Summary: Giles gets a clue at the start, and trains Xander and Willow somewhat.

Crossover: At the moment, none.

Disclaimer: I own naught but debt.

Feedback: Why not?

Pre-fic Comments:

You can blame Hatten for this one. Plot bunnies are annoying as hell. To be fair, though, the abstract concept has been at the back of my mind for awhile, now. I can't write fight scenes worth peanuts, though, so any help would be appreciated.

Is it me, or does slangy British language sound like Australian when written down?

Today's album recommendation: 'Enthrone Darkness Triumphant', by Dimmu Borgir. Somehow, they do this really kewl heavy metal and symphony thing that's heavier than hell, complete with dodgy-as lyrics. While you're at it, have a listen to 'Psalm 69' by Ministry.

* * *

Giles absently stopped the world globe by the stacks from spinning while he thought. He'd just explained some of the realities of life to Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg. He had hoped to minimize their involvement, but the least they were owed was an explanation as to vampires after their long term best friend was abducted by one.

The British ex-rebel had come to Sunnydale to Watch over Slayer Summers, but had found she was amazingly stubborn in her assertion that she deserved a social life, and Giles had just about given up on trying to convince her of the merit in focussing on Slaying, and Slaying only. It looked like her two new friends had the same stubborn streak. If he read the boy correctly, Xander was even more stubborn than the Slayer. Understandable, really, considering that his friend had just been abducted by demons.

Giles couldn't just /let/ them help Slaying, however. They would have to be happy with settling with research. If they still wanted to help physically... he'd found that physical exertion did wonders in dissuading modern youth.

"I, I can't just let you help the Slayer with her Slaying," Giles said. "You'd be in, in a lot of danger."

Xander waved a hand in dismissal. "I laugh in the face of danger. Then I hide until it goes away."

"Vampires are stronger than half a dozen men put together, and move like a greased pig," Buffy said. "You're not helping."

"I'm gonna hurt those suckers worse than hygiene!," Xander protested, getting up and glaring at Buffy. While he was mildly crushing on Buffy Summers, his friendship with Jesse took priority.

Giles cleared his throat. "I refuse to permit you to help the Slayer until I'm satisfied that you are able to defend yourself. This will, of course, involve training in martial arts."

"Uh, I'm really no good at fighting," Willow said. "I can help with books! Research Gal, that's me!"

Xander wasn't as sanguine. "I don't have to listen to you! Those assholes took Jesse!"

Giles sighed. "I was hoping not to have to say this, but if you do not listen to me I will have no choice but to inform Principal Flutie that you have been getting into fights."

"You fight dirty," Xander complained. "Okay, but I don't have any money for any dojo's."

Giles grinned. It was a vicious little grin that had nothing to do with librarians, and a lot to do with his younger self. "I fight dirty indeed. You'll turn up here at six in the morning, or don't turn up at all."

"I take it this isn't for early morning cartoons?," Xander asked.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Billy's Bar, how can I help you?"

"Get Billy Kane. This is Ripper."

"Hold on..."

"Ripper? Mate, it's been too bloody long!"

"Yeah, been doing stuff. Still got those training manuals of mine?"

"'Course I bloody got 'em! Want 'em back?"

"Yeah. Can you come over here at all?"

"Why? What's up?"

"Demons."

A long pause ensued.

"Demons? Bloody hell, mate, what're you got yerself wound up in?"

"Working for the Council. Gone daft in my old age, I guess. There's a local boy who won't bloody stay away, and I need to teach him how not to get himself killed."

"I'm busy for the next few weeks, but I'll send you those manuals tomorra. When I can, I'll come see ya, bring some of my mates."

"Still working for Mr Big?"

"Nah, mate, Geese Howard. He's in charge these days."

Small talk continued.

* * *

"When my bones knit," Xander panted, "you are a dead man."

Giles paused, surprised. It was about six thirty, and the grey halflight preceding dawn had begun to appear. The first order of business had been getting Xander into some semblance of fitness, so they had been doing callisthenics and jogging.

"Er, Xander, your bones are perfectly fine, if a little jarred."

"Don't you read the funnies in the newspaper?"

Silence.

* * *