"A Justicar?" Wesley spluttered with astonishment. "They sent a Justicar to investigate you? But you hadn’t – well, I suppose becoming a demon would qualify, but how did they know … Had you sent them a report?"

Giles looked vaguely abashed. "I’d been intending to," he admitted, "but at that point, I’d not actually got round to it. Which was one of the reasons the Council sent someone to investigate." He quirked a self deprecating smile. "I’m usually fairly prompt with the paperwork."

"They hadn’t heard from you in months," Angel said knowingly. He knew a little about the workings of the Council, having once – back in his Angelus days – sat and read one or two volumes of the collected Watchers’ Diaries. That he’d done so to while away the time while the particular Watcher they’d belonged to had slowly bled to death in front of him did add a certain bitter irony to the knowledge – but then that was true of a lot of things he’d learned over the years.

Giles nodded. "Quite. And then there had been … signs and portents. Ones they couldn’t quite interpret. Conflicting ones, I gather. They - um - often are."

"Being a seer is hardly an exact science," Lorne pointed out. "Actually, it’s not a science at all. It’s a gift. And not always a reliable one. I’m not surprised the Council’s oracles were confused." He smiled wryly. "Princes of hell don’t usually side with the good guys."

"Okay," Wesley frowned, thinking about it. "There’s hints of something that’s happened or is happening in Sunnydale – given that there’s always something happening in Sunnydale, of course – and the Watcher in residence has missed – what? Two monthly reports?"

"Three," Giles corrected quietly.

"Three. Well, that’s good reason to investigate, but – sending a Justicar? That doesn’t make any sense. Not unless they’d had some kind of intimation as to what had happened to you. Or the Council had some other reason for thinking you might have gone rogue on them. I mean – strictly speaking, you weren’t even on active duty. Your Slayer had died for heaven’s sake … Ah," he collided with that issue and studied it from several angles for a moment or two. "No, if they were worried about Buffy, they’d have sent a Council member. Slayers are strictly Council business. They only send in the Justicars if it’s a Watcher or a field agent that’s stepped over the line."

"Or a Council member," Sky observed with a knowing grin. "No-one’s totally incorruptible."

"It was meant as an insult," Giles stated pithily. "They were assuming that I had once again failed in my duty and expected that Sarah Alice would quickly assess the situation and judge me as incompetent, all without the Council having to dirty their hands in the matter. Then again, I suspect that Quentin had no desire to face Buffy a third time. She did rather deflate him on the last occasion he deigned to visit her."

"I bet she did," Angel muttered, earning himself a grin from Cordelia. They were both well aware of how forthright Buffy could sometimes be.

"Ah?" Fred questioned. "Excuse me, but - what’s a Justicar?"

"Yeah," Gunn said, his expression equally bemused. "I was about to ask that."

The two Englishmen exchanged a look.

"There’s an old phrase with a certain – significance – where the Council is concerned," Giles said thoughtfully. "Quis cusdodiet, custodes."

"Who guards the guardians?" Fred translated puzzledly.

Angel chuckled. "Try – who watches the Watchers," he suggested with a smile. "I believe the answer is – ius est ars boni et aequi. Right?"

"Law is the art of the good and the just," Wesley quoted in return. "Or, in our case – the good and the Justicar. The only individuals in the entire organisation with the authority to over rule a direct Council order. Although I don’t think they ever have," he added with a thoughtful frown.

"Twice," Giles corrected softly. "Once in 1767 – and again in …" He hesitated, frowning as he tried to remember the date. "1969. When they dissolved the Circle of Lucinial. They – um - kept that one fairly quiet," he said, as Wesley arched a questioning eyebrow in his direction. "There were at least three council members involved. It could have become a huge scandal."

"Basically," Sky interjected, taking pity on Gunn’s wary frown, "The Justicars are the Council’s officers of Internal Affairs. Only they don’t just investigate. They’re judge, jury – and executioner too. They have to be utterly beyond reproach, and highly dedicated to their calling. And it is a calling. A little less pre-determined than the role of Watcher, but still steeped in tradition and history. Sarah Alice gave me the speech," she explained. "It was a long speech."

