Giles knew he was delaying the inevitable. But he had made up his mind how it would play out. He had gone back to the stacks for his sword, but seeing Buffy reminded him how futile that would be. He was no match physically for the Slayer. He was certainly in no shape to face another Immortal—especially one in the top of his form. No, if he couldn't talk his way out of it, then he'd lose his head.

He knew it had to happen sometime. But now that the time was upon him, he felt understandably reticent. And so he meandered, putting off what he wasn't ready to face.

Finally, even the headhunter got tired and broke off the hunt. When Giles spotted him entering a diner, his own stomach began to growl.

"Traitor," he scolded. But he was getting peckish. And frankly, he was getting tired of running away. Giles stood and faced his enemies. Or he used to, at any rate.

Girding his loins, in a figurative sense, Giles strode through the door of the diner and up to his opponent.

"I understand you're looking for me," he managed to say without squeaking.

The hard youth stared at him over a burger plate. "That's right. You want me now?"

"Oh no," Giles said, observing the courtesies. "Please finish your meal. In fact, if you don't mind, I'm rather hungry myself." He indicated a seat at the counter near the Immortal.

"Knock yourself out," the Immortal said, turning back to his meal.

"I'm Rupert Giles, the librarian at the high school," Giles said. Conversation was his only weapon, and he wasn't averse to wielding it early.

"Richie Ryan," was all the young man said.

Giles ordered the blue plate special and hot tea. "Ryan. That's an Irish name."

"I suppose. I didn't know my parents."

Giles tried another tack. "You're rather young, aren't you? I don't mean chronologically—"

"I know what you mean. I may be young, but I'm seasoned. And I had a good teacher." Something must have tasted bad from the face he made. "MacLeod. You wouldn't know him."

"But I do." Giles took hope for the first time since sitting down to sup with the devil. "Connor and I go way back."

"Not Connor. The other one: Duncan." He barely got the name out.

Giles didn't know the name, but he tried not to sound crestfallen. "I don't suppose he'd be a relative, given our peculiar circumstances." His dinner arrived and he ate it mechanically.

"I'd like to convince you not to take my head," he tried not to sound pathetic.

"Not a chance." He was adamant on that point anyway. A real collector.

"Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Ryan snorted. "And a stitch in time saves nine. Forget the chit-chat, Pops. You're wasting your breath."

Giles bristled at the rude epithet. "There's no cause to get unpleasant. You're awfully cynical for one so young."

"I had a hard life. What's it to you, anyway? You'll get your chance, just like any other. Maybe you'll take my head."

Giles schooled his breathing. He didn't want to get indigestion on top of everything else. "I've always believed the pen to be mightier than the sword. That's why I left the Game and entered the scholastic profession. I like to feel I followed a higher calling."

Ryan laughed out loud. "That's a good one, Pops. But you'd better sharpen your quills, 'cause I'm going to put that little theory to the test."

"The name is Giles, young man." He sat stiffly polishing his glasses. He could see the other Immortal perfectly well without them, but after a couple centuries they had become a habit. "I'll thank you to use it, or not at all."

"Okay, Giles."

A small victory. Giles dared to hope for more. And with that hope, his appetite returned and he ate heartily.

"I, uh, can't help thinking something pretty horrible must have happened to you—fairly recently, if I'm correct?"

Richie slammed his coffee cup down hard enough to slosh on the counter. "Listen, Giles. I don't want to talk about it, ok? It's none of your damn business."

Struck a chord. Giles' heart leapt in excitement. "You see," he went on, seemingly oblivious to the agitation he was generating. "I'm a teacher, and I can't help sensing you are in crisis. Perhaps a crisis with your mentor, this Duncan MacLeod—"

The young Immortal shoved his plate away, half finished. "That's it. You want to keep talking, I'll take your head right here."

"In front of all these people?" Giles was nonplussed. He paused, fork in midair, envisioning the scurry of activity. "That would be quite a show."

Richie got himself under control with an effort. He couldn't let the old fool goad him into a mistake. Mac had taught him better than that—

—Mac, looming over him, grinning evilly, the sword beginning its perfect arc—

Giles put his fork down. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing," Richie managed to get through his constricted throat, when he could finally speak. Damn. That was the first time it had happened while he was still awake, and it scared the shit out of him.

"You're white as a ghost," Giles insisted.

"Forget it, I said," he hissed through his teeth, fumbling for his wallet. The guy was good, he'd give him that. Knew how to push all his buttons. But it wasn't going to work. Not on the new Richie Ryan.

He slapped some bills on the table. "Let's go," he said, getting to his feet.

It was Giles' turn to go pale. He placed his knife and fork across his plate neatly. "I, uh, would like to put my affairs in order, if you wouldn't mind." He kept his voice modulated by sheer will. "I have a—special charge. I need to see to her welfare."

Richie started to shake his head.

"I won't be long," Giles said, turning to face his first challenger in a hundred years. He met the hard, cold gaze with calm acceptance of his fate. "I'll meet you anywhere you like in, say, two hours?" That should give him enough time to contact his replacement and get a few instructions down on paper. Buffy might be on her own for a little while.

Richie's stare bore through the guy, but he didn't flinch. "Okay," he said, mentally picturing the town. "I've got to dispose of that farmer anyway, before I blow town. I'll meet you on the road outside the cemetery. Two hours—or I'm coming after you. There's nowhere you can go that I can't follow."

Giles nodded understanding. "Yes, um. Thank you." He pushed his glasses up on his nose out of habit. He'd always meant to break himself of that habit. Now it looked as if he was finally going to do just that.

The Immortal walked away without a backward glance. As he watched him go, Giles couldn't help thinking that all he really needed was a good teacher.