Summary:       Giles goes on a trip to uncover some disturbing information.

Disclaimer:    Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own everything.  But I wouldn't mind leasing Spike from them for a couple of weeks :)

Feedback:     As always, appreciated.

Seeing Spike Through Buffy's Eyes Chapter 21 - Information

"What do we know?"  Cass walked down the bar until she was standing in front of the two men.  Both their heads bent over books, intent and completely ignoring her.  She unceremoniously placed a cup of tea in front of one, a cup of blood in front of the other.  "Hello?  Anyone going to answer me?"  She banged her fist on the bar, determined to get their attention.  "What!  Do!  We!  Know!"

Her grandfather, who was accustomed to the unexpected outbursts of Cassandra's Irish temper, still ignored her, but it was enough to startle Giles from his reading.  "I'm sorry, Cassandra.  Were you saying something?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes to the ceiling.  God save her from all men!  She took a deep breath to calm herself before answering.  "I wanted to know if you had found out anything new about the spell."  It was late Tuesday afternoon.  Cass had left the men alone with their books while she cleaned up the bar from the previous night.  The task now completed, she turned her full attention back to the men who had been pouring over one text then another for the past six weeks, looking for answers.

Giles' mouth was set in a grim line.  "No.  Unfortunately, we have found nothing new.  But we did manage to find mention of the spell in other manuscripts, confirming the information I first found.  We need both the soul freely given and the Cup of Souls to complete the ritual."  The location of the Cup still alluded the group, making the Watcher quite nervous.  Truthfully, at this point, additional research was useless to them.  They had the information they needed, but without the Cup… 

Cassandra nodded in agreement.  She could see the worry pass along Giles face.  The Cup of Souls.  Even with her grandfather's contacts here and abroad, they were unable to find it's current owner.  Their research had started with the Cups origins in the medieval period.  They had been able to trace ownership of the Cup from one century to the next, even finding it in the hands of a collector of antiquities as recently as 1953.  But then, the trail suddenly stopped.  No one had seen or heard of the Cup that was said to carry with it mystical powers for more than forty years.  "I still think one of us should make a visit to Gabriel Ryan.  I know we talked to the old man on the phone, but surely a collector would have records of ownership.  Something we could trace."

Anthony lifted his head from his own book, taking a sip of the fresh blood Cassandra had put in front of him.  "I talked to the man on the phone, girl.  He said all his records were lost in a fire a few years back.  Obviously, he can be of no use to us."

Cassandra looked at her grandfather, shaking her head.  "A fire?  That's what he told you?  And you believed him?"  Finally, she had gained their undivided attention.  "Look, I know I'm the youngest of this little party, but have either of you thought about the fact we may not be the only ones looking for the Cup of Souls?  What if someone found Mr Ryan before us and told him not to tell one else who inquired?"  A look passed between Giles and Anthony.  "We've been working on this for weeks.  We could've, well, tipped our hand.  We haven't been quiet about the whole thing, you know.  Someone could have taking an interest because WE'VE taking an interest."

Anthony forcefully shut the book in front of him.  "Damn!  The girl could be right.  It didn't even occur to me.  Must be slipping in my old age.  Ruppert?"

"It's not just you.  I hadn't considered the possibility of anyone else wanting the Cup.  But we could have stirred renewed interest."  Giles felt the headache starting at the back of his skull.  Inwardly he cursed himself.  To be so stupid when so much was at stake.  "I guess I'll be going to Boston tomorrow to meet with Mr Ryan in person."

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

During the flight, for the first time in two months Giles let his mind ponder the events that were taking him to Boston.  He hadn't allowed himself the time to think about anything but the spell and the Cup.  Never losing his purpose was the only way Giles knew how to live.  But then, recently, everything he ever thought he knew as fact had crumbled under closer inspection. 

Spike had been right about Anthony.  Giles had never met a more peculiar vampire.  No, that wasn't true either.  Each vampire Giles had actually taken the time to know, was peculiar.  Each had a different personality, a different way of dealing with the world in which he lived.  Were they special, these three that Giles could grudging call friends?  Angel, Spike, Anthony.  Or did all vampires have this, well, spirit in them capable of more than just bloodlust if given the opportunity, the reason?  Was everything he'd ever been taught a lie? 

