itself in his stomach. It didn't feel good, but at least it was something other than what he'd been feeling ever since that fire had up and roared at him and told him in no uncertain terms that whatever he was good for, it wasn't being a watcher.

The pub was a good idea. It was a cheerful place with lots of lamps, even though the wood paneling and long, dark wood tables might have made it dark and a bit gloomy if left on their own. The food was good, too, everything served with a heaping pile of fries. The clientele was as local as the beer, but they were friendly enough, even though Giles and Xander were obviously from out of town. Xander's accent seemed to amuse them, but not in a weird way.

Giles eventually got talked into a game of darts. Xander begged off - darts wasn't a great game for a guy with no depth perception - but he watched Giles win with a certain pride and not a little regret. This was nice, and definitely way better than curling up in the fetal position and wondering why he wasn't good enough. But for just a few minutes he'd dared let himself make plans for how he and Giles might spend the evening, holed up in their little mountain cabin, just the two of them. He sighed and drank his beer. Not tonight.

Xander drove on the way back, because Giles had ended up beating half the men in the bar at darts and been stood several pints by his defeated opponents. He was a cheerful drunk, but Xander's own mood only got worse as they approached the cabin. Giles finally seemed to notice. Xander was sorry to kill his buzz, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

He parked the car in its spot around the back and the two of them sat. Xander leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.

"Good lord, Xander, please, don't be." Giles sighed. "I wish . . . er. Poor choice of words. But this isn't what I wanted this trip to be like. I was hoping - oh, Xander, I was hoping to show you some of the really wonderful things about being a watcher. There are rewards, and I -" He stopped. "I really wanted to share them with you."

"Yeah, well, me too, big guy." Xander sat back. "Doesn't matter. Hey, at least I always have construction to fall back on."

"Xander." He could feel Giles giving him a look in the dark.

"Sorry." He shrugged. "It's okay, really. I just need to get over it." He climbed out of the car and headed inside. After a few seconds he heard Giles follow him.

Inside, he made straight for his room, not wanting to talk about it anymore, but Giles stopped him. "Um, if you, if, if - dammit." Giles stopped and took a deep breath, and when he spoke again the stammering was a lot better. "Please don't just suffer on your own like you did last night. If you need anything, I'm right next door."

Xander nodded. "Thanks. G'night."

"Good night."

It was hard to get to sleep. Xander lay awake, looking at the ceiling, wishing he'd thought to grab the spy novel again. But it was in Giles's room and despite what Giles had said, he felt weird about bugging him just for that.

Eventually he must have fallen asleep, because he dreamed again. Not of Janine this time, not at first. He was in Sunnydale this time, standing at the foot of Glory's tower, watching Buffy fall - fall - fall to lie broken at their feet. It had been a warm night, no wind. He'd forgotten the smell that had come through the portal, sulpherous and evil and ominous. Xander had just enough time to see Giles turn to him, his face twisted in anguish, and then, suddenly, he was back in the cemetery, watching a vamp plunge a stake into Janine's chest, just as though it was happening right in front of him and he was powerless to stop it. Just as Giles had been powerless to stop Buffy from taking that dive. Powerless.

And he couldn't wake up. Just like last night, he knew he was dreaming, he knew he was asleep, but he couldn't wake up.

The dream didn't end there, with the two slayers he'd seen die. He saw Vi, lying torn and bloody at the feet of a Polgara demon, and Faith run through by her own sword, straight through the stomach, skewered, by some demon he didn't even know. She choked, coughing on her own blood, and then collapsed, while the demon laughed and laughed. He saw Rona's neck snapped by a vamp in game face, Chao Ahn shot through the chest with a crossbow bolt, and then Leslie -

Leslie, turned, her young, innocent face transformed into a demon's cruel mask, back handing him into a headstone. Xander felt himself fumble for his stake, scramble to his feet, and then let her close in, let her get close enough for him to feel the tips of her fangs pressing into his jugular, and then he shoved the stake through her. The dust coated the back of his throat.

