Solitude1056 | As abruptly as it had arrived, the wind was gone. Not abeyance, but stillness. Marcus discovered he'd been gripping the witch's hand with an intensity born of true terror. He kept his eyes closed until he was certain he was under control again. Somewhere behind him, the vampire's Cockney accent was reporting damage in the back room, and the younger man was already checking on the damage in the front. He could hear the shop girl uttering soft cries of frustration at the books scattered across the shop's floor. The Slayer was already on the phone, clearly leaving instructions to an answering machine to call the shop immediately. Slowly Marcus opened his eyes, unfolded despite his aching muscles. He heard the phone slammed down and footsteps approach him as he stood up. At the sight of Buffy's cold expression, the thought flashed into his numbed mind that perhaps his uncle was right to fear this woman. "One last time... Marcus," she said curtly. "Who are you, and what the hell have you brought to my town?" |
|
Marcus met her stare without flinching, but a muscle in his jaw flickered. "It's a long story." "We've got time." Buffy nodded at Spike and Xander, who had quietly moved to flank Marcus on either side. Without turning her eyes from Marcus, Buffy asked, "Will, how long will it hold up?" "I'm not sure." Willow looked distinctly uncomfortable as she pulled out a tissue and wiped at the blood coming from her nose. "I mean, it's only really supposed to last for half a day, but the last one held out for a lot longer, even with those priesty guys wearing away at it. And I didn't have Tara to help me that time." She smiled sweetly at her lover. "I suppose we can keep it going... if only I'd know we only had to think it, I wouldn't have worried about the right phrase." "Hush." Tara brought a box of tissues from behind the counter of the shop. "Lean your head back. I - I'm really starting to worry about these nosebleeds. They're getting worse. I h-h-hope I didn't hurt you. Sometimes sharing Power can be tricky." "I'll be okay, sweetie." Willow's voice was muffled and nasal as she replied through the tissue. "I can handle it... uh, Anya, is there any Tylenol behind the counter?" |
|
"And this vase! It's only got a ten-percent profit margin, and I had to order it from Bulgaria. Does he have any idea how much trouble this is going to be, replacing it? And this book, I could've sold it for fifty-seven dollars and ninety-five cents, not including tax. Now with the ripped cover I'll be lucky to get thirty-five. I could've made twenty dollars on it, and now look..." Anya frowned at Marcus. Clearly, she identified him as the sole culprit of the catastrophe. Muttering blackly, she went back to work. Tara smiled to herself at the barely audible grumbling. She popped the top off the bottle and shook out several Tylenol. She turned to see that Buffy was looking at Willow, concern clear on her face. "Will, a nosebleed and a headache? That seems unusual. I thought you said you never got headaches anymore." Willow shook her head, slightly, and shrugged. "I don't. There was a bigger jolt this time, is all." Tara handed Willow the Tylenol, who took them without water, swallowing awkwardly. "She's right, there was," Tara told Buffy softly, her eyes glancing towards Marcus, whose eyes were trained on Willow. He looked worried; his gray eyes were large, his eyebrows just barely raised as he watched Willow continuing to mop her nose. "If you hadn't been bloody well holding hands with him," Spike interrupted, shrugging his head in Marcus' direction, "you might not've gotten a blast." Buffy's head swiveled to stare at Marcus angrily. Marcus took a half-step back, and averted his eyes from Willow. Spike looked smug. "I wasn't," Willow started to say, and Tara put a hand on her shoulder. "I-I, I was," Tara said quietly to no one in particular. Willow looked shocked. Behind Marcus, Xander frowned. Tara flushed, and ducked her head, speaking only loud enough for Buffy and Willow to hear. "He, he w-w-wasn't doing w-w-well. H-h-he was the one under a-a-attack." "But Tara," Buffy started, perplexed. Not being one who used magick, she wasn't sure how Marcus could have an impact on Willow, and her confusion showed in her face as she looked at the two witches. Behind her, Marcus twisted his lips in irritation and looked at Willow. "You," he started, not recalling her name immediately, and nodded when Willow looked at him. "I'm sorry. That was my fault. We had to do something, I didn't realize..." "Damn straight!" Willow burst out. "Stay out of things you don't understand. If I'd finished the incantation, your messing with it might've blown us all to the next town over." Instead of replying, Marcus simply nodded. The phone rang, and Anya's hand appeared from behind the counter to grab the phone and pull it down to her. There was a muffled sound and the phone was placed on the counter. "Hunh?" Xander asked. Puzzled, he picked up the phone, listened, and then handed it to Buffy. "It's Dawn, she's home safe. You want to talk to her?" |