"She does have rather a – talent, for those," Giles remarked thoughtfully.

Angel couldn’t help but grin at the observation. "Find me a Watcher who doesn’t," he muttered, getting a smile from Fred, a soft chuckle from Gunn and a slightly irked frown from Wesley. Sky frowned at him, too – although hers held as much amusement as it did reproach.

"Okay," Cordelia considered, missing all this byplay as she tried to make sense of what Sky had said. "There’s this bunch of Watchers who – watch the Watchers. What do they watch them for?"

"Misappropriation, inappropriate disclosures, breaches of the Oath, corruption of the soul – all the usual sorts of things," Giles explained. "Their – um - primary purpose is to preserve the integrity of the Order. And that means investigating – and dealing with - any Watcher, agent or Council Member who, by their actions or their intent, might threaten the safety, the secrecy or the moral standing of the organisation."

"The moral what?" Cordelia looked bemused.

"Standing," Wesley reiterated. "As in – honour, integrity and commitment. There are traditions to uphold."

"So," Gunn drawled, considering him with curiosity, "did they send one of these Justicar dudes to check you out, after you gave up the gig?"

"Well, uh – " Wesley frowned. "You know, thinking about it? I don’t think they did. That is a little strange. Of course," he considered, "technically, I was merely dismissed from my post, not my membership of the Order. A bit like – giving up being a priest, but not a Catholic – if you see what I mean. And I do still submit the occasional report – from time to time. Habit, you know."

"Hard to break," Giles murmured knowingly. "Like the Oath …"

"Yes, well," Wesley admitted, looking a little uncomfortable, "there is that. I – I suppose."

Angel chuckled softly. "Watchers are creatures of destiny, not choice," he said. "You’d think that - after all this time, a hermetic order like the Council would have worked that one out. It’s fundamental alchemy. Put all the right ingredients in the crucible, give it the right conditions – and, most of the time, what you get is mercurial gold. And then, sometimes – " He paused to give the two Englishmen a knowing look. "Sometimes, what you get is the genuine thing. But you have to be prepared to burn away all the dross to find it. Refine it. That takes time. And experience."

"You know, Angel," Wesley observed, giving him a decidedly wary look, "sometimes you worry me. I can - see the association but – just when did you get to be such an expert on alchemy?"

"I didn’t." The vampire grinned. "It’s a quote. From the Justicar that came to see me – about a week after all that business we had with Faith."

"What?" Wesley sat bolt upright and stared at him. Giles echoed the startled look for a moment – then smothered a reactive laugh, managing to turn it into a decidedly wry smile. Sky simply grinned.

"They all talk like that," she said cheerfully. "If you let them. Sarah Alice is just as bad. Mind you," she added, dropping into a slight frown, "that’s more like something Max would say …"

"It is something Max would say," her husband interjected quietly. "It’s a quote from the Tageris. The – uh – 1872 translation, I think. Which was a very bad and very incomplete translation, I have to say. I’ll have to look up the passage when we get home."

"Hey, whoa," Wesley interrupted, waving his hands to regain everyone’s attention. "Let’s just put the Tageris to one side for moment, shall we? We were talking Justicars. We were talking about a Justicar who was clearly investigating me … I had no idea. Angel? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?"

Angel shrugged. "He told me not to. Said you didn’t need to know. Wes – after what Faith put you through – you were in no fit state to deal with a Justicar. He’d already concluded you were doing okay, and there was no need for him to intervene. I told him you wanted nothing more to do with the Council or being a Watcher and that’s when he gave me the quote. Once a Watcher, always a Watcher, that’s what he meant. And it’s true. Look at you – look at the two of you. It’s something you are, not something you do." He leant forward, considering Wesley’s wary frown with solicitous assessment. "I know I’m not the Slayer. But I do have a Watcher on my team, and I’m grateful for it. That may not be what you call yourself, it not even be how you think of yourself. But it’s what you are. The real thing. Not someone who wears the label because the Council assigned them to a post, or gives them a salary. He was right. It’s alchemy. Something that happens. Something that brings all those ingredients together and fuses them into a soul that’s … that’s something I don’t know how to explain."

