*...In which Giles is rebuked by his Superior, Willow faces her Fears, Buffy runs from hers, Oz overcomes his Weakness, and two mysterious Strangers appear...*

Part One: Giles *...In which Giles is rebuked by his Superior...*

"...But I'm telling you, I don't *know* where she is! I've been trying to tell you that for the last half-hour!" Rupert Giles' anger and fear showed on his craggy face, anger at the insistence of the questioner and fear for the safety and well-being of his young charge. The man seated opposite the middle-aged British Watcher sighed and shook his head.

"The Convocation knows that you are ignorant of Miss Summers' current whereabouts," the man stated archly. Giles bristled at the idea of being considered "ignorant" of anything, but kept his thoughts to himself. "If you knew her current location, you would be on your way to meet with her or else would be in contact with her. That is not the question. The question is this: do you know *why* she left the Hellmouth? Your reports to the Convocation have been regular and complete in all regards--save this one. Is there something you have been leaving out of those reports, Rupert?"

*There are*, thought Giles to himself, *a great many things I have left out of my reports, but I'll never tell you that, you self-righteous little prick. And there must be some things you yourself are "ignorant" of, or you wouldn't be wasting your time with me; instead, you'd be off chasing Xander, wherever he is--you or your lackeys anyway.* But these thoughts Giles kept to himself, locked in the passages and corridors of his own mind. To the small, hard-edged man seated across from him, he said only this:

"My reports to the Convocation are as truthful as any Watcher's would be."

The small man grimaced, knowing that Giles' answer was not any answer at all. He began to flip through the sheaf of reports in front of him, again searching for any possible inconsistencies, any holes in the librarian's story through which he might launch a renewed offensive. Finally, after several long moments of silence, he opened a folder containing Giles' most recent report, written and turned in less than a week prior. The small man adjusted his reading glasses--he never wore them except in private, with other Watchers, because he felt them to be a sign of weakness--and commenced to review the file.

"Here, it says that the Slayer abandoned her duties after a battle between herself and an unnamed vampire of great strength who had threatened to, in your own words, 'bring about a premature Armageddon through the resurrection of the demon Acathla, a being capable of drawing the world into Hell simply by inhaling. The vampire who unearthed Acathla was destroyed fighting the Slayer, thus closing the vortex to Hell and saving the world from an untimely doom.'" He stopped reading the file and grinned humorlessly. "This would seem to paint Miss Summers as quite the hero, now wouldn't it?"

Giles' fury threatened to explode, and he almost attacked his toadlike inquisitor on the spot. He forced his anger back, knowing that however much temporary satisfaction he might gain in smashing the small man's face, he would pay for it in the long run, both in terms of his stature with the Convocation and in his (mostly) unsupervised Watchership of the Slayer. So far, he realized, he had been fortunate to have only one supervisor in the region; under normal circumstances, an entire branch of the Convocation would be placed in the home city of the Slayer, much like FBI field offices. It was a sign of how well-regarded he was that they saw fit to only monitor him with one administrator. It was just too bad that they had picked someone this officious and offending to do it.

"I would like to remind you that Buffy *is* a hero," Giles said, trying his level best to both keep his true feelings out of his voice and phrase his reply as respectfully as possible. "She is, after all, the Slayer. It is her destiny to be a hero, to stand against the vampires, the demons..."

"Yes, yes, I know. 'In every generation, there is a Chosen One'--blah, blah, blah. Can every Assigned Watcher quote those words by heart?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well, yes, actually," Giles said, somewhat surprised at the level of scorn he heard in the voice of his interrogator. The man was talking as though he weren't a Watcher himself! Admittedly, he wasn't an Assigned Watcher, but he was still of the Convocation, still sworn to aid and protect the Slayers. For the last week, Giles had become more and more puzzled at his coordinator's words and deeply concerned about his actions. It was only in the last week that his superior's apparent persecution of the Slayer had come to Giles' full attention. Before that, he had simply assumed that there was a greater reason; now he wasn't so sure.

"Hmph. I'm not surprised in the least. Now, back to the report." The small man's change of topic was so sudden that Giles was left unable to interrupt. "You make mention earlier herein that the vampire who was attempting to revive Acathla was allied with the vampires who killed the nascent Slayer, Kendra. However, while you quite clearly name and are obviously familiar with these other vampires--William the Bloody, aka Spike, and Drusilla--you are always vague on the identity of the ringleader himself. Don't tell me that a vampire of this level of power and ability escaped your notice before now? Or that he simply cruised into town and dug up Acathla for a lark? Please! What do you take me for?" While sorely tempted to answer the coordinator's rhetorical question, Giles stayed silent.

"It is my belief--and thus the Convocation's belief--that you do know the identity of this vampire and are hiding it for reasons unknown. It is also my belief that this vampire had something to do with why the Slayer has abandoned her post. Furthermore--" Giles could take it no longer, and the words burst from him in a flood as he stood and pointed an accusatory finger across the table.

"How dare you! How dare you accuse me of dishonesty!" Giles had indeed not told the whole story in many of his reports, but neither had he ever directly lied. "How dare you insinuate anything against Buffy! How dare you invoke the will of the Convocation to further your own petty little plans! How dare you play the innocent when you yourself had a hand in Buffy's disappearance! Why are you acting in this manner? Ever since you became the coordinator for Sunnydale, you have been working at cross-purposes with me, and I would like to know why!" His anger spent, he sat back down and glared at the little man, who was staring in shocked silence. Finally, the coordinator straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and began to speak.

