"Any kind of information we can get will be useful," Giles told Wesley, "even if we can't find out about Sarah, David's impressions of the Slaying lifestyle then could prove to be valuable... an outsider's viewpoint often tells us more than those closest to an issue."
"It appears that he was quite close to the issue," Wesley pointed out, following Giles into the kitchen doggedly, "and I think, given that Angel is provenly difficult to hypnotise, your energies are best served taking him straight to that time."
"With Buffy I found it easier to take her back through..."
Angel, forgotten, trailed in behind the (former) Watchers, taking in his surroundings. Giles' apartment was largely unchanged; some different ornaments, perhaps, a few more books. Nothing to suggest that Angel wasn't a part of any of it anymore; though he admitted to himself he never really had been. He noticed a picture of the core Scoobies sitting on a shelf and wandered over to look at it - a rumpled Willow, Xander and Giles around an equally untidy Buffy, all dirty and tired but smiling, pulled in close. His eyes lingered on Buffy for a moment. He could almost sense her vibrancy just from the flat, lifeless photograph, as he had so many times in the last year.
"Just after our yearly explosion," Willow's voice came from behind him. "It's actually becoming a worrying tradition."
Angel turned around quickly, embarrassed to have been caught staring at the picture. Willow's gaze was understanding and he relaxed into her friendly demeanour and smiled at her.
"What did you blow up?"
"The Initiative..." off his blank look, Willow hastened to explain. "Riley's soldier guys? Turned out to be bad guys."
"But Riley..."
"Was clean," she said without inflection. She appreciated Angel's desire to know about the other man - who was his rival, though all of them would pretend, had been pretending, he was Angel's replacement. She thought it was in about equal parts needing to know he'd left Buffy to something, someone, good and being desperate to find out something that tarnished that spotlessness. She'd never figured Angel, with his truckload of guilt, for a big self-esteem guy, but it made her figure him as human.
"Convenient," Angel offered with a humourless smile.
Willow declined to answer that. Since the spell, she'd felt desperately sorry for all the people caught in the warped triangle - Angel and Buffy, flung together by history and kept apart by circumstance, and Riley, the would-be true love kept outside; everything Buffy wanted, if Buffy wanted anything except Angel.
"Hear you kept the tradition alive yourself," she teased, realising too late and then hoping it wasn't a sore subject.
"Oh yeah, I did my part," he said, smiling. "It was a good building, though."
"But you're in a hotel!" she said, "Cordy said it was huge and, um... 'not too bad looking, for an old place'."
"And then she said it was perfect for me because I'm not too bad looking for an old guy?" Angel said with a full-fledged grin. Willow blushed. Cordy *had* added a similar rider. "It's okay," he said, "she told me so. Anyway, she was just wild for anywhere that got us out of her apartment."
"Yeah, she told me about her apartment," Willow said, "and her ghost."
"Hey, her ghost's a great guy," Angel said, only half joking.
"A wonderful personality," Wesley's cut-glass tones chipped in from behind, "but if we could begin, please?"
"But we were waiting..." Willow began to protest.
"Sure," Angel said. He winked at her, cutely if uncharacteristically, and went to lie uncomfortably on the couch, as it barely accommodated his large frame. Giles and Wesley took up places either side of his head, and Willow sat nearby; she had requested to be included in the group, partly to see more of the hypnosis techniques which had fascinated her, but mostly to hear more about the story of Sarah and David which had touched her.
"Now, try to relax," Giles began, pitching his voice to be as calming as possible, "my voice is..."
* * * * *
"Are you sure you have to go?" Riley said teasingly, propping himself up and nuzzling Buffy's neck as she sat on the side of the bed. She giggled and left off dressing for a moment to meld her lips with his for a slow kiss.
"You know I have to," she said, brushing a wayward strand of hair off his face, "busy time, remember?"
"Oh, I know," he said, unable to keep the silly grin from his face. "But the nightmares have stopped."
"No more dreams," she agreed, her smile dimming slightly, then returning. "I guess you wore me out," she added slyly.
"Likewise," he said, flopping contentedly back into the bed. Buffy had been particularly affectionate the night before, lavishing an unfamiliar, unbridled passion on him... he had slipped into sleep aching pleasurably, newly secure in her arms and in their relationship; having seen Angel, she had come back to him.
If he had woken to an empty bed and she was leaving to attend the vampire's hypnosis session, what of it?