Then there were others, ones he knew and dozens he didn't, some of them terribly young. Dying, dying, dying, in ways Xander hadn't even known were possible, a kaleidescope of horror that he couldn't stop, struggle as he might to wake up, to make it end. And finally, Buffy again, down under a tangle of five, no, six vampires, and Xander unable to move.

He woke at last, his face wet with tears and sweat. He threw back the covers without a second thought and bolted out of the room, slamming the door back in his haste. He was about to pound on Giles's door when it was flung open. Giles's face was a mirror of what Xander knew his own must look like - streaked with tears and pale as a ghost.

"Giles, did you - oh God, Vi and Faith - and, and -"

"Buffy," Giles said, his voice shaking, "Buffy, and -"

"Leslie, I had to stake Leslie, Giles, what, what -" He couldn't get the words out. He stumbled into Giles's room, drawn blindly towards the light thrown by the bedside lamp. Giles followed to collapse beside him on the bed, and they leaned together, breathing hard. "What," Xander managed at last, even though his throat was so dry it hurt, "what was that?"

"I don't know," Giles said, shaking his head. "I don't know, Xander, I . . . I just don't know."

"It wasn't a coincidence though, was it? I mean, we dreamed the same thing, that isn't, that isn't possible. Is it?"

"I don't know," Giles said again. "I can't -" He put his face in his hands. "I can't think about it. All those girls, Xander. And -" He took a deep breath. "It was my fault. Every single one of them was my fault."

"Our fault," Xander corrected numbly. The feeling of powerlessness came over him again. Watchers did their best, but in the end, they were always powerless when it mattered. Powerless or not there or just plain useless.

He didn't know how long they sat there, but at last he stumbled to his feet. Giles was even more out of it than he was this time, so it was up to Xander to get bottles of water for both of them from the fridge. Giles would've probably preferred tea, since that was his default response to any situation, good or bad, but Xander didn't trust himself near the stove just now. He brought Giles's back to him, uncapped it, and put it in his hand before downing half his own in one long swallow. "Jesus," he said after a moment.

"Yes," Giles said, and finally sipped at his bottle.

They didn't talk about it at all, but Xander knew he wasn't going back to his room. Giles got back into bed and Xander pulled back the covers on the other side and they lay side by side, touching at shoulder and hip. The bedside lamp was still blazing, thank God. Xander wasn't sure he'd ever be able to be alone in the dark ever again.

Neither of them said anything. Xander could see a little bit of sky out the window on Giles's side of the bed. Thick, thick cloud cover, but as he watched a little bit of it cleared and he could see some stars. Lots of them, actually, the sort of stars he hadn't known existed when he'd lived in Sunnydale, where the one concession to the hideous crime rate had been lots and lots of streetlights. He turned onto his side towards Giles to see it better, pretending he didn't notice that that brought them just a little bit closer together. He watched the little patch of sky and listened to Giles's breathing, warm and steady but not deep enough for sleep, until he finally fell into an uneasy doze.

He woke the next morning still exhausted. Luckily Giles was up before him and had made a pot of extremely strong coffee. No giant fried English breakfast this time, just coffee and toast sitting together at the kitchen table. Giles was silent, but it wasn't the hollow-eyed, numb silence of the night before. It was an abstracted sort of silence that meant he was mulling something over. Xander left him to it, at least until they'd both finished their toast and were working on the second pot of coffee. Then he said, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking . . ." Giles paused. "I'm thinking that what happened yesterday evening wasn't about you at all."

Xander frowned. "It wasn't?"

"It was about us. What we did. Making more slayers."

"Oh." Xander considered this. Sacrilege, the watcher spirit thing had said. Xander'd assumed it was talking about him, even though he hadn't really been able to figure out what about him was sacriligious. This . . . made more sense. Sorta. "And the magic's, um, angry?"

"Bloody furious, more like. And it's punishing us, rather like the First Slayer did after the enjoining spell."

Xander swallowed. "So those dreams, they weren't - they're not stuff that'll happen?"

