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Sunnydale High Library - 20th Century
"I think I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Robert informed his sister.
"Right," Guin gestured toward the mirror.
Before stepping in front of it, Robert quickly embraced her. "Take care, pet."
"And you," she told him. "Tally would never forgive me if anything happened to you."
"Yes, well, I shouldn't care for it either. I've far too much waiting for me at home." A quick kiss to the top of her head, he glanced at the others in the library. "I look forward to seeing the rest of you as well. In about thirty-four years."
Then he stepped to the mirror. Guin recited a short chant. The mirror pulsed in its now familiar manner and then he was gone.
Buffy felt oddly sad. She finally had a brother and now he was gone. Maybe for good if they didn't get Mom and Giles home safe.
And if they did what then? She wandered over to the table, where Guin had taken a seat again. The older woman looked tired. "So, what was it like growing up with all those brothers? Was it as Norman Rockwell as it looked in the mirror image?" Buffy asked.
Guin smiled. "We were far too English to be at all Norman Rockwell, but I had an extremely happy childhood if that's what you're asking. Despite the odd demon attack."
Okay sounds like Mom and Giles did a lot better than Mom and Dad then, Buffy surmised. At least if they were 'far too English' it suggested that Giles had stuck it out with his kids.
Course that was only to be expected. Giles was a stick it out kind of guy. Buffy sighed.
Wesley glanced her way. "Something wrong, Buffy?"
"No."
Willow gave her a sympathetic look. "Don't worry, Buffy, we're going to get your Mom and Giles back."
"Yeah, and when we do it kinda looks like I'm going to get them as a set." Buffy propped her hands on her chin. "I don't even like tea."
"So keep the coffee pot," Cordelia told her. "Geez, Buffy, you finally get a chance for a decent family life and you're grousing about a beverage? Get over it."
~~~~~~ 19th Century - the Scottish Moors, Half a Day's Ride from Mort Grange
Older Giles reined in his horse. Hard riding cross country had brought him within sight of Rev. Ramsey and presumably the Looking Glass, from the shape of the large padded package in the back of the wagon.
Ramsey was not making very good time. The road was poor and the famous Scottish mist was fairly thick. Not quite a rain, but sufficiently drizzly to start the road on its way to a muddy mess. He still had two men with him though. Even with his weapons, Giles did not want to take on three men. He dare not loose this confrontation after all. Buffy and Joyce and future generations of Slayers depended on him.
He needed a plan. So for now he would follow Ramsey and bide his time.
~~~~~~ 19th Century - On the Road to Mort Grange
Joyce's shot had incapacitated Wolf very effectively. Amanda with practiced skill had jumped from her horse and had him bound before Giles could somewhat unsteadily dismount. She looked up at him, "What now, Mr. Giles?"
What indeed? "Uh, how badly is he hurt?"
"There's a lot of blood, but it does na appear that any vital organ was hit." Amanda told him.
"Find something to bind his wound with and take him with us I suppose." Giles glanced at the Slayer, "Can we still make it to Mort Grange by sunset?"
"We must," Amanda was definite. "Tis too dangerous to not be under a roof after dark."
One trusted a Slayer's opinion on such things. He turned to Joyce, "I'm afraid we go on then, my dear."
"Right." Joyce was feeling more than a little bit strange. Not only had she just shot a man, but, "Should I be feeling guilty or something? I just shot my umpteen great grandfather. Isn't that patricide or something?"
"He's na dead," Amanda pointed out practically. She was shredding Wolf's shirt and wrapping the wound with a fair degree of skill. "Though he has fainted. Which will be right handy. I'll just bundle him across my horse and we can be on our way."
Joyce took a deep breath. "Right. Let's not a little thing like a gun fight slow us down. Did we just move from a Romance novel into a Western?"
Giles patted Joyce's leg comfortingly. "You did very well, my dear."
After tying Wolf face down to her horse, Amanda again had them going.
~~~~~~ Sunnydale High Library - 20th Century
"How come you guys can go through the mirror without an uh... friend?" Willow asked. in an attempt to change the conversation. "I mean when Giles and later Buffy tired it was a big nothing."
Guin mulled that over. "Well, we've assumed it's because we're bound to the mirror by blood, but logically Buffy should have been able to activate it as well were that the case."
Stacking books to try and make some room at the crowded table, Wesley suggested, "As the Slayer, Buffy's skills at magic may be stunted. As I recall there were some medieval studies that showed that the Slayer was somehow protected from magic in much the same way she is protected from drugs or poisons."
