FIC: "Quand le ciel nous tombe sur la tête" 1/3 (Giles/Xander, FRM)

Title: "Quand le ciel nous tombe sur la tête" (Nothing Left to Lose) 1/3
Author: soft_princess
Website: Fly With Me
Date: June 28, 2008
Word count: more or less 15,000 total; 6,900 this part

Fandom: BtVS
Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Joss owns, I don't.
Spoilers/setting: Post "Chosen" and "Not Fade Away". Apocalypse-fic.
Warnings: several non-graphic canon character deaths.
Summary: It's the end of the world as they know it; they have nothing left to do but try to save it with their last breath.

Note: Written for summer_of_giles. It was supposed to be ready for my first day on June 29, but it wasn't and katekat1010 and elizabuffy were kind enough to let me off the hook. Thank you. Part 2 will be posted later today.
Note 2: The title can be translated, literally, into "when the sky falls on our head." French speakers amongst you who have read the adventures of Astérix et Obélix will recognize the reference.

Thanks to mireille719 for the beta.



G,

It's weird, the letter writing, I mean. Not that everything isn't weird, cause it is, it fucking is. (Sorry, bad word. Don't care, the situation deserves it, don't you think?) But anyway, letter. Writing. Me. To you.

Weird.

There really isn't any other way to, you know, talk to you, so I guess... Willow said there's a spell she can do that won't register on their radar, and the letter's gonna go straight to you--I'm gonna include the spell she's writing down so you can do the same. You should be able to find pen and paper, right? I hope so.

Buffy's worried. And Dawn and Willow. And everyone else.

Me too.

But I guess that's not that hard to figure out since I'm writing. Not something I'd do for just about anyone, big guy. I hope you know how lucky you are.

We're okay out here. I guess you'd want to know that. We're all getting restless, not doing anything when we know what's going on out there. We want to fight, you know, that's what we do. No worries though, we're not going to do anything stupid like try to get out of here; the end of days, not our cup of tea, we prefer the world saving gig, not damage control. And we've seen enough people dying anyway.

Would you believe I miss Andrew of all people? Fuck, we could use him right now. He'd provide some good distraction; he always does--did. This is just...

Let us know you're okay. Don't think we could deal with, you know. Just send us a sign or something. We're waiting.

X.


Giles pocketed the letter inside his battered, dirty jacket, sighing. He'd have to figure some way to send a missive back, if only to let them know he had made it to Los Angeles unscathed.

There hadn't been a mile on his journey where he hadn't wished he was safely back on the island. He missed them too. A few blocks away, he found a discarded notepad, its pages almost all burnt or missing. There was a drawing left, one that looked like it could have been drawn by a child.

Giles pulled the page out and turned it over. Mostly untouched. It would do. Finding a pen proved to be harder, but as he made his way through the streets of the city, he kept on the lookout for one, and it was his luck that he found one as he was hiding behind an old, decrepit building.

He didn't have much time to write; demons were patrolling the streets, waiting for prey--whether human or not, it didn't seem to matter--and Giles had to keep moving.

After he followed Willow's instructions and watched as the folded piece of paper vanished, Giles took a look out into the street and pulled back quickly. A trio of Loplekc--three meters tall, one across, with a thick, steel-like carapace; he'd come across them once before, and he'd never forget--went past him, not even throwing a glance his way. It was a relief to know his shields were holding.

He hadn't seen a human being in seven days.

He hadn't seen the sun for an even longer time, not since he'd left the island over two weeks prior. This city was the darkest by far, and smelled strongly of smoke; that wasn't uncommon either. Half of the buildings he passed by were in ruins by now, the fires left to spread without anyone to put them out. Giles couldn't linger on the reason why there weren't any people left in the city to fight or put things to right; he had more important things to do.

He had very little hopes of finding any of the L.A. crew alive--early reports, before all communications had been cut, had mentioned that Wesley was definitely dead, but everyone else still standing; but that had been a month ago--but Giles slowly made his way towards the second to last address he'd had for them. The Wolfram & Hart building was in ruins, and was the center of this carnage, so there was no way anyone would be hiding in the rubbles, whereas the Hyperion...