He wished he could; the look on Wesley’s face was making him feel extremely uncomfortable.

"I know what you mean," Cordelia said brightly, then frowned. "But I don’t think I could explain it, either."

"I don’t know if I’ve just been complimented – or insulted," Wesley announced, sounding aggrieved about it. "But I do know you should have told me about the Justicar. A man has a right to know when he’s being judged. And why."

"He’s right," Giles agreed softly. "And – uh - so were you, Angel. It was a – a compliment, Wesley. Take it as one. I know what he means." He popped the button on his cuff and lifted up his left arm, turning it so that it was safe to unfold what lay hidden within it. Steel shimmered as it caught the light, sending reflections dancing across the room. The gesture was both challenge and demonstration; the words that went with it were undeniable evidence of the truth Angel had been trying to articulate. "So did Salamiel."

The blades slid shut with a decisive snap, making Fred jump. Angel shivered. It had been precisely those qualities he’d been talking about which had influenced the Incandescent’s choice of his victim. The demon hadn’t wanted a warlock or a warrior to shape into his heir. He’d wanted a Watcher – someone with the wisdom of one and the strength of the other. A disciplined, dedicated soul, filled with patience and fired by true passion.

Raw material; mortal antimony to be used and shaped and transmuted into celestial gold. Refined, tempered – and only then corrupted. If the antimony had not been pure, if the gold had been flawed in any way, then the process of transmutation would have shattered both the soul and the vessel that held it. The vampire found himself frowning at the thought. He knew a lot more about alchemy than Wesley suspected; when you spent long days trapped inside unforgiving walls, guarded by an equally unforgiving sun, you had to find ways of occupying your mind. He read a lot. And these days, the books that were closest to hand tended to be the tools of the trade: grimoires, histories, demonic references, and occult philosophies.

He usually understood about one word in five.

The younger Englishman was looking suitably chastised; but his eyes were still angry, and Angel didn’t really blame him. Perhaps he should have told him about the visit from the Justicar – but he’d never found the moment, and, as time passed, it had seemed less and less important. The Council had left them alone – which was how they both wanted it – and he’d seen a klutzy and well-meaning, if somewhat pompous, scholar mature into a true Watcher, just as the Justicar had predicted.

"I don’t see the big deal here," Gunn declared, tipping up the nearly empty naccho bowl so that he could shake the broken pieces at the bottom of it into his hand. "Who cares what these Justicar guys say? I mean – it’s not like being investigated by the IRS, is it?"

"Hardly," Giles said softly. "The IRS don’t possess a licence to kill."

It was going to be one of those days.

One of those ‘one thing after another’ days, where you just thought the last bombshell had been dropped at the precise moment that the next wave of bombers appeared over the horizon. The kind of day Buffy could do without – and tended to have on a regular basis.

That it had started with those three stupid jerks hounding her and playing one of their practical – or should that be impractical – jokes on her, had been bad enough. She really didn’t appreciate finding herself wrestling with grocery carts that appeared to have minds of their own – especially when they didn’t and it hadn’t been some weird demonic possession problem, just three idiotic geeks using her as a diversion while they stole some lameass thing or other. She didn’t even know what they’d taken, just that the police had been arriving as she’d been leaving, and, quite frankly, she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want anything to do with their tiresome plans for world domination.

She didn’t want anything to do with them at all.

Then there’d been all that stuff between Giles and Willow, and that was the stuff she did care about, because she loved the both of them and was worried about them both of them. Giles more than Will, probably, since he was still very much walking wounded, however much he tried to pretend otherwise – but Willow was important too, and she needed time to untangle all of that and give them both the support they needed. Hopefully before everything got out of hand and she found herself having to pick up the pieces afterwards.

