 |
|
Continutation"Oh, come off it, Buffy," Cordelia stood in the door hands on hips. "Drop the 'tude. Do you really think you're going to be able to figure this out without his help? And he's not going to help you if you punch him out."
"We've come up with the answer before," Willow spoke up. "Look at Eyghon. And the vamps this summer."
"We lucked out with Eyghon. And Giles was backing us up this summer." Cordelia pointed out. "Half of those Looking Glass books are in Latin. We don't any of us know Latin. Like it or not we need Wesley."
"She's got a point, Buff." Xander put in. "I really hate to admit it, but she's got a point."
Buffy and Wesley were still eyeing each other. "No. I'm not letting him screw this up."
"Not sure you got a choice." Oz commented. "Less you're planning a crash course in Latin?"
"Willow knows Latin." Buffy crossed her arms.
"Uhm, only a smidge of Classical, Buffy," Willow put in. "Cordelia's right. Some of those books are in Vulgate. I can't make heads or tails out of those. And you know how we've run into problems using the English translations before. I think we're going to have to let him in."
"Let me in on what?" Wesley demanded.
"Giles and Buffy's Mom did something to the mirror and got trapped in it." Cordelia took matters into her own hands. "They wanted me to distract you so that they could steal the mirror and keep it here on the Hellmouth. Personally I think it would make a whole lot more sense just to ask you to help, but they're afraid that if you send it to England it won't work and Giles and Buffy's Mom will be trapped in there."
Wesley blinked. "We don't know that will happen."
"We sure as hell don't know that it won't." Xander pointed out.
"Yeah," Willow piped up. "A lot of magic is sight specific. Move and you break the connections."
"Were that the case, removing it from the Library would do as much harm as my sending it to England." Wesley pointed out with some asperity.
Oz and Xander exchanged troubled glances. "Back?" Oz suggested.
"Back." Xander started moving the mirror in the direction from which they had just come.
Wesley was frowning at the teens. "Why on Earth, didn't you tell me that Mr. Giles and Mrs. Summers had gotten trapped in the spell?"
"Cause you'd run to the Council and they'd grab up the mirror." Buffy was still standing between him and it. "And I am not letting the Council get within a hundred feet of my Mom."
"Buffy," Wesley tried to sound reasonable. "The Council would certainly never do anything to harm your mother. Or Mr. Giles either. Despite my replacing him, he's still a valued researcher."
"Like Hell." Buffy spat out. And before Wesley could lecture her about her language she went on. "Your precious Quentin let that psycho vamp capture my Mom, during that dorko test. He'd have stood by and let her get killed if Giles hadn't stopped him."
"Oh, surely not," Wesley looked shocked. "A Watcher would never deliberately endanger the lives of civilians."
"Get real, Wes." Buffy sneered. "Not only did he let it happen, he canned Giles for trying to stop it. I am not letting him near my Mom again. And if you try to tell them, I'll beat you to such a pulp that we'll be able to mail you back to them in an envelope. A little one."
"Great way to win an ally, Buffy." Cordelia put in.
Wesley was polishing his glasses, and clearly thinking. Hard. He glanced at the teens, his gaze resting for several moments on Buffy and again on Cordelia. Coming to a decision, he put his glasses back on. "Very well. I'll assist you."
Buffy looked skeptical.
"I will help you retrieve Mr. Giles and Mrs. Summers." Wesley continued. "I will also insure that the Council takes no steps to remove the mirror from Sunnydale. That shouldn't be hard. Given the competency of Mr. Travers office staff it will take them months to figure out how to arrange for shipping anyway."
"Why?" Buffy asked.
"Because it is part of our sacred duty to protect the innocent. Straightening out magical misdeeds falls into that category. Whatever you my think of me Buffy, I am certainly not going to risk Mr. Giles or your mother's well being." Wesley drew himself up. "I am not your enemy, Buffy. I may not be what you want as a Watcher, but I'm here and I intend to do my duty."
"And?" Buffy was not convinced.
Wesley sighed, "And this is an opportunity for me to attempt to build some trust between us. I will never be able to function in any capacity with you until that occurs." He glanced at the young woman standing in the office doorway and muttered half under his breath. "And Cordelia asked me."
"All right," Buffy agreed half heartedly. "But you won't tell the Council."
"Agreed," Wesley nodded. "I will not report anything about the mirror back to the Council until such time as we have freed Mr. Giles and Mrs. Summers." He shook his head and muttered, "And God alone knows how I'm going to explain any of this then."
****** As their hosts left, Joyce looked at Giles. "I spoke out of turn again, didn't I?"
"Well, it might have been better not to let the Fergussons in on your discovery, but it doesn't seem to have done any great harm." Giles said. He was still standing.
Joyce sat down. Mostly so Giles could get off his feet. "But I'm right aren't I? This is a Victorian novel?"
"So it would appear. I gather you're fond of novels of this period?" Giles wanted to confirm his fantasy theory.
"Oh, yeah. Love them. Have since I was a kid."
Giles proceeded to explain his theory that they had stepped into a fantasy world, carefully editing his own fantasy thoughts down to, "And I read rather a lot of classical fiction as well."