"Certainly possible," Guin agreed. "It seems odd that it would override her inherited gifts."
"And this mirror thing has not been odd in what way?" Xander asked.
Both Watchers took that as a rhetorical question.
"So, what do we do now?" Buffy asked.
"Wolf has probably gone to ground for the day," Guin considered. "Short of finding him, I'm not sure there is a great deal we can do until the mirror indicates that we need to react to events in the past."
"So we wait." Buffy sighed. Waiting was the pits.
Wesley cleared his throat, "Cup of tea anyone?"
~~~~~~ 19th Century - A Now Very Muddy Road on the Scottish Moors, Half a Day's Ride from Mort Grange
The weather was getting worse. The back of Older Giles's overcoat was well on the way to being soaked through. His one comfort was that Ramsey and his men were having an even worse time managing that wagon over now muddy roads.
Logically there should be some way to make these conditions work in his favor to take back the mirror. Giles contemplated the possibilities. What he really needed was someone else to help him and a diversion.
Suddenly Ramsey's men were out of the wagon, apparently terrified. Giles rode closer to better observe.
"Tis haunted," the smaller of the two men maintained. "Look it moves on its own."
"Tis na haunted," Ramsey told him harshly. Servants were far too superstitious. He took a closer look. It did seem as though there was some activity occurring with the mirror. "Here help me get a closer look."
Both men stepped farther back at that idea. Leaving Ramsey to unwrap wet string and wetter burlap on his own.
As he finally reached the layer of blankets they exploded open. A thick beam of light shot in to the heavens. The form of a man emerged, shooting into the air and then falling back as the light ceased.
The man who emerged from the Glass flailed about and managed to land on the edge of the wagon and from there bounce to the ground.
Slowly unrolling himself, he commented. "There really must be an easier way to do this." The man heaved himself to his feet with a grunt. All this being bounced about by the mirror was not doing his back a great deal of good.
"Stand where you are. All of you." Giles, knowing an opportunity when he saw one, was off his horse in a classic highwayman's pose, guns drawn. The two servants immediately raised their hands. Ramsey seemed inclined to argue and pulled his own gun.
Only to have the man from the mirror neatly disarm him with a blow to the elbow. Good technique, Giles could not help but note.
This left him and the mirror man as the only two armed. Turning to him, but still keeping an eye on Ramsey, Giles demanded. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
The blonde man seemed to be evaluating him. Intelligent green eyes behind glasses which despite their old style frames were clearly from a much later time period (Giles recognized the nonreflective finish to the lens) were taking in his dress and appearance.
With not a little discomfort. The man stood very still and spoke softly the way one would address a drunk or a madman. "I'm here to assist... you, in restoring the proper timeline. Whatever has been happening with the mirror has been disrupting time as far down the line as the mid thirties and probably further. The Council sent me through to lend what aid I could."
"I haven't read of any activity with the mirror during the depression," Giles was skeptical. "My Grandmother's Slayer was active then. She would have known of it."
"2030s," the man's voice did not change tone. "My name by the way is Robert McAllister Giles. I am your... or at least Joyce Giles's firstborn son."
~~~~~~ 19th Century - Mort Grange
To add to the fun, it had started raining on the last part of their trek and all of them, Joyce, Giles, Amanda and Wolf were now soaked to the skin. But they did finally make it.
Barely.
As Joyce dismounted her horse she noticed Giles shudder and go limp. Fortunately Amanda was close enough to grab him and break his fall.
By the time Joyce reached them, Giles was starting to come round again. His skin was clammy though and he was shaking.
He was also not focusing too well, "Buffy?" he asked of Amanda.
Between them Joyce and Amanda got him up right and headed for the doors of the house. "Who is 'Buffy'?" Amanda inquired.
"My daughter. His Slayer." Joyce told her.
"Your daughter is Mr. Giles's Slayer?" Amanda asked in wonderment. "Aw, but that must be lovely. Why 'tis a real family. Your Buffy is so lucky to have a Ma as well as a Watcher."
"Remember to mention that to her if you ever meet," Joyce muttered reaching up to pound on the doors.
Which were immediately thrown open by Malcomb. Their appearance was almost enough to make him loose his Jeevesian demeanor, as his mouth dropped open for a moment, Joyce noted with morbid satisfaction. But he recovered quickly. "I will inform Madam of your return, Mrs. Summers."
Morag was not quite so capable of hiding her surprise. "Joyce, Mr. Giles, whatever has happened to you?"