"I don't think so," Giles said carefully. "Impossible to say, of course, but they didn't feel prescient, and I've had one or two that were, before. Another, rather sporadic effect of the magic," he explained when Xander raised his eyebrows. "Not consistent enough to be terribly useful. But these dreams didn't feel like that."

"Oh. Good," Xander said, feeling as though a boulder had been lifted off his chest. Now all he had to do was stop thinking about staking Leslie. Right.

Giles sat back, removed his glasses, and set to polishing them with a handkerchief he'd apparently plucked out of thin air. "Damn. I hadn't thought about this possibility. I should have."

"I don't see how you could've," Xander said with a shrug. "I mean, how could you know it was gonna freak out about this?"

"Mmm," Giles said, obviously skeptical.

Xander decided not to touch that one. "So what do we do? 'Cause whether it's happy about it or not, we got all these slayers now and they need watchers, pronto."

"Yes," Giles said slowly. "I had an idea about that."

"Oh?" Giles didn't answer. Xander frowned. "What is it? Spill, Giles."

"You won't like it. I don't much like it."

Uh oh. Xander started to feel sorta sick. "What, Giles?"

Giles sighed. "We do the ritual again. Or I do it again. Only this time I attempt to, to reason with the magic, I suppose. Appease it. Supplication."

Wow, had Giles ever been right. Xander really didn't like that idea. "Giles, I don't think we can reason with it. I think it'll just kill you outright."

"Yes, well." Giles looked down at his hands. "There is that possibility."

Xander shook his head. "There has to be another way. Isn't there a watcher equivalent of the scythe? Like - like a giant crossreferencing thingamabob that contains the essence of watcherdom and we can get Willow to do something that way? Isn't there a way around the scary watcher spirit that wants to see us dead? Because I'm not up for another heart to heart with that thing, Giles, I'm just not."

"I wasn't expecting you to be. As I said, I'll do it."

"And when it kills you? What do I do then? What am I supposed to tell Buffy? No. Just . . . no."

"Xander -"

"No, Giles." Xander's hands were shaking. He had to put his coffee cup down.

"Do you see another way?" Giles asked. "Because if so, I'm certainly open to suggestions." Xander was forced to shake his head. "If it helps," Giles offered after a moment, "I don't think it will kill me. I'm a watcher, it's accepted me already - I have no doubt that it could, but I highly doubt that it will."

"Unless you try to actually do your job and do the soul protection thing, you mean," Xander said. "I think that might really piss it off."

"Yes," Giles said with a sigh. "And that is rather the point of this entire exercise. Damn it!" He slammed his fist down onto the table with such force that Xander jumped. "You save the fucking world and what do you get for it?"

"Nothin' but sass," Xander said, trying to lighten the mood. Giles just pulled a face, like he'd bitten into something really sour. "What about the books you brought with you? Anything in there?"

"Perhaps," Giles said, in a way that made Xander think the real answer was no. "I've read most of them at least once, but that was years ago and of course I wasn't looking for something to help with this sort of problem. It's worth a try, I suppose."

"Well, I definitely like its odds better than trying to reason with the scary watcher spirit. 'Cause that thing made Quentin Travers look like a fluffy bunny from where I was standing - or I guess I should make that cowering." Xander drained the last of his coffee. "All right. I'm gonna hit the shower and try and wake up a bit, and then we are gonna hit the books and try and keep you from getting yourself killed."

Unfortunately, it seemed Giles had been right to doubt that their answer could be found in his books, which Xander frankly found a bit disillusioning. It seemed like the watcher-spirit-magic thing had been around for longer than there were books, and the one Giles gave him on the origin of the magic sounded kinda whacked. Xander had been wondering all along if it was a who or a what that they were dealing with, and the book seemed to think it was both. The first watcher - who'd come along a lot later than the first slayer, the book said - had been a shaman-type, whose spirit had stayed on after he'd died, guarding the line of succession. Except that was a long time ago and he'd changed a lot because of the magic that'd already been here, in the ground, in the lake. The book got sorta hoity-toity mystical after awhile and Xander gave up. Nothing there to tell them how to convince the guy he should get with the times.