One annoying thing, one anxious one – and after that the Detective turning up and making her pitch, which Buffy still wasn’t sure about, although she suspected it was way too late to back away from the problem. The policewoman already knew too much, and it was going to be safer to have her on the team than working against it. There was something about her, something that Buffy couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was because she had the air of someone who might have been a potential Slayer, once upon a time – or perhaps it was because she hadn’t totally wigged out when faced with all those vampires. Or Giles in semi-demon mode, for that matter. She’d dealt with all that and come looking for more. That was a plus. As was the fact that she was a cop, and that might be extremely useful for all sorts of reasons. There’d been a time once, back in high School, when tests and guidance had suggested that Buffy might be suited for a career in law enforcement. Which she’d already had, of course, although the careers guidance people hadn’t know that. Career was rather low on Buffy’s list of priorities at the moment, but having a badge carrying police officer on her team might be a way of checking a few things out. And the Detective had brought those books – the books which had put a light into Giles’ eyes that Buffy hadn’t been sure she’d ever see again, and that was good, so maybe recruiting her was a positive thing. It had been beginning to feel like a suitable note to end the day on.

Only now something else was happening, and it felt like trouble with capital T, only more so. By order of the Council of Watchers …

She didn’t trust the Council, she didn’t particularly like the Council, and – personally – she’d prefer not to have to deal with them in the first place. But she was the Slayer – or had been, before she’d died and come back – and Slayers were the Council’s business whether she liked it or not. There was history there, and possible help if she really needed it – or, then again, possibly not, given the way they’d dealt with her over the years.

They’d sent Giles to help her, though. Made him her Watcher and he’d understood what that meant, even if the Council members themselves seemed singularly unable to grasp the concept. That mattered. And the Council mattered to him, because – in some strange I never got round to asking way – they were his family, or something … and she really wished she had got round to asking, because the look on his face when this Sarah Alice Dimwhatever had handed him her card had not been encouraging.

Not encouraging at all.

I hereby place you under full and fair investigation, subject to the laws and outcomes of my calling …

So what was that supposed to mean?

Buffy’s mind was whirling, trying to assess the situation. Had Giles finally got round to writing that report he’d mentioned, that little matter of reporting what had happened to him? Or was the Council’s representative here because he hadn’t, because all they had from him these past three months was empty silence – along with her own dismissive half-lies?

They’ll know something has been going on, he’d said, not so long since. I’m surprised we haven’t had someone turn up to find out what exactly.

She was suddenly – and acutely - aware that the Council should have been told.

Because having one of their number kidnapped by – and then turned into - a prince of hell was hardly something they were going to consider lightly …

"Where do you stand?"

The woman’s question – no, her challenge - was followed by a moment of stunned silence. Giles stared at the speaker as if he didn’t believe his eyes – or ears. Then he pulled himself together with visible effort. "Under oath - and on Watch," he said, answering the strange query with a slightly insulted note in his voice.

"And where do you place your heart?"

Giles’ eyes darted, briefly, in Buffy’s direction. She was watching this little exchange with bemusement, unable to keep the anxious look from her face. "In the defence of my Slayer," he announced, with quietly challenging confidence. The woman blinked. This clearly wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting him to give. It quirked a small smile to the relevant Slayer’s lips, though.

"Oh. I - see." Sarah Alice only looked taken aback for a moment. Her expression dropped into a wary frown. "I do have full authority," she said. "This isn’t meant to be funny, Mr Giles."

"Neither was my answer," he replied. "I understand the need for ritual, Miss Dimwithy, probably more than you can appreciate but – uh - I don’t believe in repeating inane and meaningless rote. You, of all people, should appreciate the value of honesty. I stand by the declaration. And – uh – before you say anything? All of these people know exactly what I meant."

The Englishwoman’s eyes flitted around the assembled company; they lingered for a moment on Buffy before sweeping on past Anya, taking in Xander, Tara and Willow – to land with a puzzled frown directed at Detective Zaherne.

"Is that so?" she queried warily.

Xander broke into a goofy grin. "That is so so," he said. "As in – he Watcher, she Slayer. Us Scoobies. And you - ?"

