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Wesley stood stunned, staring at the Mirror as though it would explain itself. He felt the gaze of five pairs of eyes on him, waiting for an explanation. The unspoken pressure to produce a miraculous solution was intense... how did Mr. Giles bear it? ‘You applied for the job, Wes, old boy,’ he reminded himself. ‘So, stop gaping like a bloody fish and get on with it.’
Buffy’s patience, limited at the best of times, gave out completely. Her voice was shrill with fear as she demanded, "Wesley! Who, or what was that? It looked like Giles... after a visit from 4D Man!"
Xander’s head snapped around. "Oooo, I saw that on "Bad SciFi Theater" the other night! This scientist guy zapped himself somehow and could walk through walls, but every time he touched someone, he sucked twenty years off them..."
"SHUT UP, XANDER!" Buffy stomped her foot.
Cordelia added, "Would someone tell me what’s going on? What has a stupid movie got to do with Giles and Buffy’s mom? And who was the old guy with the guns?"
Wesley was totally lost to the conversation. He never watched movies at home, much less here. He cleared his throat, preparing to give his theories as to the nature of the older Giles. Instantly, the room quieted, and all eyes fixed on him again. It was disconcerting. He paused, shrinking slightly from the intensity of their looks, then squared his shoulders and began.
"It would seem to be, ah, obvious that Mr. Giles survived in the alternate reality. He apparently found a way to activate the mirror without... that is , in the absence of, uh, Mrs. Summers. He must have arrived earlier, while we were not watching the mirror. He seemed quite determined to go back and save her. I, well, that is, I’m not sure if it is - is possible for a person to, ah, exist twice in the same r-reality... sorry, Buffy, I realize that is not what you want to hear right now."
Cordelia regarded Wesley with real concern. "Wesley, you’re starting to sound like Giles. This isn’t good."
Willow saw the hurt in Buffy’s eyes, and said earnestly, "Don’t give up, Buffy. If there’s a way to save your mom and get them both back here, Giles’ ll find it."
Angel nodded, grabbing at the small hope she offered. "Willow’s right, Buffy. Giles will figure it out. He’s the best."
"Yeah, G-man’ll come through, Buff. You can count on it. And now there’s two of him... twice as much smarts!" Xander tried to sound reassuring.
Cordelia snorted. "My mother always said, ‘if you can’t say something positive, don’t say anything at all.’ So I’m not saying anything." She took in the shocked expressions around her, and looked insulted. "What? I can’t be Tact Girl? What is it with you people... you’re always yelling for me to be ‘sensitive!’ I mean, here Buffy’s mom is probably gonna die a horrible death, stuck out in God-only-knows when and where, and I’m trying to be supportive! Sheesh!"
Wesley winced as Buffy’s face crumpled, and he felt a pang of sympathy. Before the others could react, he raised his hand for silence. Surprisingly, it worked. "Not now, people. I think we need to concentrate on the matter at hand... Angel, have you found anything new in the diary since last you looked?"
Angel’s shoulders slumped as he checked the pages. "No, sorry, nothing... no, wait, something... there is something..."He watched, mesmerized, as the words on the page began to swim and change before his eyes. "Just a minute. It’s happening again."
****** The cottage seemed dark and deserted as they approached, but as they got closer, Giles spotted the soft glow of a lantern in one of the windows. Motioning for Joyce to stay behind him, he began a stealthy approach to the structure, using trees and undergrowth to hide his movements.
Joyce was impressed... Rupert had many hidden talents, but she never suspected that guerrilla warfare was one of them. He moved silently, but quickly, ahead of her, his movements sure and purposeful. She followed his steps as closely as possible, keeping her eyes on his back. Soon they were moving carefully along the sod wall toward the single pinpoint of light. He eased up to the window until he could see the room inside. He was totally still for several minutes, and Joyce’s overworked muscles were beginning to protest her cramped position when he crouched and gestured for her to go back the way they came.
As soon as they rounded the barn and slipped into the trees, he stopped, squatting low and pulling her against him. His voice was low and warm in her ear as he outlined what he saw. "They’re in the side bedroom. The child is asleep, probably drugged. Philan is armed, and the girl seems to be trying to convince him of something. I couldn’t hear their conversation, which means the walls are thick and relatively soundproof. That actually gives us an advantage... we can approach without being heard. He seems to be confident of the secrecy of their hideout, or he wouldn’t be sitting in an easy chair arguing with his cohort."
"What do we do now? I hope you have a plan."