* * * * *
Buffy opened Giles' door gingerly, afraid of knocking or entering too loudly lest she disturb Angel in his hypnotised state. She could hear faint voices. As she crept in they cleared, becoming Giles' frustrated tones mingled with Wesley chattering stridently, rather than Angel's voice, perhaps subtly changed, and Giles' soft questions, as she had expected.
"...At it for nearly an hour and he's just not..." she heard before Willow noticed her and jumped up, hurrying over and pulling her aside, which seemed to be happening a lot lately, Buffy noted wryly.
"They can't get him under," the witch confided in a stage whisper, over the sound of Giles trying the hypnotism once again. "Giles and Wes are getting more and more annoyed and Angel's getting more and more quiet, I think he feels bad that he can't..."
They were interrupted by a throaty groan from the couch.
"Angel?" Giles said in surprise, turning quickly around to face the prone man again.
"Michael," came the slow, slightly confused, British-accented reply, "Michael Woolf, Watcher."
"Goddess," Willow murmured in awe. Her mind worked quickly, and she stared at the Slayer, who was already across the room and kneeling rapt at Angel's side, her eyes fixed on his face, eyes screwed tightly shut as he fell into their past.
Her gaze ticked over to Wesley, who was also up and rapidly scouring the bookshelves.
"What year is it?" Giles asked, trying to keep his voice calm and not betray the excitement he felt, both at the success of the hypnotism and actual contact with an early Watcher; sacked he may be, but he had trained as a Watcher for twenty years, and was still functioning in the position (albeit sadly and unjustly unpaid) and he couldn't help but view this new life of Angel's as an opportunity.
"The year of Our Lord 1599," was the answer, and Giles flicked a look over his shoulder to check Wesley had heard. The other man was standing with the appropriate volume in his hands, skimming the pages; after a moment, he looked up and gave Giles a significant nod. 'He's real.' Giles gave a small, smug smile to himself; he'd known he was more likely to be successful than Wesley.
Giles took the book Wesley offered, page carefully held open, and scanned for the entry, keeping half his attention on Angel, who was fidgeting restlessly on the sofa.
WOOLF, MICHAEL 1564-1621: (he read) Second generation Watcher 1590-1600, no Slayer, Byzantine era weaponry expert, discharged for liason with married Watcher (see SMITH, VICTORIA).
Giles looked carefully at the picture accompanying the short text; a stocky, smiling, dark-haired man bearing very little resemblance to Angel as he knew him. Until he looked at the eyes of the portrait; skillfully rendered by the Watchers Council's artists, they were a deep, soulful (he absently noted the inopportune pun) brown, and to see their doubles - their alternate, it occured to him - he had only to look up.
He did so, and noticed the blonde head bent close to Angel's. She was leaning affectionately, almost protectively, over his chest, her hand resting there softly, as if Woolf's heartbeat had returned to Angel's body along with his consciousness. He lay quiet and comfortable, lips slightly upturned at the corners, head turned to hers as if he sensed her presence, his eyes still closed, though now relaxed.
He flipped the pages until he found the entry he was looking for; Victoria Smith. He ignored the summary of her life - wondering for an ironic moment exactly what his own would say, if they included him at all - for the picture of an elegant, serene (natural) blonde. Again, nothing at all to suggest her spirit, or vestiges of it, might one day occupy the preternatural body before him, but he hardly had to look at her eyes to know that to see *their* twins, Buffy would have to turn around.
He shook off his reverie for another, more convenient time and devoted his attention to Angel/Michael, wracking his brains for a suitable line of questioning - they had prepared a list to ask 'David', but hadn't thought that other, equally fascinating, lives might come to the forefront first. Or at all, if he was honest.
"Where do you live, Michael?" Over the back of the couch, he could see Willow slap herself on the forehead and roll her eyes to the ceiling in mock horror. Faintly irritated, Giles indicated to her that she was welcome to continue the questions, and she quickly stopped, but came to sit by him anyway, positioning herself so she could see both Angel and Buffy.
"London," he said tersely. "And you would be?"
"Rupert Giles, Watcher," Giles said, caught by surprise and answering almost without thinking. When he did think, he decided he probably could have said better, because now undoubtedly Woolf would wonder...
"I haven't heard of you," Angel said, his tone laced with suspicion, "where are you based?"
"I'm, uh, relatively new," Giles said lamely, looking desperately around at his unhelpful audience. "Based in..."