|
"Yes. We were at school together." Giles extended his hand. "A pleasure to meet you," Marcus replied as they shook hands. And a pleasure to drop this godforsaken flat way of talking, he thought, as he echoed Giles' crisp accent with a variant of his own. He ignored the group's reactions. Behind him, Buffy finished her phone call, turning to watch his discussion with Mr. Giles. "You do resemble your father. I'm sorry to hear of your loss," Giles added sincerely. "What brings you to Sunnydale?" "More importantly, what have you brought to Sunnydale?" Buffy was not sure she trusted this young man, and it bothered her to see her Watcher greeting him so cordially. Marcus turned angrily, his nostrils flaring. "I didn't bring them, they followed me. Believe me, I would much rather they didn't." Turning his body to block out Buffy, he faced Giles, glancing at the box on the table. "It will take me a moment to retrieve the letter from my father." "Excuse me," interrupted Buffy, "not to put a stop to English Old Home Week or anything, but I want an explanation before we go any farther. Now, I'm going to ask you one more time, and if I don't get an answer, I'm gonna throw you out to play with your friends out there." Her eyes got very cold. Marcus could see the Slayer clearly in them, but nothing of the girl herself. "Who. Are. You." Marcus' brain spun. He was pretty well stuck. On the one hand, the Slayer was not – could not be – his ally. If my uncle is scared of the Slayer, there's no way I'm trusting her any farther than I could throw her. For a second, he was distracted by the idea of touching her again, and gritted his teeth, forcing the thought down so he could focus on the issue at hand. I can't stand up to my cousins alone, he groaned silently. Go figure the only ones who might help me are in the Slayer's camp. He needed to maintain control, to keep a grip on things, or he'd be lost. Marcus looked at Buffy. A part of him reflected idly that it was worth the chance to look at her, even if all she'd done was glare at him in return. "Let me talk to Mr. Giles," Marcus said to her, his voice low in his throat, almost a growl. "Let me give him what I came to deliver, and if he'll hear me out, I'd like to ask him a few questions. Then I'll go." Marcus leveled his stare at Buffy, who met it without moving a muscle. She was obviously weighing her options, and he found himself holding his breath as he waited. |
|
The group jumped almost as one, startled. Tara yelped. An older woman, her gray hair still mussed, had stepped into the Magic Box. "Oh, hello! Anya? Is Anya here?" She smiled pleasantly at the shadowy group, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the shop's dark interior. The remains of the shop's inventory lay at their feet in piles, and a set of shelves tilted precariously against a table. Willow huddled with Tara as Buffy took advantage of the stranger's temporary blindness to wipe the shock off her face. She noticed Marcus' expression was blank, but for a second she thought he looked rather... pleased. Giles was staring at the woman open-mouthed, when Anya popped up from behind the counter. "Mrs. Patterson," she exclaimed. "How - how did you get in here?" "Through what's left of your door, dearie," Mrs. Patterson replied with a wide smile. The woman had moved further into the shop, stepping carefully over the inventory. "The city's work crews are supposed to be here in a few minutes to clean up the street. I figured you might want my sons to stop by and help you - oh!" She rounded a corner and came face to face with Xander and Spike, still flanking Marcus. They were obviously pissed off now that their own shock was under control. "Oh, uh, I've got someone to help already," Anya offered, trying to motion to Xander with her eyes, in hopes he could fill her in. Xander could only give her an uncomprehending shrug, and subtly jerked his head in Marcus' direction. "I can see that," the neighbor said, admiring the three handsome young men but balking slightly at their foreboding expressions. "I, uh, take it you're very upset about the, uh, sudden tornado," she giggled. When no one responded, she glanced at Buffy, who smiled weakly at her. "Well, uh, if you need any extra hands, Anya, my sons will be at my shop. I'll be across the street helping Frank clean up all that glass..." Her voice trailed off, and she turned, smiling at Anya in complete confusion, before quickly leaving the shop. Once the woman was gone, Buffy turned on Marcus but Willow was a step ahead of her. The redhead was furious, her eyes