"It's more a question of what hasn't." Joyce eased Giles into a chair. "But we need to get Ru... Mr. Giles to bed and warmed. He's was shot, uh, well a couple of days ago I think, I may have lost a day in there somewhere, and the wound's infected. Can we get a doctor?"
"Of course," Morag looked to Malcomb uncertainly.
"There is still the stableboy, madam. I will send him," Malcomb informed her.
"Yes, certainly. And see to Mr. Giles as well," Morag directed. She took Joyce's arm. "Come my dear, you must get out of those wet rags before you catch your death."
Joyce balked. She did not want to leave Rupert. Only after Malcomb assured her that he would personally see to getting Mr. Giles changed, warmed and into bed did she let Morag lead her upstairs. Apparently Victorian sensibilities were not going to let her look after Rupert until she got presentable herself.
Morag, of course, insisted on a bath. They compromised somewhat on that. Joyce managed to get the first hot water sent to Giles for Malcomb to get him cleaned up. "And Amanda needs looking after as well."
"The housekeeper is looking after Amanda," Morag assured her. "Not to worry, Joyce. She'll take care of the girl properly, she's used to dealing with these village girls."
It took Californian born Joyce a minute to work that one out. Apparently Amanda belonged to a lower social class than Morag judged Joyce and Giles. Although how Morag had worked that out was beyond Joyce. Amanda's clothes had looked solidly middle class to Joyce and were in considerably better shape than what Joyce and Giles were wearing. Okay, the brogue had been a little thick, but no more so than Ramsey or Barnes.
Maybe Rupert could explain it to her when he was feeling better. Joyce, while waiting for her bath gave Morag the condensed version of the last few days, down playing her own wound and vampire threats, and leaving out the more personal details. "Somebody did get Wolf off that horse didn't they?" It suddenly occurred to her to ask.
"Yes, the housekeeper is looking after him as well," Morag assured her.
"Well, that's good. Does your housekeeper know anything about how to take care of Mr. Giles's wound. I think it's infected." When this clearly meant nothing to Morag, Joyce tried again. "Blood poisoning?"
"Aw," Morag looked concerned, "I will ask. Perhaps there is a poultice she can prepare."
A poultice? Well, Joyce wasn't about to turn down anything at this point. And hadn't some old folk remedies had some merit? That was how they discovered penicillin, right?"
After a quick bath she even more quickly dressed, in yet another of Morag's gowns, Joyce suspected that she was going through more of them in the short time she'd been here than Morag did in a year. She slipped into to Rupert's room.
Malcomb was clearing away a sponge bath and had carefully rebandaged Rupert's wounds. "I fear he is feverish and not too clear of thought, Mrs. Summers. I have made him as comfortable as possible." Malcomb told her.
"And done better at it than I probably could have. Thank you, Malcomb. When will the doctor be getting here?"
"That is hard to say, Mrs. Summers. Young Ted, the stableboy will have to track him down. He is among the men that Mr. Fergguson has organized to search the moors and I fear Mr. Fergguson left no very clear directions as to where he might be going."
Joyce managed to keep from rolling her eyes. Great. Just great. Gussie was out playing hero on the moors again. The man was never around when he could be useful and always underfoot making Victorian moral judgments when he wasn't wanted. The longer she knew him the more he reminded her of Hank. She only hoped he didn't run into the older Giles and screw up his plans.
"What is Mr. Fergguson searching for this time?" She asked.
"The Looking Glass, ma'am, Father Ramsey has stolen it apparently with plans to use it to save his Slayer."
Biting back a string of curses that would no doubt completely ruin any remaining reputation she had with Malcomb, Joyce had to let out, "After all the trouble we went too, you still let them steal it?"
"I feel very gravely at fault, Mrs. Summers," Malcomb actually looked distressed. "It never occurred to me that a Watcher could be so self involved to so endanger future Slayers. It goes against everything we are taught. I can not help but think that Father Ramsey is not quite sane."
"In this area, all Watchers are a little nuts. Wait, a minute, you said we?" Joyce was finally catching up. "You're a Watcher? What, are you here to look after the mirror?"
"I am retired as a Watcher, Mrs. Summers," Malcomb informed her. "Tessie, my Slayer, passed fifteen years ago now. But I can well understand how the grief could drive a man mad. I had taken the position as butler to my Tessie's family, in order that I might train her. After she was gone I did not have the heart to return to my academic career, so I remained a butler."