"Actually, I do, but you must do exactly what I say, Joyce. No heroics, understand? I must be able to count on you to be where I need you to be. All right?"
She responded by kissing him passionately, letting her actions speak for her. She ran her fingers through his hair, holding his head firmly as he responded with equal enthusiasm. When she finally released him, he was breathing heavily. He cleared his throat several times before speaking. She grinned, reveling for a brief moment in the power she held over his emotions. ‘He’s probably blushing again,’ she thought, even though she couldn’t see his color in the dim light.
"I, uhm, I hope that... that was a yes."
"It was, plus a little incentive for you to be careful, too." She brushed her fingertips lovingly against his cheek.
"Oh, good, ah, I will. Be careful, I mean to say. Uhm, well, here’s what we’ re going to do..."
On the other side of the building, unseen by the pair of rescuers, a silent figure in gray was waiting patiently for them to put their plan into motion.
****** Morag’s fingers trembled as she placed the fountain pen back in its stand. She closed her beloved diary carefully and bowed her head as a single tear splashed onto the leather cover. She was about to begin praying again for the safety of her daughter and her descendant when she heard a knock at the door. She cleared her throat and straightened. The Vicar must have arrived.
She stood regally, her head high despite her tear-streaked face, and opened the door. She recoiled instantly, shock and horror on her face.
****** Tears filled Deborah’s eyes as she searched for a way to make Philan to change his mind. Being without Wolf’s constant influence had allowed her to doubt the rightness of her actions. She knew when Meg awakened, she would cry for her mother. What could she tell the child? How could she justify tearing her away from everything she knew and everyone she loved? She wiped tears from her face and tried to gain control of herself. Philan wasn’t the type to be swayed by a woman’s tears.
"We canna do this, Philan. I was wrong to agree to it. My heart tells me we’ ll be damned forever if we follow this path to its end... can’t ye feel it? Darkness closin’ in... waiting ta drag us down? Oh, I wish I’d never done this!"
"‘Tis a bit late for second thoughts, ye daft lass. We’ll be takin’ her tomorrow, just like Wolf bade us do. You’re no’ but a silly gel, but he wouldna let the likes o’ me go easy if I betrayed his trust. He’s a man to be reckoned with... an’ I fear him far more than what your imagination can conjure up."
"Ya see, Philan! That’s what I’m sayin’... you’re doin’ this from fear o’ the man, instead of care for the child! My heart won’t take excuses for reasons no more. An’ Lady Fergesson has been better ta me than me own Mum..."
"SHUT UP, Girl! Quit your twitterin’ before you wake the little lass and none of us gets any sleep tonight. Now, sit over there and be still, or I’ll tie ya to the bedstead meself." A massive yawn stopped his tirade short.
Deborah decided to change her tactics. She rose meekly and took a seat across the room from Philan. She murmured meekly, "I’m sorry, Philan, I know I’m being silly. Never you mind, I’ll keep watch over Meg... I’ve good practice at it." She managed a weak smile. "I’m just afraid, is all. When all is done, I’ll breathe easier."
Philan nodded sleepily. "Ach, lass, matters such as this are not meant for a young thing like yourself. Don’t fret, it’ll be done soon, and you can go back ta your folks in Glasgow. A good site richer, too, I might add. It’s all worth it." He slid down in the chair, wiggling around until he found a comfortable spot, and tipped his hat over his eyes. "Don’t let me sleep the day away, y’hear? We have to meet Wolf at first light."
"All right. I won’t." Deborah stayed very still until slumber claimed the man. It was a matter of minutes before his head fell back against the wall behind him. The musket slid from his shoulder into his lap, and he never flinched. She knew his reputation at Mort Grange well... talk was, he could sleep through a typhoon, and snore louder than one, too. She was counting on the talk being true. She made herself wait until he was good and asleep.
The room was soon filled with the sound of heavy snoring. She eased out of her chair and crossed the room silently, her nerves jangling with fear. She knelt by the small cot and scooped the sleeping child into her arms, wincing as the bed creaked suddenly. She froze, watching his face for signs of waking. Seeing none, she stood with Meg and started for the back door, her slender face set in grim determination.
****** Angel stared at the page, fascinated by the phenomenon unfolding before his eyes. As the letters solidified into legible script, he started reading the passage out loud, oblivious to the others as they ganged around him.
"I cannot believe what has happened so far on this wretched night. Mr. Giles returned with my daughter and Deborah as he set out to do, but at such a cost. Joyce now lies in her bed, wounded badly. The doctor has done all he could for her and says that it is now up to God. Father Ramsay said a prayer for her, asking for His help in saving this most Favored One. My heart echoes his prayer still.