The next book in the pile was a chronology of the watcher line, which was about as interesting as he'd expected, which was to say not at all. Xander put some of his skimming skills to work, blowing through a couple centuries worth of crap until something finally forced him to slow down. "Whoa. Giles."

"Hmm?" Giles said, glancing up.

Xander skimmed the passage again, then read it out loud. "'In the fifteenth century the protection of the spirit guardian was withdrawn for a time. Over the course of the fifty-four years in which it refused to communicate with any living member of the council, fifty-two slayers were called and more than a hundred watchers killed. In 1498 the spirit guardian renewed its relationship with the line of succession, which has remained unbroken ever since.'"

Giles sighed. "So going forth without its blessing doesn't seem to be an option."

"Guess not. What do you think could've happened?"

Giles shook his head. "Unless . . ." He removed his glasses and gazed out the window, frowning. "It seems to me there might have been an anomaly in the slayer line about then." He reached for a book and flipped through it. "Ah, yes. It's very like what happened with Buffy and the Master - a slayer died, briefly, of drowning, and another was called. When the second slayer's watcher attempted to work the soul magic the spirit became angry. The watcher was persistent, for, I suppose, obvious reasons, and the spirit . . . did not take kindly to it."

"A half-century of silent treatment," Xander said, staring down at his book. "With the highest body count of any silent treatment ever. Can we say 'overreaction'?"

"Quite." Giles tossed his glasses aside and rubbed his eyes. "I suspect this explains why Faith was never given a true watcher of her own."

"So what do we do?" Xander asked, shutting the book with a dusty thump.

Giles did the same to his own book. "I think my original plan still stands. Unless you have other ideas?"

Xander shook his head. "I don't. And I dunno, I've been thinking. When the first slayer tried to kill us, Buffy had to confront it, didn't she? She had to tell it to get lost."

"Unfortunately we can't do that here. We need it," Giles pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm just saying - maybe it's the right idea after all." He paused. "Still don't like it, though."

"Can't say I like it any better." Giles checked his watch and stood, briskly. "I need to prepare. I suggest you stay in the house to avoid clashing with the spirit - if it does end up, er, punishing me, I don't want you caught in the backlash."

Xander thought that sounded sensible. Which was why, of course, he took a deep breath and said, "No."

Giles paused in the act of replacing his glasses. "Xander, there is no other option -"

"I know. But I can't just stay in the house while you go out to confront it and maybe get killed. And if you do get it to change its mind, then I never finished bleeding on the herbs and stuff."

Giles stared at him. Xander just stared back. He wasn't going to be talked out of this. It really sort of pissed him off that some ancient spirit thing had decided that just because things were different now - because they'd saved the world, dammit - it had the right to fuck around with them like this. Xander didn't like being yanked around by ancient mystical whatsits. He'd had way too much of that before he'd decided to become a watcher, what with living on a hellmouth and all, and if this thing was going to decide he wasn't qualified, then it was going to have to come up with a better reason, one that had to do with him and not what they'd done.

Which didn't mean his hands weren't shaking. Because they totally were.

Fortunately Giles had brought extra of everything they needed for the ritual. They assembled the stuff by the door, the bags of herbs and the knife for the blood ritual and the wood for the fire, and then Giles silently made them sandwiches. Xander had exactly no appetite, and he suspected that if the spirit didn't kill them outright then he'd probably still end up on his hands and knees, throwing up on the beach, but he ate it anyway. Going to face this thing on an empty stomach didn't sound like such a hot idea.

Besides, as last meals went, toast and coffee was pretty lame.

By the time they were done eating, daylight had started to fade. Last night he'd been nervous but also sort of excited as he'd followed Giles around the curve of the lake, his arms filled with firewood. Tonight, he was a lot scared, but also kinda pissed off. He was working on increasing the proportions of the latter to the former, since he didn't think a scared potential watcher was that impressive, but a pissed off one might be. Giles was impressive, anyway, when he was pissed off, as Xander had had cause to notice over the years.

