Summary- One thing Rupert Giles has learned is to focus on the task at hand when you cannot think on what's ahead.
Rating- All
Setting- Post beginning of Season 5.
Author's Notes- This idea came to me as a quote from "Doctor Who": "Demons run when a good man goes to war". Rupert Giles is a frightening man when he is angry. I wanted to explore that.
I recommend listening to "Dustbowl Dance" by Mumford and Sons while reading this.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own all and I am merely grateful for the chance to play in their world.
Preparation
The familiarity of the ritual soothes him, quieting the turmoil in his mind as he prepares for war. Stakes into sleeves of coat. Sword set aside to be strapped to his back. Crossbow laid aside to be loaded then clipped to his belt. Other sundries into the bag at his feet: spare quarrels and crosses and holy water and spare bundles of stakes. Mindless repetition of preparation so that he does not have to think.
They'd been forced to retreat and regroup.
I abandoned her.
The Watcher's breath catches in his throat for a moment and he pauses in his preparations, biting back a sob and the hot tears that threaten to fall. He will not allow himself to think on what they all stand to lose. He must see if she can be saved- No! Not if. The if will break him. With a growl, he snaps the trunk shut and stands.
A voice in the doorway to the training room. Willow. "You're going after her." It isn't a question.
"Yes."
The reply is bitten off, harsher than he intends, but she knows what lies behind it. There is no further challenge to his decision. Just as she had known without asking that he will go after her, she will not gainsay his right to do so. Striding to the wall, he plucks knives from their racks, slides them into boot tops. Mindless repetition. He zips the bag with a sharp motion, shoulders his blade with the ease of long practice. Takes up the crossbow, loads and clips it. Mindless repetition. He takes up the bag and moves to leave. Willow is still there, blocking the doorway.
"We're going with you."
Her voice is flat and he scowls. "No. This is not your fight. Not your place."
Her hand shoots out as he tries to shoulder past her, blocking his way. He almost snarls at her but the look in her eye brings him up short. Furious anger flashes from her eyes and he, for a moment, is afraid of her. "Like hell it's not," she bites out, "Don't be a damn hero. She's our friend. We're coming whether you like it or not."
He looks at her for the first time since she came into the room. There is nothing of the soft, sweet girl in her tonight. Tonight, Willow is hard edges and determination. Her green eyes hold the leashed anger that he knows lies within his own.
Over her shoulder, looking into the shop, he can see they are waiting, armed and ready. All of them. All with same blade sharp look of conviction and determination. They will follow tonight, he has no doubt, whether he wants them to or not. He spares a thought for a moment, a surge of sadness, for what has happened to these children. A night like this, they should be enjoying each others company. Instead they go with him to war. They will fight to rescue one of their own.
He savagely pushes back the surge of emotion that threatens to choke him. There will be time enough when the night's work is done. Wordlessly, he nods to Willow and moves to the front door of his shop, all of them falling into place behind him.
We're coming for you, Buffy. Hold on.
