Chapter VI: Intangible hope.
It's been hours since the sun went down across the British skyline. The moon is glistening beautifully across a cloudless sky, shining down upon the populace with warmth and beauty. People go about their night, same as every night of the week. They follow their respective routines, whole some break theirs.
Miles north, nearing the hills and forests that adorn the country-side, a large, dark building looms across the night as mighty as a fortress. Inside legends tread the halls freely. Studying texts as ancient as time itself. Fighting with a ferocity that make Gods cower. Drinking tea. Feeding their minds. Discussing how adorable Ashton's cheek-bones are. Training armies that will shape the Earth.
A home for warriors that wage war against chaos.
Inside this fortress dwell a particular group of individuals that have faced the might of chaos and survived. They have been broken, but their bruises have always mended. They have seen the ugliness of war and, although they have suffered tremendously, they have chosen to fight this battle. Some do it for meaning. Some do it to feel their existence justified. Some do it for redemption. And some do it because they have nothing else to lose.
Destiny chose them for this. And this is how they will die.
Charles Gunn has been staring at the open file for more than ten minutes. He doesn't focus on the words, albeit, try as he might, that is his intent. He stares at the pages blankly, the words blurring through his pupils. He takes a deep breath, and pulls himself from the file, leaning against his chair. He crosses his arms behind his neck, resting his head against them, then pushes his seat towards the large window to his right. He takes a look around his office and then focuses on the view.
Any other night, the sky would be so dark that nary a slight view of the courtyard can be singled out and appreciated. Tonight, however, the moonlight shines brightly across the field. Charles pushes himself of his chair and walks towards the window. He looks outside and notices a slight shadow moving slowly, and somewhat rhythmically, beside a darkened tree trunk. He smiles and shakes his head. The mental suggestion is very practical and somewhat appropriate for his situation. After all, they have all been living in an Academy in which the population is primarily teenage females, followed by dusty book-worm middle-aged men. He looks past the picturesque silhouette and maliciously hopes, perhaps out of residual juvenile humor, that a patrol guarding the premises stumbles across the girls.
As he looks further into the night, across the courtyard, he sees the windows of the infirmary. He takes a deep breath as he pushes his gaze and notices the flickering of candlelight coming across the white curtains. Charles fears that room. He dreads the thought of walking through its doorway. He trembles at the thought of making way through the central circular hallway that travels all the way through the Council in direction to the room. He fears it. He loathes it. Yet every week he goes there at least once. That is his weekly routine. He has been doing it for months now. Ever since they found them, with her.
A puncturing knock on his door throws his focus. He looks towards the large, oak double doors and scratches his head. "Come in," he finally says. The door to his right opens slightly and the head of Rupert Giles moves in.
"Busy?" Rupert asks as he shyly steps in. Gunn smiles at him and puts his hands inside his pockets casually.
"Not at all, man. What's up?" he asks exuberantly.
Giles walks inside the office and closes the door behind him. He grasps the mug in his hands, rubbing them against it, and makes his way towards Charles. "I, uh, I was wondering if you had a chance to look over the file I sent you," Rupert finally responds.
Gunn exhales. The kind of exhalation that exudes disappointment in oneself. "I, uh," he starts then pauses. "I... really haven't."
Giles looks at him with severity in his brow. Gunn pulls his hands out of his pockets and rubs them together. He turns nervously towards his chair and walks to it, tediously pacing himself. Giles looks beside him and grabs the back of the chair to his right as he sits in it. "Are you alright?" he asks Charles as he stares at the open file on the desk.
Gunn clicks his tongue, clearly indicating his discomfort towards the question lingering in the corners of his ear. "I don't think I can do this, Rupert," he finally answers.
Giles sighs accordingly. He leans forward against the desk and puts the mug quietly on it. He leans firmly back against the chair and smiles sympathetically to Gunn. "I know these past... months have been very hard," Rupert says, "but we to do this. We need you here, Charles. You have a gift that is incredibly resourceful for the Council, and we... I need you to help us."
"But..." he begins, "it's Wesley, Giles. This just feels wrong."
"And it is," Rupert interrupts. "What's happened in the last months is nothing but wrong on every conceivable level, but nevertheless, it happened. You have to remember that he turned his back on us. We trusted him, and he betrayed us. As much as I care for the boy, he's made his decision very clearly."
Gunn shakes his dubiously. "But, sleeping with the enemy? That's not his M.O."
Giles leans forward. "Nevertheless, he did."
Gunn drops back on his seat. "He played us... but I know him, and he wouldn't have done it unless there's a damn good reason."
"Hope is the best weapon we have at this juncture," Giles responds as he takes off his glasses. "Regardless, I need you to take a look at the file."
Gunn picks it up, obliging to Rupert's request. "What's it about this time?"