"This is a most wretched time for us. Joyce is dreadfully ill, wracked with fever. When she rouses, she cries out for her daughter, or for her Sassanach, the brave man who restored my child to my arms. He refuses to leave her side, believing beyond reason that she will recover. If she does not, I fear for his sanity. And our safety, as well. I know she is fighting to live and rejoin her loved ones... her good Highland blood will allow nothing less. All we can do now is wait."
Angel finished reading and blinked unexpected tears from his eyes. When he raised his head, Buffy was crying softly. Willow ran over to her and held her as they both sobbed. Wesley looked cautiously relieved. Xander and Oz looked at each other for a long moment, then grinned simultaneously as they raised their hands and shared a congratulatory ‘high-five.’
"Uh, guys?" Angel hated to spoil the mood, but he was still worried. "Hold the party. This thing is still changing. We still need research everything we can about the mirror. Buffy’s mom isn’t out of the woods, yet."
Buffy wiped her face and nodded. "Right... and neither is Giles. Either Giles. Giles ‘One’ and ‘Two’, or maybe ‘Before’ and ‘After’... ohh, I’m not making any sense... the lack of sleep must be gettin’ to me. Okaaay, it’s back to the books... at least the boring ones that don’t rewrite themselves every five minutes."
Willow rubbed her best friend’s back in sympathy, then sighed and began helping her search the stacks for a miracle.
****** Giles waited nervously as Joyce brought the cart horses around behind the barn and tied them to their saddled mounts. They weren’t taking any chances that they’d be followed once they were away. They had very little to their advantage beyond surprise, but taking Philan’s transportation away might help a little.
Joyce rejoined him quietly, her job done. "None of the horses have made a sound so far, thank goodness. Now, if they’ll just stay quiet until we get away, we’ll be in great shape."
He snorted quietly. "So long as they don’t get into a kicking fight, or get spooked by a wolf, or see something mysterious in the shadows. Horses are such unpredictable creatures. Thank God for cars."
"All but your car, Rupert. I think the Devil created that one." She clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.
"Joyce!" His voice was stern, but he fought a grin. His car was the definition of ugly, and he knew it. She was giggling audibly now, suddenly struck by the absurdity of the conversation. He knew nervous laughter when he heard it, and he had to do something before she succumbed to hysteria. Before he could have second thoughts, he grabbed her and kissed her firmly, effectively stopping her laughter. She moaned softly and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he kissed her again, more gently, not wanting to stop, but knowing he must. Despite the circumstances, he felt a growing euphoria as he recalled the words of Father Ramsey, "...the Slayer’s Mother loves you." If that were true, the feeling was definitely mutual.
"It’s time for me to move, Joyce. It’ll be daylight in an hour or two." He whispered against her lips, his heart thudding wildly in his chest.
She gave him one last quick kiss. "Be careful, Rupert... and then maybe later I can show you some moves of my own."
The thought sent delicious chills of anticipation down his spine.
He released her and moved quietly toward the house, settling into battle-readiness, his senses alert for danger. She followed closely, and when they reached the back door, she flattened herself against the wall as he crouched to ease the door open. His hand had barely touched the handle when the door was flung open wide. He sprang up, falling into a fighting stance, and found himself face-to-face with the Deborah, the governess.
To her credit, the girl managed not to scream. Her shoulders sagged with relief as she recognized him. Without a word, Joyce took her arm and led her towards the barn. Deborah followed willingly, shifting the weight of the sleeping child as she walked.
Giles stayed behind. He wanted to be sure Philan didn’t follow them with his musket. The only way to do that was to go in and take it away from him. He was forming a strategy in his mind when a sudden sound to his left caused him to whirl and brandish his pistol.
A tall, gray coated figure stood in front of him, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Before Giles could challenge him, the figure spoke, his voice low in the quiet night air. "Steady, now, Rupert Giles. I am here to help you save your lady’s life. Don’t shoot me before I have a chance to do so."