The question held a hint of hostility, one Buffy heartily approved of. He, like the rest of them, had responded to the hint of threat that hung in the air, slipping into defensive mode with the ease of long practice.

The woman raised an eyebrow, seemingly more amused at his challenge than offended by it. "I am a duly authorised Justicar, charged with the investigation of irregularities and the elimination of potential threats to the proper continuance of the venerable and mystical Order of Watchers. And you are an irregularity before I even begin. However," she went on, giving him a stern look that effectively quelled the protest he’d been about to make, "since I made a point of reading the relevant documents on my way to this assignment, I am well aware that the Council is aware of the individuals privy to the Slayer’s existence. This Slayer," she added disapprovingly, throwing the look in Buffy’s direction. Buffy felt equally quelled – although not enough to stop her bristling at the disdainful note in the woman’s voice. "Past issues are not my concern. I am here to investigate what I hope is merely a matter of miscommunication. Possibly requiring a formal reprimand."

"Possibly," Giles echoed, half under his breath. The brief roll of his eyes and the wry grimace that accompanied it spoke eloquently of the irony of that suggestion. Buffy winced, realising that the Justicar – whatever a Justicar was - had absolutely no idea about recent events – and that explaining them was probably going to involve a great deal of diplomacy.

"So whadya think?"

"I think the lady's a babe. Positive 10 on the babealicious scale." Andrew leaned forward to get a better view; the image on the flickering monitor was fuzzy and the camera angle didn’t quite capture all the figures gathered at the shop counter.

"You think?" Johnathan was unimpressed. "I'd say an eight. Tops. She's got the height, and the legs, but the bone structure's all wrong. And she's too skinny. Not enough - " he gestured with his hands, illustrating a curve of ample bosom worthy of a Barbie doll. "You know. Now the blonde - she's got curves all right. In all the right places too …"

"Guys," Warren interrupted pointedly. "We're not here to ogle the eye candy. Sweet as it is," he noted distractedly. On screen the newest arrival in the Magic Box had turned to take in the layout of the shop. Behind her the Slayer and her Watcher were exchanging looks that implied an urgent need for conversation; they were doing remarkably well with non-verbal communication, but most of what both of them were doing was asking questions. Questions which for some reason they clearly could not voice out loud. The dark haired woman who'd brought in the books was watching them both with wary consideration. "And she's a ten. Definitely a ten …" He gave himself a little shake and turned to his companions with determination. "But that's not the point. We're supposed to be gathering information. Uncovering the Slayer's dirty little secrets. Finding something we can use against her." He threw a thoughtful glance at the screen. "So - quick review. What d'we know?"

Johnathan sighed. "That she foils us at every turn?"

"True," Warren acknowledged, steepling his fingers together and looking thoughtful. "But only because we haven't found her weakness yet. There will be a way to get to her. Something we can use."

Andrew thrust his hand in the air. "Ooh, ooh. I know, I know. It's the demon thing, isn't it?"

"Good boy," Warren smiled indulgently. "What demon thing?"

"Oh - ah - that thing - Xander said, that time? About Mr Giles? We all thought he was joking, but then the witches said something too, and Buffy's all - hey, give him time, and he's coping, okay? And then Johnathan did that cool stuff with the photos we took and it was, like, woah and indications off the scale and instant combustion - poof!"

"I burnt my fingers," Johnathan complained, scowling at the offending digits.

"Yes, we know." Warren’s acknowledgement was unsympathetic. "The thing is, we proved that her Watcher possesses some kind of demonic energy – and we know he’s not become a vampire, because he walks about in broad daylight – "

"But he’s been buying blood," Andrew cut in, earning himself an irritated glare.

"Not a vampire," Warren repeated firmly. "Out in daylight, okay? And we discussed the blood, and it’s not conclusive because Spike’s still hanging around, and it could just be for him. Or not. We don’t know."

"He doesn’t look like a demon," Johnathan said doubtfully, tilting his head to study the image of the man they discussed. "And I know he wasn’t before – when I did that spell thing, you know?"