"Paris," Wesley said from behind him.
"Ah, part of the new Slayer's team," Angel said agreeably, "she is doing well?"
Giles gestured to Wesley, who whispered, "Chantalle. Fourteen years old. Watcher is Harold Taylor."
"Chantalle is faring quite well, for one Called so young," Giles said smoothly. "Her training is proceeding as expected, Harold is very pleased."
"Maybe *you* should ask *him* some questions now?" Willow hissed. "Before he figures you're completely not who you say you are?"
"Yes, thank you, Willow," Giles said sarcastically. "I'm rather at a loss, to tell you the truth. We were expecting to hear from David."
"You still can," Buffy said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and fixing Giles with a pleading look. "Just find out some about this guy first? Please?"
He looked back at her for a long moment, seeing the need on her face, wide open and vulnerable, those eyes holding the slightest threat of damp. He could not refuse her, and though he felt that getting close to Angel again - he wasn't unaware of the information Willow had found out, and neither was he blind to what it represented to Buffy - would not be wise, considering the circumstances, he wasn't sure forcing them apart at this time would be either.
He flipped the book back over to the entry on Victoria Smith and held it out to her. After a slight hesitation, she took it, hiding her face behind a curtain of blonde strands as she reluctantly released Angel's hand and took the volume over to sit on the arm of Willow's chair and share it with her.
Giles also wasn't blind to the matching reluctance in Angel to release her.
He sat quietly for a moment, ignoring Angel's insistent fidgeting beside him. He watched Buffy as she read the few lines, flipped over the pages and read Woolf's, scrutinising the portrait, showing no emotion until Willow murmured something to her and she broke into a dazzling smile before answering.
Scooting back over to Giles on her knees, she handed back the book then resumed her place close by Angel, without touching him. Still, her presence seemed to calm him and he lay still once more.
"Can you ask him about her?" Buffy asked hopefully. Which her she referred to was obvious.
"I can try," Giles said doubtfully, "but I don't know whether he'll tell me anything... he's probably used to keeping it a secret."
"I think he'll talk," Willow said with certainty; her eyes met Giles', rested on Buffy over the Slayer's head, and then moved back to focus on Giles. The unspoken message - 'at least while Buffy's here' - was clear, and Giles gave a slight nod, conveying his agreement. Willow gave a satisfied smile and leaned back, waiting for the questions to begin.
"Start slow," Buffy directed, her gaze locked avidly on Angel's relaxed features, almost boyish in rest.
Fine. Giles cleared his throat, wondering privately where to start, and more importantly, how much information he wanted to hear... Buffy and Angel's tortured romance he had witnessed, Sarah and David's sweet, naive relationship he had enjoyed learning of, but a pair that were essentially Buffy and Angel themselves, only adults - Watchers, no less - in a different time period; there was something inherently more disturbing about that thought. Signs of his 'father's affection' for Buffy, he supposed: lovely as the thought of her grown was, given her life expectancy, it was also somewhat upsetting, though she had already grown away from him and returned of her own accord.
"Do you socialise with other Watchers much?" he asked.
"That's gonna be really slow, Giles," Buffy muttered reprovingly, but he could tell that her heart and attention weren't in it.
"Some," Angel said, his voice guarded. "Many Watchers live in London, and naturally we spend time together."
"Such as Victoria Smith?" Giles asked simply, diving straight in.
"Whereas that is far *too* fast," Buffy remarked acidly.
"It was rather clumsy," Wesley offered. He was oblivious to the backstory of this Michael Woolf and Victoria Smith and why Buffy was so eager to hear their tale, but given their reason for being in Sunnydale, he could make an educated guess: if Buffy and Angel had shared at least one life apart from this one, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that they could have shared another, or many others.
"*Mrs.* Smith is one such Watcher, yes," Angel said, pointedly emphasising the respectful prefix.
"And her husband?" Giles said probingly.
"Away for much of the year," Angel snapped. "He is an authority on a vampire Bloodline which is becoming powerful across Europe. He is with a team studying them until the Slayer is deemed fit enough to successfully challenge them."
Giles arched an eyebrow in surprise; he hadn't expected Woolf to give away so much with so little lead-in. He could safely assume the affair had already started, then, but he knew better than to expect that would be admitted so easily.
"Does she find it difficult to be away from him for so long?" Giles asked, half-hoping to provoke some sort of jealous response.