"So you think passing through the glass has set us up as characters in a romantic novel?" Joyce, having no illusions about what a healthy forty-five year old man, with no obvious sex partner, would fantasize about, interpreted 'classical fiction' to mean, erotic literature.
Well, as long as they didn't end up in any dungeons with whips and chains she wasn't going to be judgmental (Heck, as long as the appropriate safe words were in place she might not even object to that. She'd never even considered bondage before they'd done that bit with the handcuffs, but at the time it had proved quite enjoyable).
"More or less, yes." Giles agreed.
Malcomb came back, with yet more tea and scones. "May I get anything else for you and your husband, Mrs. Summers?" He inquired in suitably Jeevesian manner.
"He’s not my husband," Joyce said automatically, then at the butler’s raised eyebrow, sighed and said. "No. Thank you."
After Malcomb withdrew, Joyce poured a cup of tea and commented. "It might have been simpler if we had just pretended from the beginning you were Hank. I think Fergusson thinks I’m a loose woman."
"If he didn’t he will the minute Mrs. Fergusson tells him you’re divorced." Giles helped himself to a cup of the tea. "Heroes in Victorian novels were always very upright socially conforming types."
Sipping his tea he added. "Hopefully they’ll decide that accidentally passing through the mirror with the an employee is not too damaging to your reputation. Perhaps I should have said I was your footman. If I recall correctly a woman could travel with a male servant without qualms in the 19th century."
"Yeah, and if we’re here for any length of time passing ourselves off as married could have been awkward. Although didn’t they frequently assign husbands and wives to different rooms in this period?" Joyce said thoughtfully.
Giles tried to keep from choking on his tea. "Uhm, well, yes, sometimes. That was an excellent deduction as to what was actually going on by the way. I was trying desperately to place us in an actual historical time and place and failing utterly. But even that makes sense if you’re right. 19th Century novelist as a matter of convention almost never gave their stories a specific date."
"And modern writers who use the period get details wrong all the time." Joyce pointed out. "But that doesn’t really help us as to what this grave event is that we’re here for."
"Well, if we are a plot device, I hope it’s a modern novel." Giles sighed. "If this really is a 19th century piece it will be another twelve chapters before the mysterious happening is revealed."
"And then only after half a dozen meals and the Vicar coming to call." Joyce’s eyes were twinkling over her tea cup. "Well, we’re on our second serving of tea. That should count for something. I almost hope we do get to stay to dinner. I’ve always wanted to see one of those Victorian multi course meals, where you dress for dinner and the footman serves the turbot. What exactly is turbot anyway?"
"A rather fatty white fish, usually served in an inedible dill sauce." Giles shuddered. "Or at least that’s what they did to it at my college. You’re remarkably familiar with this period, Joyce."
"Well, not really. I mean I’m up on the art. Victorian is making a comeback. Mostly I just read a lot of a lot of bodice rip... aw that is Gothics." Joyce shrugged. "I admit they're not high art, but they entertaining and, it's not like I've got a lot of other romance in my life. The last time I spent an evening with a guy, he never called."
Giles blushed fiercely under the look she was giving him. "I, uhm, that is uh, I d-didn't think you would want..."
"You might at least have mentioned you remembered it." Joyce had been ticked about that for awhile. "Every conversation we've had since then, started and stopped with Buffy."
"You didn't, uh, bring it up either." Giles pointed out.
"What was I suppose to say? Hey, Ripper, was I that bad a... date that you can't bear to look at me?"
"Good heavens, no! That is..." Giles did not know where to look. He was horribly ashamed of his behavior that evening. "To have taken advantage of y-you in that manner, I could barely f-face you after."
"Boy, talk about belonging in the 19th Century." Joyce laughed. "Giles, nothing happened that night that I didn't want to happen. Well, between us anyway. Granted, normally I don't... Not on a first date anyway, but you didn't 'take advantage' of me. If anything at the time I thought I was calling the shots."
"So, you're not uh, upset?" Giles was terribly relieved. Although still rather embarrassed.
"Not about that." Joyce toyed with her tea cup. "I'll admit I was more than a little embarrassed about... I mean we did stuff that I'd never even done with Hank. But, well we're two mature adults there's no reason why we shouldn't be able to... get past that and be friends."
"I-I should very much like that, Joyce." Giles put out his hand. "Friends?"
"Friends." Joyce set down her tea cup to shake his hand. "Uh, Rupert now that we're, uh friends, well, I seem to have mislaid some of my underwear that night. I don't suppose...?"
Giles was blushing again and staring at the floor. "Uh, yes. I, uh, had it cleaned for you but never quite had the nerve... and the dry cleaner wouldn't just slip it in with your other laundry."
"Oh, dear." Joyce blushed a little too. "No wonder the dry cleaner's been giving me those looks."
Morag met her husband as he came from his dressing room, new cravat neatly in tied. "All is in place my darling. Do you really think this will work?"
"We have been assure that it will, my love. Mrs. Summers will help us to our dreams." He bent and kissed her hand."
"Still she seems such a nice woman," Morag sighed. "It distresses me that she will be "
Her husband held a finger to her lips. "Now my dear you know this is the only way. Come we must not keep our guests waiting.".
|
|