"Spike doesn’t look like a demon until he vamps out," Warren pointed out. "But he is. Look – Mr Giles disappeared for a while, right? Just – wasn’t around. And then he came back, and the Slayer and the rest of them have been acting a little weird around him – as if he’d been sick, or something – and the spell was positive, so I think something major happened - and he’s not really human any more."

"Perhaps it’s not Mr Giles at all," Andrew suggested. "Perhaps it’s a demon pretending to be Mr Giles." He paused to look at his companions, the three of them considering that possibility – and then Johnathan snorted, Warren rolled his eyes, and Andrew laughed a little nervously. "Right," he said. "Slayer in the house. Unless, of course, she knows it isn’t really him, and she’s not told anyone else."

"Unlikely," Warren decided confidently. "I’ve been thinking, guys. If he is a demon, then maybe we can use that. If Andrew here can work his whammy on him – get him under control – then we can make him attack the Slayer."

"I- I don’t know," Andrew said doubtfully. "See – to command a demon? You need to know its name."

"We know his name," Warren pointed out. "And Buffy would never expect him to turn on her. She’d be totally wigged by it."

"Especially if she had to kill him," Johnathan agreed. The thought lifted a smile to Warren’s face. Andrew didn’t look anywhere near as happy.

"It’s not that easy," he complained. "Demon summoning’s an art, you know. The dumb ones come when they’re called – but demons with brains? They’re a lot harder to command."

"Well," Warren considered thoughtfully, "I know we don’t know what kind of demon he is …"

"He might not be one at all." Johanathan was frowning at the screen. "For all we know, he’s been possessed by one – and the energy stuff is what got left behind."

"Mmm." Warren clearly hadn’t thought of that possibility. "Would that generate the kind of reaction you got?"

"I don’t know. It might. If it was a really, really bad-ass demon. Or a higher spirit, come to that. Look," he defended, reacting to the looks he was getting. "Magic isn’t paint by numbers stuff, guys. A spell like that – it’s just an indicator. A – mystic Geiger counter thing. You point one of those at something radioactive and it goes off the scale – you still don’t know if it’s pure plutonium, contaminated caesium, or just a piece of pig iron that’s been sat in a reactor too long. I got supernatural energy. Lots of it. But that doesn’t tell me if I’m looking at a demon, an angel, or just a man with a seriously tainted aura."

"Then we need another test," Warren said, turning back to consider the images on the screen. "Vampires – vamp out when they attack someone, right? Bring the demon to the surface? If Mr Giles has become more than he seems, then we need a way to make him show his true colours …" 

"Their timing was impeccable." The irony in Giles’ remark wasn’t lost on his audience. Wesley winced. He was only too aware of how delicately a Watcher under suspicion had to handle that kind of situation. He’d never had any formal dealings with a Justicar, of course, but he had come across one or two socially – and that had been more than enough to convince him never to cross their path officially. He hadn’t met Sarah Alice Dimwithy, although he had heard of her. She’d achieved her accreditation just before he’d been sent to Sunnydale – and had been subject of much discussion at the time, since she had the distinction of being one of the few women ever to reach the coveted rank and status of full Justicar. No doubt she’d have been taking her task extremely seriously. The Councils’ watchdogs were trained to be both astute and persistent; their methods of investigation required them to uncover and clarify every detail.

Which, given that the Watcher involved in this particular investigation had been forcibly transmuted into a demonic creature that hadn’t walked the earth in millennia, meant that the situation he was describing would have demanded a very particular kind of diplomacy. The last thing he would have needed was to be distracted by a tiresome bunch of wanna-be bad guys.

"Buffy didn’t think so," Sky laughed. "Nor did Sarah Alice, for that matter. She really didn’t have any idea about what was going on. Her first real solo assignment," she confided, hesitating over the plate of cookies Fred was offering her. "A simple misdemeanour, she was told. Being Sarah Alice, of course, she’d asked for more information, requested advice as to possible approaches, and tried to assess the Council’s expectations on the matter. Just deal with it, she was told. Whatever the problem, it’s your problem."