"I wouldn't know," Angel said, but Giles marked a slight hesitation and the tone slipped a little, taking on an almost Cockney lilt which surprised both Giles and Wesley behind him. The Council was very particular about the position of those it allowed into its hallowed ranks; one reason, he thought, why they had lost touch so much with the world, and the Slayer herself.
"It seems kind of tacky, that we were having an affair," Buffy said to Willow, a little sadly. She knew that their love wasn't without problems, but to have it only with the tarnish of secrecy and hiding seemed to make it almost... impure. She wondered bitterly if she and Angel had been granted any lives fully, freely together; if they ever would be granted that.
"Don't you think it says a lot about how strong your love is?" Willow asked, her face lit up with a touching, infectious enthusiasm. "To risk having an affair back in those times... I'm pretty sure it just wasn't *done*. They must have really wanted to be together."
Buffy smiled at her gratefully. "Maybe." Willow had almost always been her most staunch defender when it came to she and Angel. She had to admit, when Willow threw herself into supporting something, she stood behind it.
"Don't you think she gets lonely?" Giles was asking Angel, as unaggressively as he could.
"I don't know!" Angel said defensively. "Why are you so interested in Victoria? She is unlikely to ever visit Paris."
Giles pounced. "Victoria?"
Angel paused.
Buffy slid back onto her knees beside him.
"It's her name," he offered weakly.
"Not to you," Giles pointed out triumphantly.
There was another silence, and Giles felt an inexplicable pang of remorse. This was a dead man, he reminded himself. It wouldn't bother Angel, locked somewhere inside. Perhaps that was the problem; Giles had learned, forced himself, to forgive Angel for Angelus' crimes, could talk and plan and accept the man, but a small part of himself - the Ripper he controlled so fiercely - experienced a rush of visceral pleasure at seeing Angel so discomforted. Or maybe his reaction was to only do with Buffy, biting her lip and sidling closer to Angel, her gaze riveted onto his subtly altered face, attuned to his every word, and simply how it was bothering *her*.
"What do you want?" Angel asked finally.
Giles was surprised. "Want?"
"My dismissal cannot possibly have any effect on the standing of any in Paris. Neither Victoria's," Angel clarified.
"You admit then?" Giles said, choosing his words with care, "to your..."
"Love," Angel said firmly, and a brilliant, unbidden smile came to his lips. It disappeared just as suddenly, but both Giles and Willow noted how it was fleetingly answered and outshone by Buffy's.
"How long has your liaison been going on?" Giles said, realising from the dark expression that crossed Angel's face his mistake of assuming intimacy. He cursed the shock at being asked for identification which had caused him to begin the charade of being a medieval Watcher; the brief trust it had gained him wasn't worth Woolf's suspicion now.
"I don't appreciate these questions," Angel said stiffly, "and I must reiterate, why are you asking them?"
"Um..." Giles said, stumbling badly. He couldn't even think of any reason that wouldn't be interpreted by the man as some form of spying by the Council. He looked around.
Inspiration failed to come from the walls, neat rows of books, Willow, or Wesley.
It was provided by Buffy.
"Say something," he instructed her in a low whisper, hoping that Angel's vampire hearing would not translate to Woolf's consciousness.
"Like what?" Buffy protested, also keeping her voice quiet. "Hi, I'm the reincarnation of your dead mistress? I might not even sound like her."
"Well, I wouldn't say his dead mistress," Willow said helpfully, leaning forward, "but Giles is obviously lost, so it's worth a try."
Buffy glared at them both, then took a deep breath and leaned forward, over Angel, concentrating on him. A heady exultation ran through her, both at being so close to his prone (technically helpless, laying ready for... down, girl) body and at the prospect of learning more about the past lives that were fast becoming an obsession.
If he accepted her as this Victoria. And yet, she had no doubt but that he would; if she was his soulmate, and he hers, then they would recognise each other anywhere. As Michael, he would simply identify her as his love, and with that, as Victoria. She knew it before she even opened her mouth. She'd felt the coiled tension in his muscles, the quiet urgency in him, the sharp, jingling nerves of his body, and known he was reacting to her presence how she had to his, halfway down the stairs to the courtyard of Giles' home.
"Michael," she said softly, fighting down the urge to simply whisper in his ear, to hide from the others in the room, keep their love jealously close to herself.
"Victoria," he said, almost joyfully. As Buffy felt the smug pleasure of her proved certainty, she was taken by surprise as he reached up, curved a large, gentle hand around her neck, and pulled her face down to his for their lips to meet in an unbelievably sweet kiss.