****** Malcolm and two of the stablehands ran down the hall toward the sound of Lady Morag’s screams. The sight that greeted them through the open sitting room door stopped them short. Wolf held Morag’s arm in a painful grip with one hand. The other hand held a sword. None of the servants were armed, and Malcolm roared in helpless rage as Wolf threw the small woman aside, knocking her to the floor in a crumpled heap. Though breathless, she still managed to plead with her attacker. "Wolf! In God’s name, Don’t! You’ll destroy us all! The magick... the mirror will not bear it..." She collapsed into a faint, her strength gone. A chamber maid, awakened by the commotion, arrived at the scene in time to see Morag lose consciousness. With a cry, she pushed the men aside and ran boldly to her mistress, shielding her with her body as Wolf brandished his sword and kept the men at bay.
The outcast was openly gloating. He was sure he had the upper hand. "At last, at long last, I have my prize! You fools, did you think you could thwart me? I will be whole again, and Mort Grange will be mine, as it should be. And be sure I’ll show the same compassion to you and yours, Morag, as you and yours have shown to me! Soon, I’ll be rid of the lot of you... and will bend Time to do my bidding!"
He stepped forward, keeping his sword point leveled at the servants, and put his free hand on the gilded frame of the Looking Glass. It began to glow. Wolf laughed, an evil, hollow sound. The glass began to swirl and flash, faster and faster until everyone in the room raised their hands to shield their eyes. Wolf gave a triumphant cry. "By the power in the Glass, restore me to my rightful place! Remove this curse that plagues my days and rules my nights! I, Wolf Fergusson, command you!"
Suddenly, the fog cleared, and Wolf leaned closer, anticipation lighting his face. The glass went dark, revealing a night scene. He studied the image closely, then realized what he was seeing. Deborah sat on a horse, holding a sleeping Meg in her arms. Joyce stood beside her on the ground, holding three other horses, her face tense as she waited for something. She lifted her head as if listening to a whispered voice, then stared straight at him, a defiant look on her face. He began an angry tirade at the sight, but stopped as he spotted a crouched figure in the foreground, hidden from the women by a clump of bushes. Horrified, he watched as Philan raised his musket and aimed it at the woman, the girl, and the child.
"NO! NO, Philan, you fool! You might hit my daughter! Don’t shoot! NO!" He grabbed the mirror frame with both hands in his frenzy. A sudden spark of energy shot through him, and he was thrown back against the couch, moaning. He dropped the sword and slid bonelessly onto the floor as unconsciousness overwhelmed him.
****** Giles barely managed to contain his sarcasm as he confronted the stranger. "This is neither the time nor place for lengthy introductions, however, I have two extremely pertinent questions: One, who are you? And two, why are you so eager to help?"
The gray-clad figure remained motionless, but his whisper conveyed his urgency clearly. "Such time-consuming verbosity! One, I am both your future and your past, and two, I do not wish to watch your lady die."
"‘My lady’, as you so quaintly put it, is quite alive and safe, I assure you, although I’d rather not say where she is at the moment, if you don’t mind."
"She’s with the horses, the servant girl, and Meg, just behind the barn, waiting for you. If you insist on being bull-headed, young man, she will be neither alive nor safe come morning. You need my help." He held up his two pistols, the barrels pointing safely away from Giles. "And, the help of these." He returned the weapons to their holsters, and stood waiting for a reply.
Giles made a quick decision. He sensed, rather than reasoned, that the stranger was a friend. "Come on, then, we need to disarm the man inside this cottage."
"He’s not in there."
The stranger started towards the barn, but Giles grabbed his arm and spun him around. This was taking too much on blind faith. He struggled to keep his voice low. "I just saw the man from the window not five minutes ago, and he was sound asleep!"
"I’m telling you, you bloody iron-headed fool, that he’s not in there! He’s circling us now, and we have to get the others away!"
Giles was angry now. "How could you possibly know that? You haven’t been here..."
The stranger growled in angry impatience, and grabbed Giles by the lapels and shoved him against the cottage, pushing the door open just enough to let the flickering lantern light play across his face. "I have been here, Rupert! Look at me!"
Giles froze in shock as his own eyes looked back at him from a face twenty years older than his own. Those familiar eyes narrowed to a fierce frown, and a shadow of his own voice said, "Keep her away from the horses, do you hear? Even if you lose them, keep her away from the horses!"
Before Giles could react, the older man shrugged out of his grip, and ran towards the barn. Giles followed seconds later, saving his surprise until later. He rounded the barn just in time to see Philan leveling his musket, preparing to fire.
The older Giles didn’t even hesitate. He sprang at Philan with a snarl and tried to wrestle the musket from his grip. Giles kept running, closing the distance between himself and Joyce. He didn’t have time to think about the whys and wherefores of the warning his future self had given. He only knew that his love was in danger, and he would willingly die to save her.
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