"They did have other concerns at the time," Giles said. "Is that a chocolate chip with cherry?"

"Ooh. Mine," Cordelia exclaimed, grabbing the relevant cookie before his hand could reach it. "Heaven in a single bite."

"Cordy," Angel protested, although not entirely seriously. She pouted at him and Fred laughed.

"There’s a whole box of them in the kitchen," she said. "I only put out a few of each. Would you like a chocolate chip and cherry, Mr Giles? I can get you one if you do."

"Just give him the candied orange one," Wesley suggested, earning himself a surprised glance from his fellow Watcher. "What? You think I didn’t know who ate half my box of Jaffa cakes, my first week in Sunnydale? Wasn’t Xander. He hates the things."

"He likes the raspberry ones," Sky said, then gave her husband an amused look. "You didn’t."

Giles coloured a little, smiling thanks at Fred as she pointed out the relevant cookie. "I’m afraid I did. I’m sorry, Wesley, I – I really should have apologised for that. But – "

"They were an irresistible temptation," Wesley interrupted with a grin. "I know. Took me a couple of years away from home to realise just how tempting they must have been. I should have been the one to apologise. Or maybe just offered them to you in the first place." His grin grew a little wider as he recalled the way he’d behaved, back in those early days. He’d been told a great many things before he’d been sent to Sunnydale – and most of them had turned out to be total misconceptions, if not downright lies. It was no surprise he’d acted like a total prat from time to time. He wondered what they’d told Sarah Alice Dimwithy, sending her to discipline a Watcher the Council considered somewhat – difficult, to say the least.

"Do you find they - still taste the same?" Angel was asking, a little wistfully. Wesley gave him a wary look. Vampires didn’t really experience the subtle savours of food as such, although they could – and did – eat if they wanted to. Most of them didn’t want, since without the distinctions of flavour eating was probably a singularly unappealing exercise. He’d thought Angel had come to terms with that particular lack in his life – or unlife, rather – but the look in the vampire’s eyes suggested otherwise.

"More or less." The answer held quiet sympathy. "I-If anything, my sense of taste has become more sensitive, not less. I get certain – undertones and overtones these days. But I try not to let it spoil the experience." Giles took a careful bite from the cookie, and nodded. "These are good. We should get some of these to take home."

"I had to marry a demon with a sweet tooth," Sky muttered with a roll of her eyes. She leant across and took her own bite from the cookie in his hand. "Mmm. They are good. We should send some to Crispin so he can work out the recipe."

"He’ll have a better," Giles responded wryly – and his wife grinned, clearly knowing what he was talking about.

"Let me get this straight," Gunn said. "These guys – ah, yeah, I’ll take a pecan and walnut, thanks – they were spying on you? High tech surveillance and hidden camera stuff?"

Sky nodded. "Uhuh. Strictly speaking, of course, they were spying on Buffy. But the stuff was state of the art. I know people in the department who’d kill to get their hands on that kind of technology. Thing is, the kit was good – "

"Warren was the one who engineered the Buffybot," Giles interjected softly. "He was brilliant. Twisted, perverted, and decidedly unstable perhaps, but – unquestionably brilliant."

"But," Sky continued determinedly, "they were a bunch of pretentious amateurs. Playing at things they should have left well alone. The technology was bad enough. Add in an inept magician and an apprentice demon summoner and you had a disaster just waiting to happen. I’m not surprised they were driving Buffy crazy - or that she was thwarting their plans almost without knowing what they were or what they were intended to achieve. It was just a matter of time before their comic book games got out of hand.

"Of course, what they did that day was dangerous enough, without putting Sarah Alice in the mix. But then, as Rupert said, their timing was impeccable."

 Long Sea Crossing-Chapter Three. Part A-Four. Disclaimer:This story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to violate any copyrights held by anyone - Universal, Pacific Rennaisance, or any other holders of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys or Buffy the Vampire slayer trademarks or copyrights.
© 2005. Written by Pythia. Reproduced by Penelope Hill