* * * * *
"It appears that he was quite close to the issue," Wesley pointed out, following Giles into the kitchen doggedly, "and I think, given that Angel is provenly difficult to hypnotise, your energies are best served taking him straight to that time."
"With Buffy I found it easier to take her back through..."
Angel, forgotten, trailed in behind the (former) Watchers, taking in his surroundings. Giles' apartment was largely unchanged; some different ornaments, perhaps, a few more books. Nothing to suggest that Angel wasn't a part of any of it anymore; though he admitted to himself he never really had been. He noticed a picture of the core Scoobies sitting on a shelf and wandered over to look at it - a rumpled Willow, Xander and Giles around an equally untidy Buffy, all dirty and tired but smiling, pulled in close. His eyes lingered on Buffy for a moment. He could almost sense her vibrancy just from the flat, lifeless photograph, as he had so many times in the last year.
"Just after our yearly explosion," Willow's voice came from behind him. "It's actually becoming a worrying tradition."
Angel turned around quickly, embarrassed to have been caught staring at the picture. Willow's gaze was understanding and he relaxed into her friendly demeanour and smiled at her.
"What did you blow up?"
"The Initiative..." off his blank look, Willow hastened to explain. "Riley's soldier guys? Turned out to be bad guys."
"But Riley..."
"Was clean," she said without inflection. She appreciated Angel's desire to know about the other man - who was his rival, though all of them would pretend, had been pretending, he was Angel's replacement. She thought it was in about equal parts needing to know he'd left Buffy to something, someone, good and being desperate to find out something that tarnished that spotlessness. She'd never figured Angel, with his truckload of guilt, for a big self-esteem guy, but it made her figure him as human.
"Convenient," Angel offered with a humourless smile.
Willow declined to answer that. Since the spell, she'd felt desperately sorry for all the people caught in the warped triangle - Angel and Buffy, flung together by history and kept apart by circumstance, and Riley, the would-be true love kept outside; everything Buffy wanted, if Buffy wanted anything except Angel.
"Hear you kept the tradition alive yourself," she teased, realising too late and then hoping it wasn't a sore subject.
"Oh yeah, I did my part," he said, smiling. "It was a good building, though."
"But you're in a hotel!" she said, "Cordy said it was huge and, um... 'not too bad looking, for an old place'."
"And then she said it was perfect for me because I'm not too bad looking for an old guy?" Angel said with a full-fledged grin. Willow blushed. Cordy *had* added a similar rider. "It's okay," he said, "she told me so. Anyway, she was just wild for anywhere that got us out of her apartment."
"Yeah, she told me about her apartment," Willow said, "and her ghost."
"Hey, her ghost's a great guy," Angel said, only half joking.
"A wonderful personality," Wesley's cut-glass tones chipped in from behind, "but if we could begin, please?"
"But we were waiting..." Willow began to protest.
"Sure," Angel said. He winked at her, cutely if uncharacteristically, and went to lie uncomfortably on the couch, as it barely accommodated his large frame. Giles and Wesley took up places either side of his head, and Willow sat nearby; she had requested to be included in the group, partly to see more of the hypnosis techniques which had fascinated her, but mostly to hear more about the story of Sarah and David which had touched her.
"Now, try to relax," Giles began, pitching his voice to be as calming as possible, "my voice is..."
* * * * *
"Are you sure you have to go?" Riley said teasingly, propping himself up and nuzzling Buffy's neck as she sat on the side of the bed. She giggled and left off dressing for a moment to meld her lips with his for a slow kiss.
"You know I have to," she said, brushing a wayward strand of hair off his face, "busy time, remember?"
"Oh, I know," he said, unable to keep the silly grin from his face. "But the nightmares have stopped."
"No more dreams," she agreed, her smile dimming slightly, then returning. "I guess you wore me out," she added slyly.
"Likewise," he said, flopping contentedly back into the bed. Buffy had been particularly affectionate the night before, lavishing an unfamiliar, unbridled passion on him... he had slipped into sleep aching pleasurably, newly secure in her arms and in their relationship; having seen Angel, she had come back to him.
If he had woken to an empty bed and she was leaving to attend the vampire's hypnosis session, what of it?