He had learned long ago the Watcher's Council had no real idea what they were talking about when it came to dealing with Slayers.  Every Slayer and every Slayer/Watcher relationship was unique.  He knew that from first hand experience.  The traditional methods never worked with Buffy, but did work with Kendra.  Faith had needed a moral compass, where Buffy instinctual knew what was the right thing to do.  Even when sometimes he didn't. 

Ever rule had an exception.  But what was the exception?  What was the rule?  It was too much to think about right then.  Maybe he'd have a conversation with Anthony over a glass of scotch when he returned.

Anthony.  Yes, back to the peculiar vampire.  He was different from Spike or Angel.  There was something deep inside the man, something stronger than the demon that had taken possession of his body.  And Anthony was a man, a good man.  There was no arguing that point.  Giles had felt comfortable in his presence from the moment Spike had introduced them.  Never once did he fear that this vampire would attack him.  Anthony was genuinely concerned for the welfare of a sixteen year-old girl he had never met.  He was putting all his resources into finding the Cup of Souls to help save Dawn.  It was astonishing. 

You wouldn't know it look at him.  Wouldn't even know he was a vampire.  He had the look of a classic Irishman.  Green eyes, red hair that curled every which way atop his head.  A small, compact build.  Rough, callused hands.  Someone used to hard work, hard living.  A damn fine sense of humor, both bawdy and droll.  And a heart, well, a heart as big and open and caring as anyone Giles had ever met.  Not the textbook interpretation of a vampire. 

Many late nights had been spent in Spike's apartment, where Giles was staying, going through books and manuscripts.  The sounds of the bar wafting up through the rafters.  At times, the men would put their work away for the evening, going below to have a drink.  Other nights, when research was going no where, an both men were at the point of breaking, Anthony would take Giles around New Orleans, showing him the demon community Spike told Giles existed in the old world city.  It was a revelation.  It was an epiphany. 

Anthony even helped Giles understand Spike better than he ever had before.  Without guilt, Anthony was more than happy to tell Giles everything he knew about the blond.  Giving more details to their first and subsequent meetings, Anthony was a window into Spike's non-existent soul.  But still, Giles had bulked, physical and mentally, when Anthony casually mentioned Spike's love for Buffy.  It was the one point in all of this, he just couldn't – or wouldn't – grasp.  He would concede that Spike did hold some feelings for Buffy, but love?  No, a being without a soul could NOT love another.  It was impossible.

Of course, Anthony had just laughed.  Giles remembered the old man looking at him like he was a complete git.  "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Ruppert!  What can't you understand?  It's a simple law of physics, really.  Every action has an opposite and equal reaction.  It applies to emotions too.  If you can hate, you can love.  If you can hurt, you can comfort.  Yeah, vampires normally keep their loving and comforting to their own kind, but just because you've never seen it before, doesn't mean it doesn't exist.  Look at me and Cassandra.  Do you not see the love between the two of us?  She is of my blood.  I love her, my entire family, more than any one man has a right to.  Spike and I have both told you why I killed my sire.  I missed my wife!  And it's not like this is any ordinary woman William fell in love with.  She's the Slayer.  Truthfully, a more perfect match you couldn't design.  Who else can match her, strength for strength, knowledge for knowledge, heart for heart?  The things she does, the trials she faces.  Who else but a vampire could understand her?  Hell, you're a Watcher, and you've told me the girl confounds you on a regular basis.  And don't forget the sacrifices he's willing to make for her.  You don't do those things in less your in love with someone.  In my opinion, she's damn lucky to have him." 

Sacrifices.  And again, Giles mind drifted back to the Cup of Souls.  Infernal antique!  Giles would be happy when this whole soddin' mess was behind them.  Never was a Watcher looking forward to a more deserved vacation.  Tahiti should be nice this time of year.

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Giles looked at the discrete bronze plaque affixed to the building in front of which he stood – Ryan and Lawry – Antiques.  Well, this was definitely the place.  Giles had come to the antique shop straight from the airport, feeling no need to waste time.  The sooner he found out whether the proprietor knew something about the Cup of Souls, the sooner Giles could return to his research.  He took a deep steadying breath as he opened the door of the shop.