Fallen buildings and trees, wrecked cars and an innumerable amount of bodies were making it difficult to follow the map Giles had been able to acquire from a relatively untouched--though pillaged--store. He'd also managed to find some food, a first in three days, if you could call a stale bag of crisps, a crushed chocolate bar, and a warm bottle of pop food, but that had been enough to give him back some of his strength, enough to make it here, at least.

Giles peeked again from behind the building and sighed in relief when he saw that the Loplekc had left and that the hotel was still standing. It loomed, dark and menacing, on the next street corner, and Giles didn't lose a moment and ran across the street and onto the lot where the Hyperion stood. There was no telling when the next group of demons would come around, and while the protections he'd put on himself made it impossible for the demons and assorted evil to track him or notice his presence with magic or supernatural senses, they could still see him.

He could feel it the moment he penetrated the wards surrounding the hotel. They were invisible to the outsider, but the magic was thick and strong about halfway between the street and the front door. Someone, at least, was still alive; whether they were anyone he knew of, or a group of survivors, was yet to be determined.

"Hold up! Stay where you are."

The voice was unmistakable, and for the first time in many years, Giles was relieved to hear him. "Angel, thank God," he murmured, his own voice hoarser than he'd remembered. How long had it been since he'd talked out loud? Muttering had been a way to fill the silence, but talking... not since Nevada. The memory twisted his heart, and Giles focused instead on the small group of people approaching, weary-eyed and obviously wary of him.

"Giles?" Angel was the first to reach him, and he patted Giles' shoulder awkwardly as if to make sure he really was there. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Giles didn't dignify that with an answer. He walked further into the lobby and collapsed on one of the benches. "Your friends?" he grunted, nodding at the four people who were all looking at him with wide eyes. Correction, three people and a--well, he wasn't sure exactly what she was, but the blue skin and the tilted head seemed to point towards "not human."

"Illyria," Angel said, nodding at the woman looking thing. "Connor," he continued, putting a hand on a young man's arm. Next came a tall man, possibly in his early thirties, "Darren, and Lisa." The last was a woman in her mid-forties, hair cut short and her arms crossed. "We picked up those two a few weeks ago."

"Charles? Fred?" Giles asked, remembering the names from Andrew's report.

Angel nodded to Illyria. "She took over Fred's body; Gunn's downstairs." There was a pause, and Giles wished he knew how to read Angel's face as well as Buffy could. "He got turned."

Giles let out a tired sigh and rubbed his forehead. More loss; would it ever end? That was why he was here, wasn't it? To make it end. He only hoped he hadn't embarked on a fool's errand.

"Wesley's downstairs too." Angel's expression was as unreadable as it had been a moment ago.

"Wesley? I heard he was dead," Giles said. He cringed at how cold he sounded.

"I was."

Giles turned and there Wesley was, looking haggard and pale. When he moved forward, Giles immediately noticed that Wesley wasn't walking; he was gliding across the floor, his feet a good three inches above it. The hand that seemed to squeeze Giles' shoulder was in fact, nothing more than a cool breeze on his neck. Giles shivered.

The story was quite anticlimactic. In a last ditch attempt to sway the balance over to the good side, the Powers had allowed Wesley to return to help, but his body had already gone up in flames by the time they'd made their decision, and evil's grasp on the Earth had been so strong that all the Powers had been able to do was to bring back his essence. "A ghost then?" Giles asked, although not looking for an answer. He could very well put two and two together on his own.

Wesley gave a nod and crossed his arms. Everyone was looking at Giles expectantly.

"There's a spell," he said finally after rubbing his forehead and taking a deep breath. "I need soil from the exact site where the first portal opened."

"You need our help," Wesley replied.

"Quite." There was a moment of silence, then a distinct, loud crash coming from downstairs.

Angel nodded to Darren, and he took off down the stairs with Lisa in tow. "What do you need from us?" Angel asked, looming in the corner with his arms crossed on his chest.

"Your wards. How strong are they?"