They piled the firewood in the usual tripod form. Xander held the bag of herbs this time and Giles the knife. They'd agreed that he'd be the one to bleed on the fire and call forth the spirit, since he was already a watcher. If things went well, Xander would have his chance later on. He wasn't holding his breath.

"Ready?" Giles said.

"Almost." Xander took a deep breath. "Giles, I want you to know -"

"Don't."

Xander blinked. "But you don't know -"

"I do." Giles smiled at him in the twilight, a small, warm, secret smile that in some ways calmed the butterflies in Xander's stomach and in other ways made them so much worse. "I do, Xander. And I feel the same, but I'd prefer if neither of us said anything until after this is over."

"And if there isn't an after?" Xander asked, just a little challenging.

Giles looked away, out over the lake. "I know I'm generally the voice of cynical pessimism, but in this case, I'd like to assume there will be." He looked back and there was the smile again, only this time there was a bit of an edge to it, a gleam in his eye that made Xander feel a bit weak in the knees. "If for no other reason than that we haven't nearly enough time to do everything that I'd like to do with you."

Xander felt his face heat. "Uh. Right. Okay, then."

Giles lit the fire, waited a few beats for the flame to take, and then repeated the same phrase in Latin as he had the night before, causing it to roar up. Xander controlled his flinch, barely, waited for it to die down, and then began throwing fistfuls of herbs on it. The smoke turned dark and bitter, blowing over Giles, and the fire flamed up again, taller than Xander and too bright to look at. After the shortest of hesitations, Xander went to stand behind Giles, one hand on Giles's shoulder as he sliced the knife across his palm and stepped forward to bleed on the fire. "On behalf of all watchers, past, present, and future," he said, in Latin so clear Xander didn't even have to strain to understand it, "I call on the guardian spirit. I beseech you -"

Before Giles had even finished, Xander felt it again, just like the night before, the gaze of something ancient and predatory on them. He thought he could see it more clearly now in the flames, though what it was he still didn't know - sometimes it seemed almost human, upright, head and shoulders, two legs and two arms. Sometimes it seemed like a wolf, but huge, way bigger than any wolf Xander had ever thought possible. And sometimes it seemed like a bird, an eagle, with a nasty, sharp beak, or maybe an owl. An owl, definitely, he thought, squinting into the flames. A great horned owl with its wings spread.

It was one of those - man, wolf, or owl. Or maybe all of them. Xander didn't know.

Giles stood straight and tall in front of him, shoulders back, unafraid. The fire was hot on their faces. Xander was starting to sweat. "Speak to us, please," Giles finished at last, much more plainly.

There was a moment of silence, with only the howl of the wind over the lake as an answer. And then the shapes in the flame, the dancing, unsettling shapes, settled into something at last - the head of a wolf, the wings of an owl, and the shape of a man. "You dare summon me again?" it said, with a voice like the crackling of the fire.

"Yes," Giles said, "we do, because our need is great."

"Your need is no concern of mine. I do not aid those who tear asunder the history and tradition of the watcher line."

"It was not I who murdered the others," Giles said, his voice low.

"That is not what I mean, as you know well, Rupert Giles. You had no right, none at all, to grant the potentials their slayer powers. It was hubris, it was folly, it was sacrilege." The figure hissed this last and a piece of wood popped, sending a great shower of orange sparks onto the rocks at their feet.

"I know," Giles said, and to Xander's shock he fell to his knees. Xander hesitated and then did the same. "I know, but it is also done. We had no other choice that we could see, and so we did it, and now we ask you - we beg you - please, help us protect them. That is our duty, and that is your duty."

"No," it said, logs popping loudly now. "It is not my duty to help maintain this sacrilege, this folly, this hubris. It is my duty to end it. I will turn my back on you and yours, Rupert Giles, and one by one they shall fall, beginning with she who belongs to you." Xander saw Giles's shoulders stiffen at the threat to Buffy, his hands clenching down at his sides. "They shall lie bleeding at your feet and you shall taste the bitterness of grief, until the last one is left standing and all is as it was - as it should be. That is my duty, Rupert Giles."