blazing. "What did you do? You think that's easy, doing a-a-a spell, and, and you just went and, and, and messed-" "I said I'm sorry." Marcus' voice was low, and threatening. "You'd better be! Now we're just, just wide open, and, and -" "We're not." The flat statement caught Willow completely off-guard, and she halted mid-sentence, her eyes jumping from Giles to Buffy and back again. Tara stepped up to stand beside her, taking Willow's hand in her own. Willow squeezed Tara's hand gratefully, and swallowed hard, pointedly waiting for Marcus to explain. He shrugged. "I just, uh, tweaked it," he finally offered, his voice pitched low enough that Xander and Spike had to strain to hear him. Willow frowned. "No," he quickly added, "I wouldn't have if I'd known you were, uh, already, uh..." at your limit, he added silently, but he suspected that wasn't truly accurate. The two witches, were easily his superiors in magick. If one of them didn't have such a bad memory for incantations, he thought wryly. "How?" Willow prompted him, her curiosity getting the better of her. Marcus allowed himself a small smile, and met her eyes directly. "I just made it very specific. What's after me won't bother this shop again." Willow pursed her lips, considering this carefully, and beside her Buffy made a small noise of frustration. Willow looked at Buffy and shrugged slightly, her eyebrows raised. Buffy nodded in response, and turned to Marcus. "But if you walk through that barrier, they'll be waiting for you." Marcus said nothing. "Good," Buffy said. "I'll keep that in mind." "I won't stay long," Marcus told her, his eyes narrowed, then folded his arms. "I just want to talk to him." He jerked his head in Giles' direction. As Buffy opened her mouth, he added forcefully: "alone." Buffy didn't hesitate. "Giles," she barked, "in the back. Xander, Spike." She nodded to each. She's a general, Marcus thought wryly, realizing that the two men flanking him understood her orders perfectly. "You got it," Xander replied evenly. "With pleasure," Spike added, sitting back on the table and lighting a cigarette without taking his eyes off Marcus. Spike caught Buffy frowning at him, and raised his eyebrows innocently. "One thing," Marcus suddenly added in a plaintive voice. "Do you have a bathroom in this place?" "In there," Buffy replied, jerking her head in the direction of a door labeled 'Gentlemen.' Buffy headed to the training room as Marcus grinned wryly at himself. He'd started for the bathroom when Spike's voice stopped him. "I'm going with you, mate." "Bloody hell," Marcus, said without turning around. "I'm just going to the bathroom." "It doesn't have any windows, Spike," Xander pointed out as he righted one of the chairs and sat down. "So?" Spike crossed to Marcus in two long strides. "I told Buffy I was gonna watch you, and that's what I'm gonna do." Marcus bristled, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Fine." "Spike!" Willow was indignant. When the vampire looked at her defensively, she added, "the bathroom's, uh, not big enough for two..." "Then I'll keep the blasted door open," Marcus spat at the vampire, sarcastically mimicking Spike's Cockney accent. "And you can tell the chippies to shut their bleedin' eyes." Spike tensed, clearly spoiling for a fight, and Marcus responded by shifting his weight in preparation. Willow took it in with a single glance. "Boys!" she snapped, and had the satisfaction of seeing both of them jump. Xander, out of the corner of her eye, was looking smug. "Spike, you stay here. Marcus, you be quick. I don't have patience for this right now." Marcus raised an eyebrow at Spike and didn't move, until the vampire finally stepped to the side, frowning at Willow for ruining his close call with a little fun. Marcus strode past him to the bathroom, and Spike took another long drag on his cigarette rather than say something to Willow and risk her anger. It was only a few minutes before Marcus opened the door again and returned to his original spot. "No," Anya suddenly said, surprising all of them. She came around from behind the counter, her hands on her hips. "My store is trashed, and you" - she glared at Marcus - "are not going to just sit there. Xander, start straightening up those books." She turned to Marcus and Spike. "You two can put those shelves back in place, and start checking the books. Anything that's been damaged, put in one pile. The ones that are okay, Willow can re-shelve. Tara, you and I are going to collect the tarot cards, see what we can salvage." "Uh, Anya," Spike finally offered, "we're supposed to be watching him." "What? So? You can watch him while you help him move the shelves." Anya wiped her hands on her skirt, and glared at everyone, clearly at the end of her shopkeeper tolerance. "Start moving! I want this place back in one piece!"