"Strong enough," Wesley said. His face was blank, almost lifeless. No, not almost, it was lifeless, eerie. Giles yearned for the not-quite competent bumbling fool of years ago.

"Did you put the wards up yourself?"

Wesley's nod was barely noticeable, but it was Angel who answered, "The Powers That Be at least gave him something to help."

"Small mercies." Giles stood up, ignoring the throbbing in his head, and stretched his back. When he looked at Wesley, the ghost had turned his back on them and was floating in the direction of his office. Puzzled, Giles followed him, leaving Angel and Connor in the lobby. "Have you got anything that might help?"

"I know which spell you're thinking of," Wesley gave as an answer. "I suppose you have all the common items?"

"We're missing the eyes of newt, but Willow was preparing a specific transportation spell to acquire them before I left." That was the last usually easy-to-find ingredient they were missing. Hopefully, her spell had worked.

"I see. I suspect they're not readily available these days." Wesley turned and pointed at a bookshelf. A book came out on its own, and Wesley lowered it onto the desk. "It's the original," he explained to Giles while the pages flew open. They finally settled on the right spell, and Giles bent down to read. What they'd found in the books they had managed to save from the Council's second collapse in less than a year had been a review of the most powerful magic, not the original copy of the spell book. It was written in a very ancient form of Sumerian, and Giles wished he had Dawn with him.

Shaking the pang of longing, he looked up. "Can you translate it?"

Wesley nodded. "We're lacking a very important key element here," he explained. "Otherwise, I'd have attempted it myself."

"As far as I'm aware, there's only one place left on this Earth where the sun still shines."

"Where?" Wesley rolled his desk chair in Giles' direction, and Giles sat down gladly.

He told him about the island. It was in the middle of the Indian Ocean, an uninhabited piece of land that had been just the right size to send the rest of the slayers, Dawn, Willow, Buffy and Xander when the end had been in sight. Willow had enough strength left in her after everyone's transport that she'd been able to build up wards to fend off the darkness and to keep evil away. "Xander has warned me that the darkness is starting to grow on the horizon. I'm not sure how long Willow can hold on to the wards before she collapses from exhaustion."

Wesley stood silently until Angel walked in; with a nod, he told Giles, "The first demon to come through the rift, as far as we're aware, was a dragon."

"Spike finished it off before he got burned," Angel added.

"Twice burned," Giles murmured, not even rising as eyebrow at the mention of Spike. It hadn't been in Andrew's report after his visit to L.A., but the boy hadn't been able to keep it in at Christmas time. Distracting himself from thoughts of the dead, Giles looked up at Angel. "Can you lead me to where it is?"

"Time's running out," Wesley interjected. "We can't count on your wards holding out the darkness much longer; I think we should split."

Giles sighed; he was tired to his bones, feeling it in every part of his body. "You're right." He'd been walking for eighteen days; the aura of evil surrounding the epicentre of the apocalypse had made it impossible for Willow to transport him right where he needed to be, and the closest safe place to do it had been Nevada. He'd managed to hijack a car on his first day, but it had broken down at the halfway point between there and here, and Giles had been unwilling to risk being noticed afterwards.

Wesley seemed to pick up on Giles' exhaustion; he turned to Angel, taking charge. "I suggest you take Darren with you and go out to get the pieces of the dragon we need; I'll lead Giles to where he needs to go."

"Take Connor with you," Angel said, his tone brooking no argument. "If you run into trouble, you won't be any good in a fight, and Giles won't either."

Giles was about to argue, he could still hold himself in a fight, he thought, and there was no need to endanger Connor, but Wesley nodded. "Agreed. We'll leave Lisa here to keep an eye on Charles."

Wesley went out, leaving Giles alone with Angel. Giles rubbed his forehead again; the pain had been constant for days now. At least he wasn't actually injured, just exhausted.

"Maybe we should wait a couple of hours," Angel said. "You need food and some rest."

Giles shook his head. "I've barely slept in three weeks; I doubt a couple of hours would make a difference." He'd fallen from exhaustion on the tenth day and hidden in the backroom of a deserted coffee shop. He had slept for more than twelve hours, miraculously surviving the night. Stale pastries and foul coffee had been the best meal he'd had on the whole trip.