Giles surged to his feet suddenly, and Xander followed, scrambling. "How dare you -" he began.

"NO!" it roared, and Xander fought the urge to duck because once again it was on top of them, more wolf than owl or human, but Giles wasn't cowering. It swept over them both, howling in rage, shoving Giles into Xander so that they both fell. Xander slammed into the rocky ground and Giles slammed into him, and all the breath went out of him, leaving him sick and disoriented. He gasped painfully and shoved Giles off of him.

"Giles," Xander said, and then, when he didn't respond, "Giles!" He was white, Xander saw, in the unnaturally bright firelight, and bleeding from his nose. "No, no, no," he said, shaking him. "Dammit!" He leapt to his feet and advanced on the fire, no longer afraid and way too fucking pissed to bother with Latin. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

The fire shot higher "You dare speak to me in this way? In your vulgar tongue?"

"Yes, I do! Goddammit, I'm sick of you. You scare the shit out of me, you send us both nightmares, and now you've probably given Giles a fucking aneurysm. We have twenty slayers waiting for us and you don't even care."

"I -"

"Shut up. You listen to me. Your job is to guard the watcher line. Well, now that's me."

"Your hand was present in this sacrilege as well. You will die with the others."

"Wrong. Answer." Xander clenched his teeth and stepped closer still. He retrieved the knife from where it had fallen near the fire. The heat was intense and there was sweat stinging his eye and making the skin beneath his eyepatch itch. "We saved the world. Where were you then, huh? Where were you when all those watchers were getting picked off by Bringers? Nowhere. Fucking nowhere. We saved the world. And you don't get to throw a hissy fit now about how."

"It was -"

"Sacrilege, yeah, I get it. You know what - good or bad, it's what we did. Time for you to deal, just like the rest of us." He ripped the bandage off his hand, took the knife, and reopened the wound, straight across his palm. It stung like hell, and he gritted his teeth harder. He held his hand out over the flame and grasped for the Latin that had come so easily last night. "I implore the spirit of the watcher line to grant me the strength to undertake that most sacred of duties, to guard -" He hesitated minutely. The slayer and her soul was the way it went, but that wasn't true anymore. He swallowed. "To guard the slayers and their souls, to serve as others have served before me." He paused again, licking his lips. This was where things had gone to hell last night. "Grant me entrance, oh guardian, allow me the honor of acting as your humble servant and your hand in this world."

The spirit glowered. "Who are you, Alexander Harris, to believe you can demand this of me when I do not wish to give it?"

Xander suddenly felt exhausted. Still angry, but mostly just bone-weary. He shrugged and stepped back, letting his bloodied hand fall to his side. "I've always been just a guy," he said, careful not to look away from the spirit's eyes, "who wanted to help a girl save the world. Kinda like you were, once upon a time, I guess. Before you changed. But there are more of them now. Way I see it, that makes both our duties greater, not less."

Silence. The fire flared briefly, along with something strange in those owl eyes. For a few seconds, they looked almost human. Xander stood as straight as he could, fully expecting that any moment the fire would die out and he would be left, bereft and cold on the lake shore, Giles's unconscious body - please God, let him only be unconscious - at his feet. He forced himself to breathe steadily, scarcely daring to blink, until the spirit said, in a voice that might have been the wind, or the fire, or the lapping of the lake, "Granted."

Xander didn't have the time to feel triumphant. He didn't have the time to feel anything before he felt the magic rushing - no, pouring - into him, filling him up in places he hadn't known were empty. He gasped, eyes widening, and stumbled to his knees again. It was either pure agony or the most exquisite pleasure he'd ever known, he couldn't say which. For a moment he thought he could see the spirit as he had been in life - a older man, strong and straight and true, bearded and bearing a staff. Then the vision faded and Xander was left on his knees before the fire, which now seemed like nothing more than a very impressive bonfire.