"Mr. Giles's cover is as the librarian at Buffy's High School," Joyce put in. "Did you tell Tessie's Mom? About her being the Slayer?"
"Tessie's mother was dead. Her stepmother cared little for her." Malcomb was caught up in his memories for a moment. "I regret not realizing before your arrival with Miss. Amanda that you and Mr. Giles were here regarding the Slayer. I will of course do everything to assist you."
"Right now the only thing we can do is take care of Mr. Giles and Amanda," Joyce thought about it. "We've got too many people running rampant over the moors as it is."
~~~~~~ 19th Century - An Even Muddier Road on the Scottish Moors, Half a Day's Ride from Mort Grange
Giles could only stand and stare. This was unreal. Had the grief and pain finally driven him mad?
But the man seemed real enough, and serious. Giles searched his face for a sign of Joyce. Aside from the mob of dark golden curls, rapidly curling around his face from the damp there was little to see of her.
But those eyes mirrored his own. The face, the stance, it was like looking into a peculiarly distorted mirror. Giles ticked off in his mind possible means of bring about such a resemblance, from the mundane of a chance resemblance or unknown relative to a magic glamour.
The only reason for anyone to go to that kind of trouble was to gain access to the mirror. Giles spoke slowly. "And how do you propose to assist me?"
"At this point that is more or less your call. You know the situation on the ground considerably better than I do." Robert nodded toward the guns. "And you've got a whole lot more fire power."
If he was Joyce's son, he had apparently acquired a good dose of her practicality, Giles noted. The younger man continued, "Were it up to me, I would suggest returning the mirror to Mort Grange, locking the thing up and setting round the clock guards on it until after the eclipse. That should defuse Ramsey's plans, set the time lines back in order and after it's all said and done we can all head home."
He gave the sky a disgusted look. "This is even worse than Greenwich which I would not have thought possible."
"Your blood's thin," Giles commented. "This is a pleasant spring day. For Scotland."
But he did turn his weapons back to Ramsey and his men. He had waited twenty years for vengeance. Ramsey had made his life a living hell. His play with the mirror had stolen Giles from everything he loved. Now there was a chance for payback. He stepped closer to the man, fists clenched.
Robert intervened. "I don't think you've really thought this through."
"I've thought of little else these last twenty years," Giles growled.
"Would it not be better to leave him with the knowledge that not only is his Slayer gone, but he failed her yet again in his sad scheme?" Robert's voice asked quietly, he made no move to toward Giles. "That would seem to me the hardest punishment a Watcher could bear."
"And what about me?" Giles snarled.
"From what was told to me of your life in the diary, you have every reason to be bitter." Robert still spoke softly, "But my father is a man capable of infinite forgiveness. A kind loving man who regretted every life lost. He may have sins on his hands, but he has lived his life to atone for them. Do you want to place more sins there to add to his, your burden?"
"I lost my faith long, long ago," Giles told.
"I haven't." Robert lifted his hands palms out. "Would you give me cause to fear for my father's soul?"
It was so like Buffy begging him not to leave her, because she could not fight alone that Giles felt a strong sense of déjà vu. He glanced at Ramsey. Vengeance was generally overrated anyway. "You fight dirty," he groused to Robert.
"Learned that from my big sister," Robert grinned at him. In that instant Giles ceased to doubt Robert was Joyce's son. No magic or coincidence could duplicate that sunny smile. It was so completely Joyce. And Buffy.
Joyce must have disciplined the boy when he was small, Giles though inconsequentially. That smile would have melted Giles's heart and made it impossible for him to be stern. He shook himself to get back to business. The rain was getting heavier. "Very well. But I'm not dragging them along with us. They can take their chances of making it to the caves before the night creatures emerge."
"That's probably fair," Robert agreed. "Do we take the wagon?"
"Lord, no. That thing will never make it through this mud in any kind of decent time." Giles started to unharness the horses. "We'll harness two of these in tandem to carry the mirror and ride across country. As the crow files we can make Mort Grange for dinner. You do ride?"
"Wesley taught me," Robert sighed. "As long as you don't try to make me jump gates and hedges I'm passable."
~~~~~~ Sunnydale High Library - 20th Century
"So, like the whole family are Watchers?"
Guin nodded. "Every one of us. Including poor Cam who fought it with all his might. He never had a choice though. Destiny just reached out and grabbed him."
"In what way?" Wesley inquired, handing Guin a cup of tea.