"At least get some food; we've got plenty in the kitchen. Darren used to work at a grocery store, and he got a cartful out of there before it was run over."

"All right." He didn't move from his chair, couldn't make his legs work now that he was sitting down. It had been so long. "Are you sure it's wise to send a child with us?"

"Child?" Angel leaned back against the wall, eyes studying Giles carefully. "Connor's about as strong as a Slayer."

"I doubt it; it's--"

"Not impossible," Angel interrupted, "considering who his parents are."

Giles lifted his eyebrow, expecting an explanation, but Angel turned around and left. Questions could wait, after all. If this worked, Giles would have plenty of time to find answers, and if it didn't--

Well, it wouldn't matter, now would it?

He turned the book around and started to read, stretching his knowledge of Sumerian as far as they could go. He'd thought he'd need blood from the first otherworldly creature to pass though, but it seemed that he'd need a tooth or a claw, specifically. That wouldn't be too difficult to pull off a dead dragon, unless it was well guarded.

A piece of paper appeared on the book. It was hastily folded, and he thought he could recognize Xander's scrawl as he opened it and read.


G,

Thanks for not dying. Can't say how relieved the girls were hearing that.

Also glad to know you made it to L.A. We were starting to think you'd miss the deadline. We can see the darkness coming. It's still pretty far, but we have no idea how many days we have left until the sun's gone here like it is everywhere else.

Dawn and some of the girls are working on their tans, you know, just in case. It's not like we got anything else to do out here, and swimming's out. There are some fierce sharks out there. We saw two fighting less than ten feet from the shore yesterday. And that's not counting the one that we had for dinner a week ago--it washed up on the shore during the night; never thought I'd be glad to eat shark, but there's a first time to everything, right?

Willow says she's got everything we need to do this, except for the few ingredients you've got to bring back with you. Her spell worked, by the way. She managed to conjure up some eyes of newt--you should have seen Carly's face when she got sprayed with newt juice all over. Girl was helping Willow, and all she got out of it was an order to shower (took her four tries) to get the smell out.

Anyway, I, well... Thanks for the news. Tell Angel, if he's still standing, Buffy says to kick some demon butt for her. Everyone chimed in for that one, so make that eleven demon butts to kick. (Times two, Dawn says, if he can)

Just, you know, keep on not dying.

X.


Giles' smile lasted a few more moments before he sighed. It wouldn't do to dwell on what he couldn't have. He looked up and caught sight of a pen and a pad of paper. Now was as good a time as any to answer.

He'd barely recited the incantation that Angel was back. He put a tray filled with food--a sandwich with dubious meat, crisps, some less than fresh vegetables, and a glass of what turned out to be orange juice--on the desk and said, "Eat. Wesley's getting everyone else up to speed."

Giles nodded, too exhausted and hungry to argue. It was the most food he'd seen since they'd had to run away from London. Certainly, they'd found sustenance on the island, more than enough for all of them, but Giles hadn't stayed there long enough to share a meal. As soon as he'd known the others would be safe, he'd left.

He ate barely half his plate, his stomach tying itself into knots far too soon. Starvation was never good on anyone's appetite, he supposed. He joined the others in the lobby afterward, and was handed a cup of warm, strong coffee.

"Adrenaline in liquid form," the boy, Connor, said. For the first time since they'd met, Giles took a good look at him and frowned. Some of his traits were familiar, and it was only when he looked up at Angel, who was talking about their plan, that he realized who the boy reminded him of. There was no time now for questions, however, but he couldn't deny that he was curious--Angel, a vampire, couldn't have a son, not unless the boy was also a vampire several hundred years old, and he looked and felt completely human to Giles.

"What we're after," he said when Angel and the others turned to him, "is a tooth or a claw from the dragon Spike slew. I would suspect a tooth would be best in this case, as it's least likely to have caught fire, and we need it to still have some essence of the beast left in it."

"That shouldn't be a problem." Angel looked at Darren, and the man nodded, saying "Sure thing. One dragon tooth coming right up."