"Giles, I don't trust him." Buffy paced the training room. "I'm picking that up," Giles responded, and sighed as he sat down on the beat-up couch. Buffy sat down next to him, and a second later got up and paced again. "I can see what Tara meant, though." Buffy turned, instantly alert. "What? What do you mean?" Giles shrugged. "It's nothing I can put my finger on, not the way Tara can. Just that there's something there. But I could be wrong," he added uncomfortably. "Hmph," Buffy snorted. "So what should we do about Strange Boy, anyway?" "I honestly don't know. But if he's telling the truth about this attack being solely on him, then once he's gone, it will be, too." "And if it's not?" Buffy took a few jabs at the punching bag, for emphasis. Giles shrugged. "I don't see what choice we have, right now. He's delivering something on behalf of his father. Once I find out what it is, we'll know more. I hope." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then put his glasses back on. "I don't trust him, at all." Buffy's voice was flat. Giles looked a little surprised, and waited for her to explain. She punched the bag a few more times, then sat down next to Giles. "What the hell just happened out there? Who're these 'they' he mentioned? And he... knows I'm a Slayer." "He what?" "Knows I'm a Slayer. He called me a Slayer, during the attack." She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it back severely before she spoke again. "How does he know that? Is there a neon sign over my head?" "I don't know. But there's definitely more than meets the eye when it comes to this young man," Giles finally said. Buffy nodded, satisfied. Giles caught her look, and shook his head before she could start speaking. "No, Buffy, I'll talk to him alone. In sight of you, but alone. I feel we should respect his request." "I just have this feeling, Giles," she started, and hesitated. "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer?" he suggested grimly. Buffy nodded slowly, and stood. "Let's go-" "No, no." Giles sighed, and Buffy turned to see Giles with his eyes closed, obviously a great deal more exhausted than he'd let on. She made a face at herself for forgetting the fact that he was already tired from his trip back from England, and then seeing the Magic Box destroyed yet again couldn't have added to his joy. "I'm sorry, Giles, I forgot." "It's okay. Just give me a minute." Slowly he put his glasses back on, and smiled at her. "I just need a minute." |
|
Giles leaned back on the sofa, his eyes closed, and almost instantly remembered his days at university. He was 20, and still smarting from the news that his life was laid out already for him. He'd stormed up the stairs towards the room he shared with Ethan, laden with his bags. He'd been in a mood during the whole return trip from his parents' house. "Stupid old duffer. How dare he?" Rupert's voice deepened in mockery of his father. "Young man, you are not ready to study sorcery," he mocked. "Haven't got the discipline. Best to wait until after you're initiated." He banged the door open. "What rot! I can handle it. I'll study magick with or without your blessing, thank-you-very-much!" Ethan looked up from where he was sprawled across his bed. "Funny you should say that, Ripper. We were just discussing that very subject." "What? Oh." Giles started, unaware that his grumbling had been audible. "Right. Ethan, Charles." He dumped his bags on his own bed, and took the cigarette out of his mouth to take a drink from the bottle Charles offered him. "God, it's good to be back," he said, swearing profusely at the slap of hard liquor on his tongue. Charles smiled dryly. "Yes, you sound like you had a splendid holiday. We were just talking about the possibility of working a spell or two. Interested?" I was, Giles thought. In the same place, I would be again, whether I was ready or not. He sighed again, and stood up, carefully wiping his hands before heading out to speak with this strange young man. |
|
Giles re-entered the shop, ignoring the industriousness around him. "Up here," he called to Marcus brusquely, indicating the loft over the shop. Marcus handed the books he was holding to Willow, and followed. He paused by the table where Xander and Spike had placed his belongings as they found them scattered about the shop. Digging through the pile, Marcus found the small wooden box. Anya watched him go, obviously frustrated that she'd just lost two extra bodies that could've been doing work. Buffy watched the two as well, and turned to Anya. "How can I help?" she asked, and Anya smiled, relieved.