The tinkling of the bell above his head momentarily caught his attention.  The sound so similar to the bell that hung in the Magic Box back in Sunnydale.  An omen, perhaps?  "Hello?  Anyone about?"  Giles walked fully into the shop, closing the door behind him.  "Mr Ryan?  Are you here?"

And old, gruff voice answered from the back of the store.  "One moment, please.  I'll be out in one moment."  Giles made his way to the shop counter, taking the time to look around while waiting for the owner to appear.  As antique store goes, it was quite acceptable.  He noticed some Queen Anne chairs in one corner.  A Mission style desk in another.  A few Victorian lamps and whatnots.  Your general, run-of-the-mill antiques.  Definitely nothing of the magical variety.  But then, maybe the Mr Ryan kept those antiques hidden away for special customers.  "Sorry to have kept you waiting."  Giles turned to the look at the man who had finally emerged from the back room.  He was older than Giles by about fifteen years.  Not a silver hair out of place.  A dated, but finally tailored suit adorning his body.  The smell of dust surrounding him.  He was the quintessential antique dealer.  "How may I help you today, sir?"

Giles placed his small carry-on bag on the floor, while extending his hand to the gentleman in front of him.  "Mr Ryan, Mr Gabrial Ryan?"  The two men shook hands as Ryan nodded positively to Giles question.  "Good afternoon.  My name is Rupert Giles.  You spoke to an associate of mine on the telephone a few weeks ago.  He inquired about a rather interesting antique.  The Cup of Souls?  Do you happen to remember?"

Agitation briefly flashed across the older man's face.  "Of course I remember.  How could I not?"  Ryan walked away from Giles in a dismissive fashion, putting the counter between them.  "I can't imagine why you've traveled all this way.  I don't have any additional information for you."

Giles pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.  "Yes, that is what you told my associate, but I had hoped he might have sparked a memory.  You know, something might have come to you since that telephone conversation?"  A waste of time.  A bloody waste of time.

"Sir, I will tell you exactly what I told the young gentleman, and the young lady who called before him, and the gentlemen with whom I first spoke. All the information I had about that particular challis was included in the box when I shipped it to London."  At Giles startled reaction to that bit of information, Mr Ryan looked apprehensively at the Watcher.  Had he spoken to soon?  "You are from Bradley and Sons, aren't you?"

Bradley and Sons.  Lord, it had been years since Giles had heard that name, but he didn't let it rattle him.  "Yes, yes, of course.  Let me show you my card."  Giles took his wallet out of the breast pocket of his suit.  "How stupid of me not to have presented it to you before making my inquiry."  Giles took an old business card from its hiding place, buried deep within the folds of leather.  He passed it to Ryan, smiling as he did so.

Ryan took the card from Giles outstretched hand.  He barely took the time to read it before he passed it back to the Englishman.  "Yes, how stupid of you."  It was apparent he was relieved by the sight of the small piece of parchment.  "Now, as I was saying.  I'm sorry for your wasted trip, but I have no additional information to give you.  And as I told the young gentleman when I spoke to him, only one other interested party has called about the challis.  Per our agreement, I told them I am no longer in possession of it.  I don't see how I could be of additional help.  That piece was part of an estate purchase decades ago.  And although an unusual piece, it is not the type, nor quality of antique that we sell in this shop.  I was surprised anyone had an interest in it.  I have tried to auction the challis several times over the years.  Truthfully, sir, the workmanship is quite poor."

Giles again extended his hand and smile to the agitated shop owner.  "Thank you, Mr Ryan.  I am sorry for bothering you once again, but you know how some dealers can be.  We just wanted to check one last time.  If anything should come up…?"

Ryan walked Giles towards the front door.  "Yes, yes.  I will phone immediately.  I completely understand."  He opened the door, an obvious invitation for Giles to leave.  "Have a good day, Mr Giles."

With the door to the small shop shut soundly behind him, Giles could only stare at the business card he still held in his hand.  It had been in his wallet for so long, the edges were curled.  Over twenty years and he was still using cards from the first printing. 

Bradley and Sons

Antiques and Occult Collections

London, England

Ruppert Giles – Appraisals

The business behind which the Council hid its true identity.      

---TBC