He'd been counting on Giles to be there for this part, so Xander could follow his lead. But it turned out not to matter, because the part of him that was a watcher now knew what to do. He pushed himself up so he was still on his knees. The rocks dug into his skin, but he hardly noticed. In order for him to take guardianship of a piece of their souls, he had to name each of the girls in turn. No fancy Latin words for this, just each slayer's name. "Victoria Porter," he said, thinking of Vi's skill with a sword and patience with her katas. "Rona Johnson." Rona and her pleasure in hand to hand, her grace whenever she sparred. "Leslie Miller." Leslie, sighting down a crossbow - or watering the little windowsill herb garden Janine had left behind.

"Faith Lehane," he heard suddenly from behind him. He turned, eyes widening in pure relief, to see Giles pushing himself up slowly. He brought his hand up, touching the blood beneath his nose, and shuffled forward, wincing. "Chao Ahn Wong."

"Katharina Kosovitch."

"Maria Silva."

"Margaret Lane."

And so they went on, one by one, until they had named the twenty-two slayers they knew. There were many out there they hadn't found yet. Xander could feel them just beyond his reach, like bright stars in a dark sky. He didn't know where they were, but he knew they were there. And every time he named another slayer, he felt a little bit of her fire light up inside himself. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could tell which spark belonged to Rona, which to Leslie, which to Vi, and all the others, too. A little bit of all of them, inside of him. Wow.

The fire had burned down to coals by the time they finished. Xander let himself collapse. His knees were sore where the rocks had cut into them and twilight had faded into very cold night. He leaned against Giles, who rested his head on Xander's shoulder.

"You okay?" Xander asked.

Giles sighed wearily. "No permanent damage, I believe. Though I would give quite a lot right now for some paracetamol."

"I can do that." Xander shoved himself to his feet, then offered Giles a hand-up. He pulled Giles's arm across his shoulders. Giles resisted at first, but then he stumbled. Xander gave him a pointed look and Giles grumbled but leaned on him as they made their slow way around the lake and back to the house. In the reverse of last night, he settled Giles on the couch and then fetched him a huge glass of water, a couple of Tylenol, and the first aid kit.

Giles swallowed the Tylenol and half the water and then lay back, looking up at Xander. "What did you do?"

Xander collapsed beside him, picked up Giles's injured hand and began cleaning it. "I was incredibly rude and vulgar and uncouth. I told it to get over itself and deal. Then I did the ritual. And it let me."

"Good lord." Giles shook his head, then winced. "I must admit, I'd never have thought to use that approach."

"Yeah, well, I thought it'd killed you, so I was pretty mad."

Giles blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah." Xander fell silent. He finished Giles's hand and went to do his own, but Giles stopped him. He placed Xander's in his lap, tore open an antiseptic wipe and went to work. Xander moved a bit closer on the couch, under the pretense of making it easier. But then, with a complete lack of pretense, he brought his uninjured hand up and stroked Giles's hair gently, ending with his fingers curled around the back of his neck, shifting through the short curls at the nape. Giles finished bandaging his hand and closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. "It didn't kill you, though."

"No, somewhat miraculously." Giles smiled. His unbandaged hand came up to cup Xander's cheek.

Xander cleared his throat. "Uh. I know you're probably not feeling a hundred percent, but could I -"

"Please."

They both leaned in. Giles's hand slid around to the back of Xander's neck, and Xander threaded his fingers through Giles's hair, so much shorter and coarser than Xander was used to, and then, just like that, they were kissing. Giles made a small noise and shifted closer, his free hand coming to rest on Xander's hip, stroking through the denim of Xander's jeans. Xander leaned back, pulling Giles with him, until they were sprawled on the couch together, Giles half on top of him and kissing him with a level of skill that no one Xander had ever kissed before ever had. He knew how to kiss Xander until his head was swimming, like now, until he was pressing his hips up against Giles's and mentally damning Levi Strauss for having invented blue jeans, and then Giles knew how to back off.