Marcus climbed the loft ladder and joined Giles under the eaves. Giles was already seated on one of the old chairs, and motioned for him to sit. Marcus carefully folded his long legs under him, holding the wooden box loosely in his hands, and didn't say anything. Finally, Giles took his glasses off, rubbed his eyes, and replaced his glasses before looking at Marcus. "I must admit, I'm curious," he said. Marcus seemed to consider that carefully, his eyes darting down to the activity in the Magic Box before answering. He pitched his voice low so his crisp enunciation would be audible only to Giles. "My father died three months ago," Marcus began. "I'm his only son, so it fell to me to settle his estate. He left a package of letters for me to deliver, and it appears that you're the only one I could find." Giles settled in the chair more comfortably, and motioned Marcus to continue. After another short pause, Marcus did so, his voice becoming deeper and richer as he slowly relaxed in the older man's presence. "That," Giles said, "explains the part of your accent that I couldn't place." Marcus smiled suddenly, a sweet expression, and nodded in return. "My mother's vineyards are there." Marcus swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm just not used to doing this... with someone else around." He motioned to the box, and Giles frowned, confused. Marcus ducked his head and stared at the box in his hands for a second, finally whispering something so softly that Giles couldn't make it out. There was a gentle click and the box lid popped open. Giles shifted in his chair, about to speak, but Marcus was intent on the box. Carefully he lifted the lid and placed it on the floor next to his chair. The box held several small letters. Giles couldn't see anything else in it, and noticing the young man's sadness, he averted his eyes politely. Marcus hesitated, then handed Giles the top envelope. Rupert Giles was written in a delicate hand. The envelope was thin, a creamy coldness but yellowed slightly around the edges. Giles turned it over in his hands, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Marcus took another deep breath, and continued. "It's not a recent letter, Mr. Giles. I've always been aware of the box, since my parents divorced, but I never knew how to open it... I found the instructions with my father's..." his voice suddenly cracked, grief obvious. Giles bowed his head, giving the young man a chance to regain his composure. "The only other person named on a letter," Marcus smiled ruefully, "that's still alive is-" "Ethan Rayne," Giles suddenly interrupted. Marcus looked startled. "I, uh, had a feeling," Giles explained, "it was Ethan." "I did my best," Marcus said, "but I couldn't locate him other than that he resides somewhere in the United States now." Giles raised his eyebrows, drawing his own conclusions about what a permanent address in the States might actually mean for Ethan. "Do you know?" Marcus glanced at the box again. "I promised my father..." "I'm sorry," Giles said, almost truly regretting the information. "I have no idea of Ethan's location." That, he reflected, is pretty close to the truth. "You don't need to read it in my presence, sir." Marcus was obviously exhausted, and that muscle in his jaw flickered again. Giles again was struck by the young man's similarity to his father, but Marcus interrupted his thoughts. "Could you humor me, then," Marcus asked sadly. "Before I go, just tell me, what was my father like, when you knew him? My father was always distant, if loving, so I never knew..." Giles thought a minute, and smiled sadly. "I suppose we have a few more minutes before we're called down," he said, glancing at Anya surveying the cleaning activity. "I knew your father in university. He, Ethan, and I were inseparable." Giles coughed politely, uncertain how the young man would respond, but he had his suspicions. "Your father is the one who introduced Ethan and I to magick." Marcus raised an eyebrow. "My father? ...He never mentioned such to me." He didn't mention a lot of things to me, I suppose. Just like my mother didn't, either. Marcus was beginning to feel quite stupid. "No, I suppose he wouldn't," Giles responded softly. "It wasn't actually his idea, from what I learned later." Giles leveled his gaze and the boy and decided to stop pretending as if Marcus didn't know what was going on. I suspect he knows quite well what's going on, Giles thought grumpily. A far sight better than I do, right now, most likely... and he's obviously acquainted with magick, as well, so this shouldn't be a shock. |