* * * * *
Buffy opened Giles' door gingerly, afraid of knocking or entering too loudly lest she disturb Angel in his hypnotised state. She could hear faint voices. As she crept in they cleared, becoming Giles' frustrated tones mingled with Wesley chattering stridently, rather than Angel's voice, perhaps subtly changed, and Giles' soft questions, as she had expected.
"...At it for nearly an hour and he's just not..." she heard before Willow noticed her and jumped up, hurrying over and pulling her aside, which seemed to be happening a lot lately, Buffy noted wryly.
"They can't get him under," the witch confided in a stage whisper, over the sound of Giles trying the hypnotism once again. "Giles and Wes are getting more and more annoyed and Angel's getting more and more quiet, I think he feels bad that he can't..."
They were interrupted by a throaty groan from the couch.
"Angel?" Giles said in surprise, turning quickly around to face the prone man again.
"Michael," came the slow, slightly confused, British-accented reply, "Michael Woolf, Watcher."
"Goddess," Willow murmured in awe. Her mind worked quickly, and she stared at the Slayer, who was already across the room and kneeling rapt at Angel's side, her eyes fixed on his face, eyes screwed tightly shut as he fell into their past.
Her gaze ticked over to Wesley, who was also up and rapidly scouring the bookshelves.
"What year is it?" Giles asked, trying to keep his voice calm and not betray the excitement he felt, both at the success of the hypnotism and actual contact with an early Watcher; sacked he may be, but he had trained as a Watcher for twenty years, and was still functioning in the position (albeit sadly and unjustly unpaid) and he couldn't help but view this new life of Angel's as an opportunity.
"The year of Our Lord 1599," was the answer, and Giles flicked a look over his shoulder to check Wesley had heard. The other man was standing with the appropriate volume in his hands, skimming the pages; after a moment, he looked up and gave Giles a significant nod. 'He's real.' Giles gave a small, smug smile to himself; he'd known he was more likely to be successful than Wesley.
Giles took the book Wesley offered, page carefully held open, and scanned for the entry, keeping half his attention on Angel, who was fidgeting restlessly on the sofa.
WOOLF, MICHAEL 1564-1621: (he read) Second generation Watcher 1590-1600, no Slayer, Byzantine era weaponry expert, discharged for liason with married Watcher (see SMITH, VICTORIA).
Giles looked carefully at the picture accompanying the short text; a stocky, smiling, dark-haired man bearing very little resemblance to Angel as he knew him. Until he looked at the eyes of the portrait; skillfully rendered by the Watchers Council's artists, they were a deep, soulful (he absently noted the inopportune pun) brown, and to see their doubles - their alternate, it occured to him - he had only to look up.
He did so, and noticed the blonde head bent close to Angel's. She was leaning affectionately, almost protectively, over his chest, her hand resting there softly, as if Woolf's heartbeat had returned to Angel's body along with his consciousness. He lay quiet and comfortable, lips slightly upturned at the corners, head turned to hers as if he sensed her presence, his eyes still closed, though now relaxed.
He flipped the pages until he found the entry he was looking for; Victoria Smith. He ignored the summary of her life - wondering for an ironic moment exactly what his own would say, if they included him at all - for the picture of an elegant, serene (natural) blonde. Again, nothing at all to suggest her spirit, or vestiges of it, might one day occupy the preternatural body before him, but he hardly had to look at her eyes to know that to see *their* twins, Buffy would have to turn around.
He shook off his reverie for another, more convenient time and devoted his attention to Angel/Michael, wracking his brains for a suitable line of questioning - they had prepared a list to ask 'David', but hadn't thought that other, equally fascinating, lives might come to the forefront first. Or at all, if he was honest.
"Where do you live, Michael?" Over the back of the couch, he could see Willow slap herself on the forehead and roll her eyes to the ceiling in mock horror. Faintly irritated, Giles indicated to her that she was welcome to continue the questions, and she quickly stopped, but came to sit by him anyway, positioning herself so she could see both Angel and Buffy.
"London," he said tersely. "And you would be?"
"Rupert Giles, Watcher," Giles said, caught by surprise and answering almost without thinking. When he did think, he decided he probably could have said better, because now undoubtedly Woolf would wonder...
"I haven't heard of you," Angel said, his tone laced with suspicion, "where are you based?"
"I'm, uh, relatively new," Giles said lamely, looking desperately around at his unhelpful audience. "Based in..."
"Paris," Wesley said from behind him.
"Ah, part of the new Slayer's team," Angel said agreeably, "she is doing well?"