Something in Angel's expression unsettled Giles, but he quenched the fear; he couldn't afford to doubt any of them, and as much as Angel's face right then reminded him of Angelus' determined, cold stare, perhaps that was the part of the vampire they needed right now.

"Connor--" Angel started.

"I'm going with them," Connor interrupted. "I know. I'm gonna be fine."

* * *

They set out less than an hour later. Wesley had wanted to wait until the area was as quiet as it ever got these days, and watching the procession of demons--in-fighting seemed to be a trend--Giles couldn't argue against the logic.

Giles explained the spell he was using to protect himself from detection, hoping Wesley would be able to come up with something to protect Connor as well, but the boy only smirked and shook his head. When they walked out, Giles watched him disappear into the shadows, completely invisible. Wesley shrugged and started to walk. Angel and Darren had left through the sewers, deciding it was the best way to get to the dragon; with the demons now ruling over ground, not many had chosen to stay hidden, and it would be safer for them.

Giles hated sewers, and apparently, so did Wesley.

They kept hidden behind buildings, in alleys. It took them quite a bit of time to get to their target--Giles had lost all sense of time since he'd lost his watch ten days ago, without a sun to guide him--Giles thought maybe an hour had passed, but they finally arrived in an area of town where most buildings were fallen, barely anything left to stand.

The desolation had been becoming harsher as they'd walked, less buildings up, more fires, more demons to avoid, and Giles was starting to wonder how he'd make it to the Wolfram & Hart building in the open, and make it out unscathed.

"Here, let's rest," Wesley whispered, motioning for Connor to meet them. The boy reappeared from behind a pillar; Giles hadn't seen him at all since they'd left. His stalkery skills were impressive.

"These bastards," Connor muttered when he got nearer. He gave a nod at the group of twenty or so mixed demon races--Giles could recognize a few Fyarls, but that was it--all prostrated in front of what looked like a throne. He didn't want to know what it was for.

"They'll name a new god, I'd bet," Wesley whispered back, grimly answering the question Giles wasn't asking.

"How do we make it across?" Giles asked. He could see part of the building they were after right behind the throne--the Wolfram & Hart sign, which had probably been hung on the top of the building, was very visible--and there was no way they wouldn't be noticed if they went that way.

"They moved that piece," Wesley replied. "The building's actually more to the left." He pointed at a mountain of rubble, clearly that of a more expensive and high tech building, and Giles nodded. It was seemingly unguarded, all of the demons' attention on the throne and whatever was to sit on it, but they knew better than to assume no one was watching it; especially since it was, most possibly, sacred ground to them now.

"The question stands," he said, leaning against the brick wall and looking at Connor, who was starting guard within earshot of them. "We'll need to find a way to make it to the rubble, and I'll need to dig until I can touch the soil--" Seeing Wesley shake his head with a resolute look on his face, Giles stopped and waiting for an explanation.

"The consecrated ground," Wesley said, "will be free of rubble. It'll be at the dead center of the old building and no digging will be needed."

Connor was nodding along, and looked up at the scrap of building they were hiding behind. "I can climb up there and make sure of that. Won't take a second."

Giles was about to ask the boy to stay put, but Connor had already leapt up high. Unnaturally high. Giles looked back at Wesley, but the ghost seemed deep in thought. "Don't worry," Wesley said distractedly. "Connor knows what he's doing."

"What is he?" Giles tried for a uninterested tone, but from the way Wesley looked back at him with brows furrowed, that hadn't worked.

"He's Angel's son."

Giles blinked, questions burning on the tip of his tongue. He'd seen the resemblance, of course, but that was impossible. "How--" he started to ask, but Wesley made a shushing gesture. Just as he closed his mouth, three Loplekc passed by. They were walking the perimeter. "So much for unguarded," Giles muttered once they were out of earshot.

"Yes, it seems they have more than one trio circling the grounds, although I can't see whether any more demons are coming through the rift or not."

"Nah." Connor's voice reached them before the boy was even on the ground yet. He'd jumped from the building and landed silently on his feet, one hand on the ground to keep his balance. "Nothing's coming through, but there are guards everywhere. We'll need a distraction."