Stirring her tea, Guin considered. "Oddly enough there is no way you could change what happened so I probably needn't be concerned about telling you. Cam was, well not the black sheep, because he never gave us cause to be ashamed of him, but the family rebel. He announced when he was ten that he was never going to be a Watcher no matter what. And Dad, probably because of his own upbringing agreed. So Cam went his own way. He's the only one of us to inherit any of Mom's artistic streak. On top of which he's the strongest magic maker of the lot. Mom used to call him her little Ripper. But Cam really is good. Not only artistically, but as a person. He just views the world a little differently than the rest of us. Although when Dad found out that he had hooked up with Ethan Rayne for awhile I though the old man was going to throw an aneurysm on the spot.
"Anyway Cam was off in hinterlands of Siberia, doing his thing and all of a sudden we get this e-mail from him. 'Slayer called. Vamps massing for a Harvest. Send help now!'."
Buffy nodded emphatically, "Oh, yeah, know that one. What happened?"
"Well, it takes awhile to get together a strike force of vampire fighters and get them to the outer reaches of Siberia even in my time," Guin sipped her tea. "Not to mention that the Slayer was in the midst of taking out a nasty nest of demons in Ecuador, and so we weren't terribly certain just what Cam had gotten himself into.
"It was two and half days later when we finally got some people in to help. They arrived to find Cam and the new Slayer, who it seemed was called because unbeknownst to us the Slayer from Faith's line had died, sitting in the ruins of this village having a nice cuppa."
Guin chuckled. "Cam was apparently quite smug that, despite having had no formal training as a Watcher, he had been able to help this slip of a sixteen year old girl with no training herself, not only evacuate the town so the Master Vampire had no one to feed on, but also defeat the vessel and burn out the vampire den.
"But he became considerably less smug, when upon being presented with her formally appointed Watcher, a traditional twit, sponsored by Quentin Travers, this new slip of a Slayer informed the Council Representative that, if she had to have a Watcher, she would keep Cam, thank you very much. Don't let the door hit you as you leave."
"Sounds like my kind of Slayer," Buffy said approvingly.
"Very much so," Wesley agreed. Earning himself a dirty look from Buffy.
"Then what happened?" Willow asked.
"Well, as I said, Cam despite his rebellious streak is as good hearted a fellow as you're every likely to meet. Faced with the prospect of leaving this poor girl to fend for herself or jumping in as her Watcher he really had no choice." Guin smiled affectionately. "And despite having to learn the job on the fly he proved quite adept at it. In his own rather unique fashion. And his Slayer is still going strong.
"And Dad still can't discuss it without starting to chortle over his 'I'm never going to be a Watcher' son being caught up in it on the strength of a headstrong little slip of a girl. Apparently she reminds him strongly of you, Buffy and he sees some strong parallels with your early time together."
"Me? I'm not headstrong," Buffy denied. In the face of her friends' laughter, she went further, "And Giles was the one who made me stick to it not the other way around remember guys? Guys!
~~~~~~ 19th Century - Mort Grange
Joyce, impatient for the doctor and needing more water for Rupert, headed down the stairs to look for some. As she descended the main stairs she found Malcomb looking rather askance at two very wet and muddy travelers.
Who between them were dragging the Looking Glass dripping with water into the Hall!
"All right!" Joyce whooped. "We got it back!"
The two men both looked up at her from the burden. The larger built of the two turned out to be the older Giles. Looking considerably more fit and alert than his younger counter part upstairs. The other...
Joyce found herself gazing down into a face that she was fairly certain she had never seen before but who none the less looked incredibly familiar. Recognition would probably have been helped if the fellow had not been soaking wet and half covered in mud. But he was returning her grin in a way that Joyce knew in her heart.
"Indeed we did, Joyce," Older Giles gently tilted his end down to set the mirror carefully on the hall floor.
Morag, probably hearing Joyce's whoop, came to stand in the hallway.
Older Giles executed a neat bow to Morag. Joyce deduced that he was feeling very pleased with himself for having recovered the mirror. "Mrs. Fergguson, your mirror. Safe and secure. Oh, and may I present..."
His companion tapped his arm in a remonstrative manner. Older Giles apparently realizing he was about to speak out of turn finished merely with, "Robert."
Morag seemed a touch suspicious. "And is he another interloper come for the mirror?"
"More come from the mirror, ma'am. But I'm here to help." The voice was familiar too with a soft educated English accent. Now that he had his hands free the fellow slicked back damp blonde hair and took a rather moist handkerchief out of his pocket to try and wipe his glasses clean.
The glasses cleaning clinched it for Joyce. "He's one of ours I think, Morag. One of your 'sons to defend the Highlands' if I'm not mistaken."