Giles gestured to Wesley, who whispered, "Chantalle. Fourteen years old. Watcher is Harold Taylor."
"Chantalle is faring quite well, for one Called so young," Giles said smoothly. "Her training is proceeding as expected, Harold is very pleased."
"Maybe *you* should ask *him* some questions now?" Willow hissed. "Before he figures you're completely not who you say you are?"
"Yes, thank you, Willow," Giles said sarcastically. "I'm rather at a loss, to tell you the truth. We were expecting to hear from David."
"You still can," Buffy said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and fixing Giles with a pleading look. "Just find out some about this guy first? Please?"
He looked back at her for a long moment, seeing the need on her face, wide open and vulnerable, those eyes holding the slightest threat of damp. He could not refuse her, and though he felt that getting close to Angel again - he wasn't unaware of the information Willow had found out, and neither was he blind to what it represented to Buffy - would not be wise, considering the circumstances, he wasn't sure forcing them apart at this time would be either.
He flipped the book back over to the entry on Victoria Smith and held it out to her. After a slight hesitation, she took it, hiding her face behind a curtain of blonde strands as she reluctantly released Angel's hand and took the volume over to sit on the arm of Willow's chair and share it with her.
Giles also wasn't blind to the matching reluctance in Angel to release her.
He sat quietly for a moment, ignoring Angel's insistent fidgeting beside him. He watched Buffy as she read the few lines, flipped over the pages and read Woolf's, scrutinising the portrait, showing no emotion until Willow murmured something to her and she broke into a dazzling smile before answering.
Scooting back over to Giles on her knees, she handed back the book then resumed her place close by Angel, without touching him. Still, her presence seemed to calm him and he lay still once more.
"Can you ask him about her?" Buffy asked hopefully. Which her she referred to was obvious.
"I can try," Giles said doubtfully, "but I don't know whether he'll tell me anything... he's probably used to keeping it a secret."
"I think he'll talk," Willow said with certainty; her eyes met Giles', rested on Buffy over the Slayer's head, and then moved back to focus on Giles. The unspoken message - 'at least while Buffy's here' - was clear, and Giles gave a slight nod, conveying his agreement. Willow gave a satisfied smile and leaned back, waiting for the questions to begin.
"Start slow," Buffy directed, her gaze locked avidly on Angel's relaxed features, almost boyish in rest.
Fine. Giles cleared his throat, wondering privately where to start, and more importantly, how much information he wanted to hear... Buffy and Angel's tortured romance he had witnessed, Sarah and David's sweet, naive relationship he had enjoyed learning of, but a pair that were essentially Buffy and Angel themselves, only adults - Watchers, no less - in a different time period; there was something inherently more disturbing about that thought. Signs of his 'father's affection' for Buffy, he supposed: lovely as the thought of her grown was, given her life expectancy, it was also somewhat upsetting, though she had already grown away from him and returned of her own accord.
"Do you socialise with other Watchers much?" he asked.
"That's gonna be really slow, Giles," Buffy muttered reprovingly, but he could tell that her heart and attention weren't in it.
"Some," Angel said, his voice guarded. "Many Watchers live in London, and naturally we spend time together."
"Such as Victoria Smith?" Giles asked simply, diving straight in.
"Whereas that is far *too* fast," Buffy remarked acidly.
"It was rather clumsy," Wesley offered. He was oblivious to the backstory of this Michael Woolf and Victoria Smith and why Buffy was so eager to hear their tale, but given their reason for being in Sunnydale, he could make an educated guess: if Buffy and Angel had shared at least one life apart from this one, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that they could have shared another, or many others.
"*Mrs.* Smith is one such Watcher, yes," Angel said, pointedly emphasising the respectful prefix.
"And her husband?" Giles said probingly.
"Away for much of the year," Angel snapped. "He is an authority on a vampire Bloodline which is becoming powerful across Europe. He is with a team studying them until the Slayer is deemed fit enough to successfully challenge them."
Giles arched an eyebrow in surprise; he hadn't expected Woolf to give away so much with so little lead-in. He could safely assume the affair had already started, then, but he knew better than to expect that would be admitted so easily.
"Does she find it difficult to be away from him for so long?" Giles asked, half-hoping to provoke some sort of jealous response.
"I wouldn't know," Angel said, but Giles marked a slight hesitation and the tone slipped a little, taking on an almost Cockney lilt which surprised both Giles and Wesley behind him. The Council was very particular about the position of those it allowed into its hallowed ranks; one reason, he thought, why they had lost touch so much with the world, and the Slayer herself.
