Another shock in a seemingly unending litany that night.

Buffy briefly wondered if one could O.D. on adrenaline. Then again, considering her track-record, she would know by now.

Xander squeaked. "So you've been the Guardian since... like... forever?"

Morghane chuckled softly.

"No. Guardians are immortal, not invulnerable. Much like vampires. A few things can kill us... or hurt us so badly that we never recover. Some choose to pass on their charge to another Guardian. Voluntarily. It gets... tiring after a while."

Willow was dumbfounded. "They commit suicide?!"

Morghane bit her lower lip. "Well... they relinquish their immortality... so I guess it could be interpreted as suicide. Although we don't age, we do get... old, in a way. Spiritually old."

Buffy nodded. She understood the concept.

One thing was nagging at her, though. "Are you human?"

"Yes. It's magick that keeps my body alive. A very, very powerful spell. Without it, I would just die, like any other human. By now, my body cannot go on without magick. It would just... collapse."

Xander finally asked the question which was on everybody's mind.

"So just how old ARE you?"

"1700," answered Morghane, straightforward. "Give or take a decade."

"Wow," whispered Oz.

"What he said," added Buffy, reeling.

In that moment, the Slayer had an epiphany. She suddenly understood some of Giles' reluctance and the look he had given her when the one-per-generation thingy had been brought up. Guardians lived forever. Slayers... didn't. < Well, duh. >. But she realized that, somehow, she did not envy Morghane at all - even if immortality would mean one less obstacle between Angel and her. Even if it would be really nice to live past twenty. She just couldn't picture that kind of an eternal life. To go on fighting forever. < And go to Hell literally for Christ's sake >. No. She didn't want that for herself. Not in a million years.

She smiled reassuringly at Giles, then turned towards Morghane with newfound compassion. She discovered that the Guardian had been staring at her the whole time and was now smiling knowingly.

"You're right, Buffy. Humans aren't meant to live that long."

The Slayer jumped, startled. "You're psychic, too?"

Morghane shook her head.

"Just empathic. Comes with the job, really. When I look at someone, the first thing I see is their soul. You can tell a lot of things that way."

All at once, they straightened their posture and clothing. Like it could have any impact on Morghane's perception. Just how do you make your soul look presentable?

The Guardian grinned. She got that reaction a lot.

Even after 1700 odd years, it was still funny.

"It tends to make people uncomfortable though, so don't spread it around," she added, deadpan.

 

 

Giles, who had remained silent during her explanation, finally had enough.

"Why are you here, Guardian?"

Morghane sighed. "Look, Rupert..."

"It's Watcher to you."

Everybody frowned, feeling the stark hostility but not comprehending its cause.

The Guardian's jaw clenched and she drew her coat tighter around herself like a shield.

"Very well, Watcher. Just for the record, I'm not here to pile more responsibilities on the Slayer's shoulders, but this cannot be helped..."

The cup of tea Giles was still holding fell to the floor and exploded into a thousand pieces.

They stopped breathing.

"This is not about the Slayer's duty, Guardian. This is about Jenny."

Still holding her breath, Buffy saw Morghane pale visibly. The mention of the dead computer teacher had come out of left field, and the Guardian wasn't the only one taken aback by Giles' cold accusatory tone. Willow clutched Oz' arm like a security blanket. Xander held Anya's hand, startled.

"How...?"

"You did not think this would ever come to my knowledge, did you?" asked Giles tightly.

"I don't... I..."

"Jenny left me all her possessions. It took me until a few months ago to gather the strength to go through them, but eventually I found her journal."

"Rupert... Watcher, you have to understand..."

"But I do. I do. I understand that you could not be bothered to come to Sunnydale yourself, so you got in touch with Jenny and exploited her guilt to get her to do the dirty job for you."

"No, that's not..."

"Even if there was a good reason to explain your unwillingness to take matters into your own hands, you still chose him over her. You played liberally with Jenny's life, knowing how dangerous Angelus was, knowing about Drusilla."

Giles was practically shouting.

Morghane slowly got out of her chair to stand. "How can you believe...?"

"Shut up."

Everybody recoiled at the slicing words and the homicidal light in the eyes of the Watcher. He was shaking, the effort it took to contain his rage was so great.

"Angel told me about you. He told me months ago. How dare you show yourself here? How dare you appear before me? Before her? Before them?" he accused, pointing to Buffy and her friends.

The Slayer tried to intervene.

"Giles, what are you talking about? What about Jenny and Angel?"

His expression softened. "Not now, Buffy." Then he faced the Guardian once more and the murderous look was back, but he was calmer.

Deadlier.

Ripper in all his glory.

"Get out of my house. I cannot stand the sight of you right now."

Morghane was shaking. From the impact of his words or from the effort it took to stand, Buffy couldn't tell.

But something was seriously wrong with her.

"Rupert..." The Guardian was almost pleading. "Listen..."

The Watcher turned his eyes away. His fury was spent, leaving bitter lassitude and a bone-deep weariness in its wake. It had been so unexpected. He had never thought he would see her here this night. He was unprepared to deal with the sudden release of the unreasoning anger which had steadily built up since he had first read Jenny's journal. He could not deal with this right then. Not in front of the children.

"Leave. Now," he enunciated slowly.

Morghane looked like she was going to argue again, but she stared at him oddly and her expression went blank. She nodded slowly, defeated, resigned.

"Very well, Watcher. But I'll be back. I'm sorry, this cannot be helped," she said, repeating her words of a few moments ago.

She turned around after a brief smile for Buffy and the Slayerettes, then opened the front door and left, swallowed by darkness.