|
|
|
Giles studied the young man carefully. "I haven't thought of Charles in years, possibly since graduation." He almost started to say, when I joined the Watchers Council, but caught himself in time. "My work put a wall between myself and most of my old classmates. Moving to Sunnydale further widened the rift. Only Ethan Rayne had managed to bridge that gap, and not often at that." Far too often for my taste, Giles thought. Marcus was too polite to point out that he'd intuited Giles' feelings on the matter. "Charles was a good friend," Giles continued, "but he didn't run in the same circles as Ethan and myself. Your father had a passing interest in magick, I suspect due to your mother's influence as well that of Ethan's and mine. But his idea of true magick was the kind created with a strummed guitar and a lilting song." Giles chuckled to himself, remembering. "Likened himself to Byron and Shelley. Charles thought of himself as a poet, a musician, a bard, a romantic. He had had a reputation of always falling for the wrong woman. Ah, uh, no offense meant at your mother, of course," Giles added awkwardly. Marcus smiled and shrugged. Giles smiled again as he remembered how he'd always secretly suspected that Charles just used those angst-ridden, embattled relationships to fuel his art. Giles shook himself out of his reverie, and continued. "As a matter of fact, your father taught me to play guitar." Giles smiled wryly, and Marcus raised his eyebrows at the older man. "After he discovered that I could sing, he insisted that I learn, and then dragged me off to dingy, smoky coffeehouses to perform duets of his angst-filled, introspective compositions. Oh, I protested, and horribly. Wasn't my type of music, at all. I humored his music, he humored my magick," Giles finished with a soft chuckle. But those had been good times... heady and exhilarating, in a way very different from the magick I did with Ethan and the rest, he thought, almost sadly. Marcus nodded slowly, then sighed as he replaced the lid on the box. Again, there was a gentle click as the lid locked into place. "I'm sorry to have bothered you... and your friends. But thank you for allowing me to deliver that... and thank you for telling me a little of my father." "Even if it's old news?" Giles prompted, and was rewarded with another sweet smile from Marcus. Startled, he reflected that the boy truly did display more of his father than his mother. Thank God for that small thing, Giles thought. Giles stood up, stretching a bit, and turned to go, but at the last minute turned around, as if suddenly remembering something. Casually he removed his glasses, pulled out a handkerchief, and began to clean them. "One more question, though."Marcus paused, waiting. In a conversational tone, Giles asked him, "how did you know that Buffy is a Slayer?" Startled, Marcus couldn't think of what to say, at first. Peering at him in the darkening loft, Giles was certain Marcus was blushing. Giles waited patiently, blocking the young man's access to the loft ladder. "I..." Marcus began, and made a face. "Sir, she smells like one." Giles, surprised, put his glasses back on and studied the young man intently. At first, Marcus avoided his gaze, embarrassed, but finally he returned it evenly. That's not the answer I was expecting, Giles thought, but I'm not certain what answer I was expecting. Giles nodded, and stepped aside to allow Marcus to descend first. |
| |