"It seems kind of tacky, that we were having an affair," Buffy said to Willow, a little sadly. She knew that their love wasn't without problems, but to have it only with the tarnish of secrecy and hiding seemed to make it almost... impure. She wondered bitterly if she and Angel had been granted any lives fully, freely together; if they ever would be granted that.
"Don't you think it says a lot about how strong your love is?" Willow asked, her face lit up with a touching, infectious enthusiasm. "To risk having an affair back in those times... I'm pretty sure it just wasn't *done*. They must have really wanted to be together."
Buffy smiled at her gratefully. "Maybe." Willow had almost always been her most staunch defender when it came to she and Angel. She had to admit, when Willow threw herself into supporting something, she stood behind it.
"Don't you think she gets lonely?" Giles was asking Angel, as unaggressively as he could.
"I don't know!" Angel said defensively. "Why are you so interested in Victoria? She is unlikely to ever visit Paris."
Giles pounced. "Victoria?"
Angel paused.
Buffy slid back onto her knees beside him.
"It's her name," he offered weakly.
"Not to you," Giles pointed out triumphantly.
There was another silence, and Giles felt an inexplicable pang of remorse. This was a dead man, he reminded himself. It wouldn't bother Angel, locked somewhere inside. Perhaps that was the problem; Giles had learned, forced himself, to forgive Angel for Angelus' crimes, could talk and plan and accept the man, but a small part of himself - the Ripper he controlled so fiercely - experienced a rush of visceral pleasure at seeing Angel so discomforted. Or maybe his reaction was to only do with Buffy, biting her lip and sidling closer to Angel, her gaze riveted onto his subtly altered face, attuned to his every word, and simply how it was bothering *her*.
"What do you want?" Angel asked finally.
Giles was surprised. "Want?"
"My dismissal cannot possibly have any effect on the standing of any in Paris. Neither Victoria's," Angel clarified.
"You admit then?" Giles said, choosing his words with care, "to your..."
"Love," Angel said firmly, and a brilliant, unbidden smile came to his lips. It disappeared just as suddenly, but both Giles and Willow noted how it was fleetingly answered and outshone by Buffy's.
"How long has your liaison been going on?" Giles said, realising from the dark expression that crossed Angel's face his mistake of assuming intimacy. He cursed the shock at being asked for identification which had caused him to begin the charade of being a medieval Watcher; the brief trust it had gained him wasn't worth Woolf's suspicion now.
"I don't appreciate these questions," Angel said stiffly, "and I must reiterate, why are you asking them?"
"Um..." Giles said, stumbling badly. He couldn't even think of any reason that wouldn't be interpreted by the man as some form of spying by the Council. He looked around.
Inspiration failed to come from the walls, neat rows of books, Willow, or Wesley.
It was provided by Buffy.
"Say something," he instructed her in a low whisper, hoping that Angel's vampire hearing would not translate to Woolf's consciousness.
"Like what?" Buffy protested, also keeping her voice quiet. "Hi, I'm the reincarnation of your dead mistress? I might not even sound like her."
"Well, I wouldn't say his dead mistress," Willow said helpfully, leaning forward, "but Giles is obviously lost, so it's worth a try."
Buffy glared at them both, then took a deep breath and leaned forward, over Angel, concentrating on him. A heady exultation ran through her, both at being so close to his prone (technically helpless, laying ready for... down, girl) body and at the prospect of learning more about the past lives that were fast becoming an obsession.
If he accepted her as this Victoria. And yet, she had no doubt but that he would; if she was his soulmate, and he hers, then they would recognise each other anywhere. As Michael, he would simply identify her as his love, and with that, as Victoria. She knew it before she even opened her mouth. She'd felt the coiled tension in his muscles, the quiet urgency in him, the sharp, jingling nerves of his body, and known he was reacting to her presence how she had to his, halfway down the stairs to the courtyard of Giles' home.
"Michael," she said softly, fighting down the urge to simply whisper in his ear, to hide from the others in the room, keep their love jealously close to herself.
"Victoria," he said, almost joyfully. As Buffy felt the smug pleasure of her proved certainty, she was taken by surprise as he reached up, curved a large, gentle hand around her neck, and pulled her face down to his for their lips to meet in an unbelievably sweet kiss.
* * * * *