"But he's an Englishman," Morag's tone suggested she would prefer a demon to having one of her descendants English.
"Only on my father's side, Mrs. Fergguson," Robert grinned. Then he glanced around, "Uh, I'm actually here to assist Mr. Giles and Mrs. Summers. Where...?"
"Upstairs," Joyce told him. "I just came down looking for more hot water for him."
"I'll have it sent up immediately," Morag looked distressed that her guest was being inconvenienced. "And some dry clothes for these gentlemen as well. Malcomb, if you would see to it?"
The butler nodded. After detailing the maids to get the mirror back to the parlor, he shepherded the party up the stairs.
Joyce latched on to the newcomers. "Do either of you know anything about infections? Rupert's wound has gone septic and I don't know what to do."
Both men looked concerned at that. "I've some experience with 19th Century medicine, and there isn't a great deal to be done beyond draining the wound and trying to soak out the infection, Joyce," Older Giles told her.
Robert cleared his throat, "I brought some first aid supplies with me..."
Joyce was dragging him toward the bedroom before he could finish. As she pulled him through the door, Robert protested, "This muck I'm covered with is not going to improve the sterility of a sick room, Mo... Jo... Mrs. Summers."
"Right. Here. Change in my room." She pushed him through that door instead. "I'll get some of the stuff Morag found for Rupert. You're about the same size."
She took another hard look at him. "Exactly the same size. And the same eyes, and mouth and receding hairline. Didn't you get anything from my side of the family?"
"So much for my cover," Robert commented dryly. But he smiled at her warmly. "My winning personality and mean left hook?"
~~~~~~ 21st Century London
"Have you completely lost your minds?! All of you?!" Cameron clearly did not know whether to pace, throw a hissy fit or start tearing at his hair. His Slayer, Huang Min Loo or Minnie as she was known to all and sundry, grinned at her Watcher's discomfort and calmly sipped her Diet Coke.
"We were responding to changes in the time line." Wesley Wyndham-Pryce informed him, not without guilt.
"And so you decided to start dropping people willy nilly into the past so they could manage to muck things up even more?" Cameron sputtered.
"Guin is fairly certain it would - will, should? whatever - work anyway," Buffy pointed out. "Of course she hasn't your ability at magic or your practical experience with shady characters. She may not make out as well as say, you would. New do, Min?"
Shaking a remarkable collection of braids which were then pulled up and artfully arranged around her head, Min commented, "Latest thing in Seoul and ever so practical for slaying. I do love it when you don't have to give up practicality for fashion, don't you?"
"Always a winner," Buffy agreed.
Cam, ignoring his Slayer's fashion opinions with practiced ease, went on, "Guin is half out of her mind with grief and the rest of you don't seem to be thinking any more clearly. That mirror is dangerous. Didn't any of you get that? It's not just an artifact. It has a will of its own. What happens if it decides that changing every thing from Ramsey's time forward isn't such a bad idea after all? God alone knows how it would effect the history of the Slayers and by extension the world."
"I did point that out," Wesley remarked with some asperity, "But I think the Gileses listen to me less now that I'm Chancellor of the Council than they did when I first arrived in Sunnydale."
"We listen to you, Wes," Buffy told him. "It's just we don't take your advise any more than we did then. And Cam's fears are precisely what Guin is trying to stop."
"What Guin is trying is to set up a scenario where Xander, Mum and Dad don't die." Cameron pointed out brutally. "And what she's a damn site more likely to do is make things worse by trying it. She's always been overconfident and she hasn't enough field experience to realize that her carefully laid plans won't survive their first contact with the enemy."
"That is a problem," Buffy admitted. "What we really need is a a skilled sorcerer with lots of hands on experience to send with her to keep things under control."
Swigging back the last of her Diet Coke, Minnie stood up. "So, when do we leave?"
Glaring the traditional Giles's glare at her, Cam said, "We are not going anywhere. Even if I have to go chasing Guin, you are not coming. It's far too dangerous."
This earned him a don't be stupid look. "Like slaying vampires isn't? 'Sides your my Watcher. I can't let you go running off all over heck and gone by yourself. You might get into all kinds of stuff." She turned to Wesley and Buffy, "Why last year there was this lust demon..."
"You can hardly blend in on the Scottish Highlands," Cam interrupted her.
"No, but I'll fit just fine at Sunnydale High School," Minnie grinned. "I'd be what a Junior? Won't even be the new girl like when we moved to Seoul. I already know a gang to hang with."