"I'll go," Wesley said, before the boy could volunteer himself.

"But--"

"No, Connor. You'll take Giles to the rift and protect him while he does what he has to do. I'll distract the demons."

"They'll send you--"

"Nothing says they'll figure out what I am before the two of you are done. And besides, the Powers have brought me back once; they'll do it again if they have to."

Connor was about to argue again, and Giles couldn't fault him for trying. He knew very well though that telling Wesley that once he was banished by a demon warlock, he wouldn't be brought back would be a waste of time. Wesley knew it better than they did. Giles put his hand on Connor's forearm and shook his head; the boy subsided with a glare in Wesley's direction.

"Now," Wesley said. He took off in the direction opposite to where Giles was to go. At first, he seemed to be flying across the street, but as soon as he came to the other side of the crowd, where Giles could barely see, Wesley's feet started to move as if he was running. Soon enough, the demons had taken interest into the human running from them, and whatever ceremony they'd been attending seemed forgotten as they gave chase to Wesley, the Lopleck guards in tow.

"Come on," Connor said, tugging Giles along with him at a hurried pace. "We don't have a lot of time."

Giles ran behind the boy, knowing better than to try to see what fate awaited Wesley. He was on his own, now, and Giles would know sooner or later anyway. It took them a little more time than Giles would have liked to reach the fallen building. Rocks and fires, and a few stray demons who hadn't been at the "consecration" or who had chosen to stay behind were making it hard to walk at a steady pace unnoticed.

They could finally see behind one of the outer walls; two demons stood, face forward, guarding a doorway that led into a shimmering blue light that looked like fire. Giles shivered and crouched down next to a rock, pulling Connor down with him. "We'll have to distract the guards."

"So that's the portal?"

"To hell, yes," Giles answered tiredly. So very close to the goal, and it still looked like an impossible task. The demons would likely alert others as soon as they saw them, and then all could be lost. He only had a teenage boy as a fighting companion.

Connor nodded and his eyes darted around the scenery, taking everything in quickly. "I'll lure them out that way," he said, pointing at another piece of a building, smaller this time, but if Connor lured them behind the last standing wall, they wouldn't see the portal door anymore, and Giles would be free to slip out and grab what he needed.

The boy would probably not survive it. Of course, he was Angel's son and there was no telling what strength he might have from this lineage, but...

Giles closed his eyes against the reality of it; yet another child he would most possibly be sending to his death--this was starting to be a bit much too bear. He could only hope that it wouldn't be all for nothing. He opened his eyes to find Connor staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

"I'll be fine," Connor said, obviously trying to be reassuring; Giles didn't know if he could be reassured at all. "Just get what you need and meet me back here when you're done."

Giles gave a quick nod, not trusting himself to speak. Connor was confident, but Giles couldn't help watching him go with a feeling of dread. He'd never hated being a Watcher as much as he had the past few weeks and now. Sending all those Slayers, children the lot of them, to their deaths one after the other as they'd tried to contain the threat, and now this. Wesley gone, and now Connor--

Giles gave a thought to calling Connor back and exchanging their roles, but when he looked up, the boy had just whistled to gain the demons' attention, and they were stalking towards him, leaving the doorway free. Giles waited ten more seconds, just long enough to marvel at Connor's fighting technique, and then ran to the cleared patch of earth. No broken debris there, it had been wiped by all the demons walking and flying through--nobody was coming now.

Giles grabbed the plastic bag he'd stuff in his coat pocket just before they'd left London for the last time, and shook it open, cringing when the sound echoed loudly against the broken walls. He could hear the scuffling of a fight behind him, but didn't turn to look. Focusing on the task was all he could do, and distraction wouldn't help. He grabbed a handful of dirt and watched it tumbling down from his fingers. He couldn't feel anything different about it. Perhaps he wasn't close enough to the portal.

He looked up. He was approximately twenty feet away. He loathed to get closer, the sight of it enough to fill him with dread. Giles breathed deeply and let the sounds of Connor fighting the demons fade as he walked. Ten feet away now and he could feel it before he even touched the soil with his bare hand. This was what he needed. It was imbued with the magic of the portal.