Giles pushes himself to his feet. He grabs the mug from the desk as he walks around the chair towards the door. "He had a city Councilman executed in his office. Poor man had children and everything."
"Says here Donahue was one of the Mayor's closest advisors?" asks Gunn pointedly. "Was he trying to get out of the whole outfit, or what?"
"Our informant couldn't confirm that claim, but it's pretty safe to assume that whatever he did really took its toll on the firm. They had him beaten and secured in the basement lock-out for days before he was killed."
"Eesh," responds Gunn with disgust, "bet Pavaine had a fun time with him." He stares at the file for a few more seconds, his eyes scanning the page in the same rhythmic pattern. "Wait. What happened to his family?" he asks as he turns page after page in search of an answer to his query.
"They received a very generous amount of money from the firm for their troubles," finally answers him Giles.
Gunn's eyes widen with surprise. He lets out a rustling whistle across the room, then says dumbfounded, "This is an estimation, right? Are these the actual numbers?"
Giles pulls his mouth off the mug and swallows down the hard liquor. He puts his right hand inside his pocket, then responds with a slight smile, "Hope, Charles. Someone has to keep it, and frankly, I'm too old for it so you're going to have to do."
Charles looks down at the file with a gleeful smile on his face, when a forceful knock on the door startles him and forces his gaze towards its originating point. The door swings open and Spike looms his head from out in the hall. His face is bruised and exuding exhaustion. Rupert turns around, startled as well, and looks him with worry. "Spike? What happened?" he says, his voice slightly trembling with nervousness.
Spike walks into the office. His coat, ripped to shreds in several points of his back, is soaked. He bites his lip in an amalgam of guilt and enthusiasm. "Uh, Rupert..." he begins, "remember how you told me not to be too... what was the word... aggressive with the girls in the field after the, uh, last time?"
Gunn stands up expectantly. His face brimming with questions that he has the unfortunate chance of fully knowing the answers to but, as usual, need to be validated by being uttered. He's stopped by Giles who raises his trembling hand against him. "What did you do, Spike?" he asks calmly.
Spike exhales purportedly. "Well," he responds, "it's like this. I took a group of girls to the forest to test them out like I always do. Thing is, I think they over-did it."
Giles shakes his head dubiously, then says, "They?"
"Yeah..." Spike responds, looking slightly impatient. "One of them brought a sledge-hammer."
Gunn covers his eyes from the shock with both of his hands, then says, "Please tell me you didn't sludge her right back with it?"
"Hey, it's survival of the fittest. I felt my life was in danger," says Spike defensively.
Giles takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes forcefully. "It's insupportable, Spike," he says incredulously.
"And why the bloody Hell is that insupportable?"
"How about... you're already dead!" shouts Gunn.
"Hey," says Spike pointing towards Gunn decisively, "you see a crazy Texan chick gunning at you with a sledge-hammer, dead or not, you're bound to get jumpy."
"You get chased around by demons wielding three feet-long axes on both arms on a nightly-basis!" says Gunn.
"Yeah, well... Valley Girls frighten me," says Spike with a note of fearful affirmation in his voice. "Anyways, she broke a couple of ribs, but I'm sure she'll be fine."
"Fine?" asks Giles calmly.
"Well... they're Slayers, right?"
Rupert and Charles look at each other, both completely dumbfounded by what just transpired. Giles turns towards Spike and puts on his glasses. "Where is she now?"
Spike sniffs and scratches his nose. "Infirmary... along with the others," he responds callously. "Now can I go down to the Teacher's lounge? 'Cause I think there's a bottle of my good buddy Jack down there with my name written all over it."
Giles stares at him blankly, then waves him to go. "I better get down there. Check on them," he finally lets the words escape his mouth, when he quickly says to Spike as he leaves, "I'll see you later."
"Yeah," says Spike as he walks out of the office, "I'll come by your office later."
Giles licks his lower lip, still incredulous over the incident, then says, almost as if to himself, "I meant at the bar. Something tells me a single cup of vodka isn't going to get me through the rest of this evening." He looks at Gunn to excuse himself out of his office, and Charles nods in compliance.
As Rupert closes the door behind him, Charles summarizes the entire conversation by exhaling a soft scoff that easily sounds as a slight appeasing chuckle. He sits back down on his chair and notices a few pages of the report file lying on the floor. He stares at them for a few seconds then, shaking his head, pushes himself right back on his feet.
He closes the file and walks around the office towards the door. He opens it and turns around to take one last look at his office for the day when he notices the window at the far end of the courtyard. No candlelight flickering through the still curtains. He takes a deep breath and steps out, flickering the light switch as he does so. Charles shuts the door and a loud clicking noise fills the empty, dark office as he locks it. Another day gone by.
Who knows how many more to go.