"It is not your place to demand anything from me, Rupert. I am the coordinator for this region. That makes me Convocation's spokesman to all Assigned Watchers, not just for Sunnydale, but for all of Southern California. If it weren't for the Elders' foolish decision to leave you space, then I would have a proper administrative staff to handle everything that goes on in and around this town, but I don't, so I have to deal with problems personally.

"As it stands, I have had to cover up every single incident we have had since my posting here began, and I have had to do it all by myself. In my own humble opinion, I have done a far better job than anyone could have expected me to do under the circumstances. So don't go asking me how 'I dare' anything; I have enough difficulties to deal with, without my subordinates challenging me." He softened slightly--as much as a cruel, ruthless toad such as himself could ever soften--and started to speak again.

"It is my opinion--and the opinion of a growing number of Watchers--that we should start becoming more involved in protecting the human race. That, instead of just watching and recording and training, we should start waking society up to the danger that is all around them. That, instead of wasting all of our considerable resources on protecting just a handful of girls at a time, we should mobilize and militarize our own people. That, instead of harboring a being as chaotic and destructive as the Slayer, we should create a more organized front from which to stop the so-called 'forces of darkness'... or possibly to work a deal with them." Giles was sickened and enraged.

"You're a collaborist!" he exclaimed, naming a long-rumored sect of Watchers devoted to ending the battle with evil at any cost. That in itself wouldn't have been so bad, except that the collaborists were certain that evil was destined to win, so coming to an arrangement was a tenable proposition. Giles' expression was somewhere between disgust and hatred, his fists clenching an unclenching convulsively. If his coordinator was a collaborist, who knew who else might be? And if his coordinator had revealed himself, then it could only be to invite him into the sect.

"Don't say it like it's such a bad thing," the small man rebuked. "It's not like we would actively betray the Convocation--we just have somewhat different ideas about how it should be run."

"You are a fool," Giles spat. "There can be no 'arrangement,' no 'deal,' with beings that see our species only as food or playthings! Surely you can see that!"

"I see no such thing," his opponent replied smoothly. "All I know is that, as it stands, weare only stemming a tiny portion of the tide of death and destruction that faces our planet. Certainly, the worst of it is concentrated in two or three places, but how long until it spreads? How long until the Slayers aren't enough? If it gets any worse, society will fall apart completely and then where will we be? No, our only chance to survive is to comply. Until the day when my faction is in power, I will continue to serve theConvocation's current Council of Elders--but I don't have to like it."

Giles frowned at the little man's double-talk. He knew that he was dealing with someone to whom any level of logic would be ignored, processed through his own twisted perceptions. In short, Rupert Giles knew that he was facing a fanatic.

"Believe as you will," he said, doing a poor job of keeping the contempt out of his voice, "but if I recall correctly, the Elders do not take kindly to your 'faction'. Indeed, didn't the last Council brand you all traitors?" Seeing the look on the other's face, he continued, the low menace in his voice obvious. "I am going to take you before the Council, and I am going to reveal you to them. And then you can kiss your position, your power, everything, good-bye. I swear, I am going to destroy you!"

"Destroy me? With what? A bunch of unreasoning fears about the collaborists? Accusations that I've abrogated my duties? Where's your evidence? You have none." With that, he crossed his arms and smiled smugly, but the tic at the corner of his eye betrayed his true fear. "Besides which, you'll never get in to see the Council without going through the proper channels--and I *am* the proper channels."

"Then I suppose," Giles measured his words carefully, "that there is nothing else for us to say to one another."

"No, not until your next report." The small man stood up and brushed off his lapels, then began to collect the folders. Giles stood up as well and approached him.

"Not even then, I should think." A surprised look came over the other's face, quickly replaced by one of cocky self-satisfaction.

"Will you be resigning then? Terrible shame. Just--"

His false concerns were cut off in midsentence by a quick, powerful blow to the kisser. With a cry of pain, his hands went to cover his face, blood spouting like a geyser from his badly broken nose, his glasses flying away and landing on the floor. Giles drew his fist back again, and a second strong blow to the head drove the small man to his knees, the crunching sound of a broken jaw echoing through the quiet library like someone stepping on rice. Giles was tempted to lash out again, to break the weasely creature before him, but his rational mind asserted itself once more and he restrained his anger.

"Fucker!" screeched the coordinator, his shattered jaw undoubtedly the reason why the word came out as little more than a roar of anguish. "You're going down for this, you Limey bastard! I'll see to that! The Convocation will hear about this!" With that, the injured man ran out of the library as fast as he could manage, presumably headed to his office to call for an ambulance.

"I certainly hope so," Giles said to the empty library, "because then I'll be able to tell them all about you, and how you've been abusing your position. I'll tell them all about how you are the true reason behind the Slayer's disappearance, and then I will tell them about the resurgence of the collaborists. So, I do hope that you run to the Convocation with your tail between your legs." He looked at the broken glasses on the library floor and picked them up.

"Oh, yes, Snyder, I certainly hope you do."

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