The backing off part was what Xander had never quite mastered. Never really seen the point, actually, but he thought he was starting to. Giles bit his lower lip, just lightly, and tortured him with light, almost chaste kisses, until Xander was even harder, but also starting to think that the couch was a stupid place to do this. He was keeping them both on it using one leg, and that leg was gonna cramp up eventually.

Then Giles dove back in, his tongue hot and wet against Xander's, and his head went all swimmy again, and he didn't care. The couch was great. The couch was fine. The couch was, as a matter of fact, right here, while the bedrooms with their nice big beds were the way over there, which meant the couch won pretty much automatically. He worked his hand up under Giles's shirt, going after a nipple and hoping that he'd convince him to never stop kissing him like this, ever. They'd done what they needed to do, convinced the pissed off watcher spirit not to leave them to die horrible and untimely deaths, and now they had all night to do whatever the hell they wanted.

Which probably would be a lot less than either of them would like, because they were both tired and Giles had gotten the whammy put on him. Make out on the couch a bit, maybe go to sleep together. That was fine with Xander. Anything was fine with him, in fact.

Eventually his leg finally did cramp up, and since it was during one of Giles's tortuous backing-off phases, Xander noticed. He'd probably have noticed no matter what, in fact, since at the time Giles was kissing his jaw, working his way back to his ear, and Xander already knew from experience that that turned him into a quivering puddle of goo. Which was why it killed him to say, "Ow."

Giles lifted his head. "What ow?"

"Leg cramping ow." Xander winced and pushed himself up. He stretched his leg carefully, trying to convince the cramp that it didn't need to bring friends, thank you. "Maybe we should, um . . ." He tried to think of a way to say "move to the bedroom" without giving Giles the wrong idea. Not that it was the wrong idea, exactly, but he sorta wanted a time out. And more than three hours of sleep, that would be nice, too.

It didn't matter, though, because Giles was looking at him with understanding. "It's been a very long couple of days," he said, sitting up as well, though he kept his arm around Xander.

"Say that again," Xander said, leaning his head on Giles's shoulder. "I, uh, I haven't exactly done this before either. With a guy, I mean, and, and -"

Giles's lips brushed his temple. "We'll take it slowly. For now, I think we could both use some rest."

"Yeah," Xander sighed, half in agreement and half in disappointment. He'd been thinking the exact same thing, but it still sucked, especially since they'd have zero time to themselves back at slayer central. Seemed a shame not to take advantage of the cabin in the woods, but the longer he sat here the sleepier he got, and Giles was looking pretty zonked, too.

Somehow they managed to avoid the whole "you can if you want but don't feel you have to" awkward dance around sleeping arrangements, and Xander ended up exactly where he wanted to be, in Giles's bed, his back pressed against Giles's chest, Giles's arm slung around his waist, his breath softly stirring the hair at the nape of Xander's neck. Falling asleep was like stepping off a cliff, and he barely had enough time to register how much he liked this before he was out.

He dreamed again. This time he and Giles were standing on the shore of the lake, which was grey beneath a washed-out blue sky. They were watching the water ripple in concentric rings, as though someone had tossed a pebble in. The waves went on and on, only ending when they lapped at the shore, and then they lapped back, against the ones that were incoming. Xander looked up to see who might have thrown the pebble and saw the same form he'd glimpsed in the fire, part human, part wolf, part owl, standing on the opposite shore. The spirit said nothing, merely stared back impassively and then vanished.

Xander woke. Beside him, he felt Giles wake as well. "What the hell?" Xander said, groggily. Not that he wouldn't take cryptic over death and destruction any day, but seriously.

Giles was quiet for a moment. "He was telling us that we don't know yet what we did. The pebble in the lake, it's -"

"Consequences." Xander blinked. The light in the living room was still on. "Oh."

"Yes." Giles was quiet again. "He's right. We don't know."

Xander found Giles's hand under the covers. "No. But I think I'm finally ready to find out. How about you?"

Giles didn't answer for a moment. Then he brought their joined hands up to kiss the back of Xander's. "Yes. I'm ready."

Fin.