Recognizing defeat when he saw it, Cam threw his hands in the air. "Fine. We'll go back and make a start at trying to collect everyone and get them back when they belong, but if this blows up in your faces just remember I told you so. And for Goddess sake, don't send anybody else through!"
"Right," Minnie nodded. "I'll get the weapons bag and your magic kit. Buffy, what should I wear? I'm thinking my brown leather jacket with the knee high boots. Will that fit in do you think?"
~~~~~~ 19th Century - Mort Grange
Giles came out of his feverish sleep to the sound of voices. A man was leaning over him. Checking his pulse and temperature. That caused Giles to stir himself. A 19th Century doctor was going to bear watching. Likely do as much harm as good.
"Easy now," the man helped him sit up. "Glad to see you awake. I need to get to that wound, so let's get this off you shall we?"
That voice was terribly familiar. The fellow sounded just like Giles's father. Giles tried to focus as the man very competently striped off the nightshirt and began work on the dressings.
He looked rather like Giles's father, too. Or at least like Giles remembered his father looking when Giles was a very small child.
Had Joyce somehow found an ancestor of his? She was helping the young man so obviously she trusted him. "Who?" he asked her shakily.
"Who is he?" Joyce guessed what Rupert was asking. "Remind of you of someone does he?"
"My Dad," Giles told her.
Robert's eyebrows went up at that. "Really? I never thought... Well, actually I suppose I do."
"This is Robert, honey," Joyce told Rupert. "He's come back through the mirror to help us. Remember about Robert?"
That took Giles a minute to place the name. He did not know any Roberts. Then it came to him. That was what Joyce had decided to call the baby. The one she was so certain they had managed to conceive in the midst of this chaos. He took another look at the man.
Who was smiling at him with Joyce's smile.
Giles did not know what to think. This man was at least thirty. Far too old for Giles to think of him as a child. Let alone his child. But that smile...
"Best check him out," he muttered to Joyce. "Might be a ringer."
"While she grills me, let's get this taken care of this," Robert told his father.
Between them they settled Giles as comfortably as they could. "I'm going to try and clean the wound thoroughly so this is going to hurt a little." Robert paused. "Well actually it's going to hurt like the devil. Can't be helped I'm afraid."
Giles nodded for him to continue and then gasped as the blonde man began slowly cleaning the wound. The water burned like fire as it touched him.
"I've mixed some disinfectant into the water," Robert explained. "A bit late admittedly, but we've no way of knowing what is lodged in that wound so I thought better safe than sorry.
Joyce watched as the wound fizzed with whatever he was using. Giles was hurting too badly to do more than let out small whimpers. She tried to hold him still so that Robert could work more easily.
But she had to grit her teeth to do it. She noticed that Robert's jaw was clenched as well. As a distraction she asked, "So, Robert, what are you doing here?"
"Short version - the threat to the mirror is causing disruptions in the time line. The Council sent me back to help straighten things out." Robert continued carefully cleaning the wound. "And before you ask, I was chosen for the job because as a descendant of Margaret Fergguson I have a natural affinity for the mirror and hopefully enough Watcher training and experience to stay alive."
He looked up at Joyce, "And my face can more or less establish my bona fides if necessary."
"Yeah, well, just to ease Rupert's doubts," Joyce thought for a minute to come up with a question that would trip up someone masquerading as her son, "What's special about my Christmas cutout cookies?"
"Buttermilk in the dough, refrigerate overnight before you roll them out and stiff shot of peppermint schnapps in the frosting. Not to mention in the cook," Robert supplied with ease. "But I always liked your gingerbread men better. Stu and I used to fight over who got to put the candy cinnamon buttons on them. And you would make me share the job with him."
Giles opened eyes that he had been keeping tightly closed to ask, not a little bewildered, "Stu?"
Realizing he had spoken out of turn, Robert mumbled, "Uh, well..."
Joyce gently stroked Rupert's hair. "I guess I should have mentioned, I've always wanted a big family. I'll probably try to talk you into a little brother for Robert."
Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, Giles managed to get out, "How big?"
"Let's just say you're easily persuadable," Robert commented dryly. He was now working on the exit wound.
Giles closed his eyes again. Things were moving terribly fast suddenly. Less than a week ago he had been a lonely man with no one else in his life.
Except Buffy, and Willow, Xander, Oz and Cordelia.
Well, perhaps having a couple of small children would not be that strange after all. He looked up into Joyce's lovely hazel eyes and murmured, "As many as you want, my love."