 

 

Spike was getting seriously pissed. Not only had he been coerced into becoming the Guardian's new freakin' bodyguard, he had to wait for her Highness out in the rain, in front of the bloody Watcher's house. And to top it all he was back in Sunnydale, which meant back on the Slayer's territory - a Slayer who just happened to have a major grudge against him.

< So I tortured Angelus a little, so what? Big deal. Still got all his limbs. Skin's still attached. He used to call it foreplay. >

That, of course, was before the goddamn gypsy curse. Now his Sire wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole, except maybe to break a few bones.

To make a bloody long story short, Spike's life was complicated enough without the Guardian adding to his grief. Although so far the situation hadn't been half as bad as it could have been. Maybe the old saying was right: misery did so much love company.

He hadn't quite known what to do with himself after the whole Ring of Amara disaster. As usual, he was planless. He had half considered the possibility of going after Angelus again. Not that he thought he would get the blasted ring back. He knew his own Sire better than that. Angel would have destroyed the bloody thing as soon as possible, he was not stupid enough to turn himself and his new buddies into every vamp's favorite targets. And he was too disgustingly noble to hide it somewhere and risk having it fall into the wrong hands. No, at that point, Spike couldn't have cared less about the ring - short attention span, and all.

He had just felt like hunting Angelus down, tying him up - preferably to a rack and those chains had cost a fortune and could be recycled anyway - and having his way with him. The younger vampire hadn't tried to analyze his own reasons for wanting to get anywhere near Angelus again. Whether he wanted to pick up the torture and cheap taunting where they had left off, or whether he missed his Sire's companionship so badly that he was ready to take it by force? well, he didn't want to know.

And that's when he had been Summoned. Literally.

Maybe she had known what he had in store for Angel; maybe it was pure coincidence. Either way, he had been unable to get a straight answer out of her. And now he was her fucking lapdog. Tell him to raise his leg and he would go find a nice tree.

Submission to a non-demonic master was thoroughly offensive to his vampiric sensibilities. Not to mention pathetic.

If only his Sire could see him now.

Like father, like son.

< Peaches would be so proud. >

Spike heard rustling in the bushes behind him and straightened.

Now, he was forbidden from killing humans, but the Guardian hadn't said anything about moronic fledglings who didn't know enough to recognize the sent of a frustrated master vampire when they met one and steer clear of him. Which was just as well really. He was itching for a good fight.

He turned around to meet the three vampires head-on. He realized quickly that they wouldn't be much of a challenge - but it would do as a stop-gap measure.

"Good evening, mates."

"This is our territory."

< Okay. Brainless, no banter. This is gonna be boring. > He frowned. < I've been bloody spoiled by the Slayer. >

"I'm just stopping by," said Spike with a grin.

The bigger one appeared to ponder that statement.

< That's right. Try to connect the couple of neurons that pass up for your brain and see what you come up with. >

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." < Me Spike. You Dust. >

"Yeah, well... Move along."

"Sorry, no can do. I'm waiting for a friend."

"Huh, I don't think we can allow that."

"Fine by me," roared Spike, throwing himself at the vamp, game-faced, fangs bared.

He didn't have a stake handy, but that wasn't going to stop him. He quickly dropped the leader to the ground with a round-kick to the face, simultaneously elbowing the second vamp coming at his back, breaking its nose. The smell of blood spurred him on and he grabbed his third assailant by the shoulders, bringing it down on his bent knee, snapping its spine in two. The vampire screamed in agony. Spike plunged his clawed hand into its chest, going through flesh and ribs, tearing out the unbeating heart. The demon instantaneously turned to dust.

Meanwhile the leader had picked itself up and was growling ominously. Spike did not spare it a glance. He took hold of the second vampire whose nose was still bleeding profusely, and threw it on a branch of the nearest tree.

< Next. >

Spike turned around without hurry, letting the leader get an easy shot at him. The fist split his lower lip and he smiled, feral. It felt good.

"Come get me," he taunted.

The good thing was, his remaining opponent was too dumb to run.

The fledgling charged head first, and Spike easily caught it in a headlock. The lingering smell of blood was intoxicating, he wanted more. Spike dug his claws in the vampire's shoulder, grabbed its hair and tugged, exposing its throat. Without a moment's pause, he struck, sinking his fangs deeply into the jugular. The younger vamp still struggled, outraged, but Spike tightened his hold. The blood tasted a bit young. It lacked the potency of that of a master vampire, but still it felt good going down his throat.

Just then he sensed her, and her mere presence was enough to drag him out of the bloodlust.

With a roar, he released his victim and brutally impaled the weakened fledgling on the same tree as its late acolyte. Without waiting for the dust to settle, he turned around to face the Guardian.

"You look like shit, pet."

"I know," she answered softly.

Her wet hair was plastered to her face, her lips were blue, and she was trembling viciously. She looked subdued.

Something was wrong.

And what did he care anyway?

< Oh, Hell >, thought Spike. He was always one to go with the flow. He would worry about those inane feelings of compassion and concern later.

Her knees gave out.

He rushed towards her with vampiric speed and slipped an arm around her waist before she hit the muddy ground. She was still conscious.

"Didn't quite go as planned, did it?" whispered Spike.

She shook her head, then moaned. "On the contrary. Just like we discussed; he threw me out." She sighed. "Didn't let me explain." Her voice was almost inaudible. "At least he didn't shoot me on sight."

"So what are we doing now?"

"Go back tomorrow. Try again."

And then her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed against his chest.

< Fuck. >

Unexpectedly, Spike came to a decision. Screw the Watcher, screw the Slayer. He picked up the Guardian in his arms. First find the De Soto, if he could remember where he parked it.

And then, L.A..