Giles filled the bag as much as he could and sealed it. It was heavy in his pocket, but he felt relieved as soon as it was safe. Now, perhaps things would go--

"Giles! Watch out!"

Giles rolled on his side and onto his feet, and grabbed the sword he'd strapped to his back before leaving the Hyperion. Before he could react, the demon swung his arm and hit Giles square in the face. He reeled back from the blow, barely registering the pain, and steadied himself and his sword.

He ducked to the left, avoiding another arm swing, and struck out, his sword barely reaching the demon's armoured chest.  Giles sidestepped to his right to avoid another blow and raised his sword, intent on at least hitting the thing's arm if he couldn't do any more damage, when it suddenly fell forward, and Giles had to throw himself to the side to avoid it.

He brushed sand off his face and his hand came away wet with blood. "Wonderful, just wonderful," he muttered. He looked up at the sound of a boot kicking the Loplekc's chest and he found Connor there, a wild look in his eyes. He looked very much like a hunter then, and for a moment, Giles couldn't doubt that Wesley had told him the truth. Then the look was gone, and Connor held up his hand and helped Giles up. "Come on, we should leave. Something's bound to have heard the fight. Did you get what you needed?"

"Yes." Giles couldn't help glancing at the boy, trying to access if he had any injury. There was demon blood on Connor's shirt and arms, but he looked otherwise unhurt. Good God, Giles thought, perhaps one day, he'd get to the see the boy fight. Giles got to his feet and followed Connor back to the sewers with just a single glance behind himself. He was surprised to find that there wasn't anyone--thing following them.

He might have underestimated Wesley after all.

The way through the sewers wasn't any more pleasant than walking over ground, but they agreed that it was safer. Giles found himself, not for the first time, wishing for a warm bath and the smell of fresh air. Soon now--he patted the bag full of dirt in his pocket--he might be able to go home. Of course, he still had no idea how he'd make it back, since he was pretty sure he didn't have eighteen days to walk back to where it was safe to transport back to the island.

Did they have time for safety anymore?

Perhaps not.

"Stop," Connor hissed through his teeth, putting a hand on Giles' sternum to stop him from going further.

Giles tried to look into the darkness of the sewers. He couldn't see nor hear anything. "Wha--"

"Shush," the boy growled. He closed his eyes and listened for a moment, then murmured, "Get to the hotel. Second ladder on the left, wait in the lobby." Then he was gone.

The sewer entrance was open when Giles climbed the ladder, and when his face emerged in the hotel's basement level, he saw the body of the girl, Lisa, discarded on the floor with puncture wounds on her neck. Giles didn't even look for a pulse. He grabbed his sword and lifted it.

She wouldn't rise again.

He found the lobby deserted and he sat on a bench, hands between his knees, and closed his eyes. So close to the goal. So many deaths. It had to end, one way or the other.

After a minute, fearful that he'd fall asleep if he stayed still too long, Giles got up and went to the mini-fridge for another bottle of water. It was a miracle the electricity was working at all. He hadn't considered that before. He wondered if there was hot water as well. When he turned to face the front door from the counter, he found another letter on top, folded and with Giles written in Xander's now familiar scrawl.

He had no time to open it. Connor burst into the lobby from the downstairs doorway, and threw a stake into the wall, embedding it perfectly. "Motherfucker got away."

"Charles?" Giles asked, although that was more of a rhetorical question. The vampire hadn't been in its cage, and Lisa's body hadn't been drained by anyone coming in from outside, not with those wards still up.

Connor didn't dignify that with an answer, he stalked out by the front door with an "I'm going to find Angel," thrown over his shoulder.

Giles shook his head and swallowed more water, looking at the letter in his hand. Now was as good a time as any--

The door burst open again, and Angel walked in, followed just a feet behind by Connor. No Darren in sight. "I got your dragon tooth." Angel threw the bloody item on the counter and went to the fridge. Giles didn't look at him, but he knew what Angel was taking from it and drinking. He'd seen the blood packets stacked at the bottom.