"Really?" Joyce caressed his face.
"You may live to regret that promise." Neatly filling a syringe as he spoke, Robert carefully injected antibiotics in the long muscles of the back just below the wound.
"You're a doctor?" Joyce asked noting his technique.
"Yes, but not the medical kind." Robert began to tidy away his gear back into its neat little box. It had come out of the pocket of his rather muddy coat. Along with three others which apparently contained something other than medical supplies as he had not opened them. "Paramedic training is a useful thing for a Watcher.
"I seem to recall you were the one who lobbied to get it added to the training regime." He smiled at his mother. Then turning back to his father he added, "The older time displaced Giles and I managed to recover the mirror from Ramsey and we've brought it back to Mort Grange. My 'spidey sense' is telling me we aren't completely out of the woods yet, but I think we have some breathing room. At least enough for you to get some rest and let those antibiotics start to work. I have a light sedative if you think you'll have trouble sleeping?"
The loggy way Giles shook his head did more to convince Joyce that he did not need the sedative, than his murmured, "No." He was asleep before she and Robert had the bed clothes straightened. She noted approvingly that Robert gently rubbed his father's good shoulder before leaving his side.
The two of the quietly slipped into her room. "Spidey sense?" she asked.
Robert shrugged. "My well of language was corrupted at a young age by my older sister. I haven't Slayer senses, but one does rather develop an instinct about these things. And I can't help but feel there is another shoe about to drop."
"Probably on us," Joyce unfortunately was feeling pretty much the same way. "Okay, Wolf is temporarily out of the picture and you left Ramsey on foot far enough away that we don't need to worry about him for a while. So what should we be concerned about?"
"I don't know," Robert sighed. "Normally I'd say some research was in order, but in all frankness, this thing has been researched to death by better scholars than I. Even Wesley hasn't been able to dig anything out."
"Wesley is still around in your time?" Joyce was mildly surprised. The young Watcher had not struck her as terribly competent. Subconsciously she guessed she had figured him for Vampire fodder.
"Oh, yes," Robert grinned. "Wes is part of the family. I called him 'Uncle Wesley' until I took my Council vows under him. I think I was twelve before I realized he wasn't really Dad's little brother. Dad treats him so much like I do... uh that is."
"Robert, I do hope you aren't mean to your little brother," Joyce said in her best Mother tone.
"Oh, no, Mum," Robert grinned Buffy's 'Who me? I as innocent as a new born lamb' grin at her. "Besides they... he always starts it."
Growing more serious, Robert went on, "I am worried about the older time displaced Giles. By rights he shouldn't still be here and frankly, well, he's showing rather more of Dad's Ripper mood than I'm comfortable with. I'm not sure he's completely sane."
"Ya think?" Joyce commented.
"No, I mean in a way other than the usual - 'I'm a Watcher, I need to save the world' way," Robert hurriedly explained. "I know you think we're all of us a little off. But this is a different sort of off. Makes me nervous."
Joyce hadn't sensed that about the older Giles. The Rippery part yes, but not madness. On the other hand, Robert had known Giles as a son knows his father for thirty some odd years compared to Joyce's passing acquaintanceship of two years and sharing his bed for about a week. Robert's opinion that his Dad was off, probably deserved some consideration. Unfortunately before it could be considered.
Morag screamed from directly below them. "Jesus!" Joyce exclaimed, "What the devil is wrong now?"
~~~~~~ 20th Century - Sunnydale Library
The gang was waiting. Wesley, with Cordelia's help, had cleared away the tea things and remains of various meals. Buffy had bristled a little as Wesley's assumption of the role of host here in the library, but not so much as to argue the point. Especially not after Willow pointed out that if he did not do it then they would have to, cause the janitor wasn't coming in on a weekend.
Xander had been detailed to do the reshelfing of books, Oz took out the trash and Willow had volunteered to actually wash the accumulated cups and utensils. The rest of the group was pretty much killing time. Wesley and Guin had ended up in a discussion of some fine point of Latin translation of some guy named Cincinattus. Most of which was taking place in Latin. Angel was actually following the discussion with some interest. Cordelia was seated with them at the table, clearly bored out of her mind, but not about to leave Wesley alone with a not unattractive young Watcher chick. Buffy was stretched out on the circulation counter not even pretending to hide her boredom.
Suddenly Willow screamed from the direction of the girl's restroom. Buffy jumped off the counter and started to run in that direction. "Geez, what's wrong now?"
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