"Wesley?" Angel asked after he'd discarded the empty plastic bag and come to sit on a bench next to Connor--who looked ready to pass out.

Giles shook his head. "We separated. We needed a diversion, and haven't seen him since."

No one said a word. After a moment, Giles gathered the letter and his bottle of water and went into Wesley's office. The silence was deafening.

G,

Sorry, what? Wesley's a ghost? That's... I want to say it's surprising, but nothing surprises me anymore; not after all this.

We got your instructions okay, and Willow's ready. She's been resting a lot, and so's Carly. They should be 150% good to go by the time you get back. She says you'll probably need your own rest before we do this thing, so we're gonna make sure there's plenty of food and a bed ready for you.

You should be almost done by the time you get this. I hope you are. I--you know what, fuck this.

I miss you. I miss you so fucking much it's like something tore right through me and got away with a piece of my soul, okay? Hurts worse than getting my fucking eye poked.

Yeah, I'm angry. Not at you though, at myself for not figuring out this shit sooner. You'd think I'd have learned something, but no, still good ole Xander who's always late to the party. Apocalypses suck. (What's the plural of apocalypse anyway? Willow says--but it doesn't matter now, does it? Who cares how things are spelt when the world's going to hell... literally)

Mostly, I'm worried like... like... a fucking worried person that's what.

Now's not the time to die either.

X.


Giles closed his eyes and tried to remember Xander's face. It was blurry, uneven and he was certain he was remembering certain details wrong, but he'd spent a long time avoiding eye contact with him, and it was to be expected, he supposed. He wished he'd spent hours studying Xander's face instead of avoiding it.

There was no time for regrets.

Giles picked up the pen and paper he'd used earlier, and wrote Xander, at the top, then stopped. What would he say? He was done, he'd see them all soon.  There was no time for sentimentality. He put down the pen across the page and rubbed a tired hand on his face.

"Ready?"

Jumping to his feet, and reaching for his sword only to find it gone--he remembered leaving it downstairs, stained with the girl's blood--Giles turned and--

Wesley was standing in the doorway, what appeared to be a heavy book suspended in mid-air in front of him. "I was delayed by an extraordinary discovery." He pointed at the book just as he put it down on the desk. "Wolfram & Hart's library was still intact. It seems they'd set wards to protect their valuable collection should the building collapse. It wouldn't surprise me if that was how they managed to rebuild so quickly when we destroyed their offices before."

"What have you found?"

Wesley smiled at that and opened the book with a flick of his wrist. It settled on a page, and Giles bent down to read. "A way to send you back."

Connor came in just then, a first aid kit in his hand. He didn't look shocked at seeing Wesley there, but instead of the usual indifference, he smiled. "Hey."

"Hey," Wesley replied.

"Come on, Giles, let's get that cheek cleaned up."

It seemed while Giles had been maudlin, Connor had hunted the first floor to find out where Darren had put the kit and the last clean towels.

By the time Giles' wound was as clean as it would get, Wesley was ready. The lobby had been cleared and the pentagram etched on the floor. Angel, one arm in a sling now--"It'll heal," he'd said simply when Giles had frowned--and the other slung over Connor's shoulders, handed Giles a plastic grocery bag.

"I wrapped up the tooth," Connor said shaking Giles' hand. "Hope you make it back."

Giles squeezed the boy's fingers. "Shouldn't take too long," he told Angel, and shook his hand also.

"Don't give up on us this time," Angel said. "We're still on the same side."

"I'll take that into consideration," Giles answered with a tight, humourless smile. "You'll remember nothing of this, of course, so the point is moot, isn't it?"

"You'll remember," Angel countered. "I think it counts for something."

"We'll see." Giles turned to Wesley and walked the few steps separating them. "Good bye, Wesley," he said simply.

"Good luck." Wesley levitated the bowl of water and carefully tipped it over to spill on the pentagram. "Step inside."

Giles went to stand in the triangle, both feet in the puddles, and closed his eyes. He heard Wesley muttering the incantation; light flashed behind his eyelids, and then nothing.

* * *

PART II