Part Thirteen

Giles drained the last of his third cup of coffee and motioned for a refill. The waitress arrived with a silver pot and filled his cup, then moved toward Angel’s, but the vampire shook his head, mumbling that he’d had enough. When the young woman moved away, Angel clasped his fingers and stared at Giles.

"Why didn’t you tell me all of this a long time ago, Giles?" he finally asked, his glare hardening as Giles added sugar to his cup and took several small sips, purposely avoiding his gaze. "I could have come back. I could have taken care of her. I could-"

"You could have hurt her again. Unwittingly. Unintentionally. But hurt her just the same." The caffeine was making him restless, fidgety. Giles exhaled loudly and put his cup down, then lifted it again. "And to be quite frank, Angel, I don’t feel that I was obligated to tell you anything at all. If you were that interested in her life you should have called her and not me."

There was a long beat where neither man blinked, then Angel looked away and mumbled, "You know why I didn’t call her."

"And you know why I didn’t tell you," Giles replied. "For the very same reason that you haven’t contacted her."

Angel glanced down at the table, slowly tracing a scratch in the worn wood with his thumbnail. He had listened with disbelief to most of what Giles had told him: the commandos, Spike being implanted with some form of behavior modifier, Buffy almost being killed, and finally Spike’s aid in caring for her. Spike, of all people, had been doing what he himself should have done. "I would have been a better choice than Spike."

Giles glanced at him over the rim of his cup, then sat it down again slowly. "Would you? You don’t know what this did to her, Angel. She hated all of us. For weeks, she refused to eat at the hospital, lived off of tubes, and when she finally was allowed to come home, she was insufferable. Spike was the only person who could be harsh enough with her to get through to her and our hands were tied."

"But I--"

Giles held up a hand. "Just stop. I’ve given you all the explanation I plan on giving. I was here and you weren’t."

"I could have been. In a matter of hours, I could have been."

"We can’t erase time, Angel. We can’t go back and do it again. It’s done." Giles motioned for their waitress and requested the check. "I appreciate your concern for Buffy, but I feel that there are more important things for us to concentrate on at the moment."

Angel was about to protest, about to tell the Watcher all about the last Slayer that Spike had killed, when the door chimed and he froze. Several men in dark suits entered the diner and scanned the room, then headed toward the long, empty bar. "I think you’re right," he said, nodding toward the small crowd. "Do they look familiar to you?"

Giles turned, staring at the men at the bar. "I’ll be damned."

There were six men, each of them dressed almost alike, and all of them wearing a pinky ring just like the one Giles was wearing. He instinctively gripped his own ring, twirling it around his finger, and then he stood. "I’ ll be right back," he told Angel.

Angel watched, bracing himself for trouble. To his surprise, one of the men saw Giles coming and jumped up, embracing the Englishman tightly. The other five followed suit and Giles pointed toward Angel. Six pairs of eyes bore holes in him, and he looked away, painfully aware of their disdain, for he was the very thing that they hated. He was so caught up in not being obvious, that he didn’t realize that Giles had made his way back toward him until he cleared his throat beside him.

"Angel? Would you like to join us in the back of the bar and discuss plans?"

Angel glanced passed him, eyeing the men critically. "Are you sure they can be trusted?"

Giles nodded. "I’m sure of it. Each of them have, at one time or another, spoken up for me or Buffy to the ruling elite. Most of these men served when my own grandmother was a Watcher. They know what's been happening with Maggie Walsh."

"I see." Angel nodded, tossed a handful of ones on the table, and followed Giles toward the back of the room. Of the six men, only two stood up and said hello to him when he paused beside the long table they had arranged themselves at. Angel greeted them, Giles made the introductions, and then they all sat down again.

One of the men leaned forward, studying Angel closely, his wrinkled face only a few inches from Angel's own. "The one with the angelic face. The books do not lie. They called you the 'scourge of Europe' if I recall. You murdered without a second thought, raping, pillaging your way all over the place. Does that haunt you as much as we've heard?"

Angel said nothing, but he held the Malachai’s gaze, not blinking. With a smile, the elder Watcher shook his head. "I see that the books also did not lie when they spoke of your stoicism. We have heard of your entanglements with the Slayer, and with Wesley Wyndham-Price. It would appear, for all intents and purposes, that the only thing that makes you a vampire anymore is your lack of a heartbeat."

Angel’s face showed no emotion, but he nodded his head slightly. "And it would also appear that the only thing that makes you a Watcher anymore is the fact that you’re still alive. You certainly haven’t been doing your job, have you?"

"Angel-" Giles rolled his eyes and glanced at the Elder apologetically. "I am sorry, Malachai. Angel is overwrought with emotion because of Buffy's-"

"Make no apologies for him." Malachai interrupted, still gazing at Angel. "He should not be faulted for speaking the truth. We have failed. We allowed our system to crumble, allowed Quentin to convince us that your place in our ranks had been compromised, and worst of all, allowed Maggie Walsh to execute her poorly planned operation at the Hellmouth of all places." Glancing at Giles, Malachai shook his head. "And your Slayer’s weaknesses can also be traced back to Maggie Walsh."

That comment piqued Giles curiosity and he narrowed his eyes. "How so?"

Malachai motioned at the waitress, requested a bottle of the finest Scotch, and cleared his throat, waiting for her to leave. When she did, he glanced at the man to the left of Angel, who nodded at him. "Two days before your Slayer was attacked, Maggie sent a formal request to the Elders for a Shaman, a healer who practices sorcery and can control natural events. Our last contact with him was the day after the Slayer’s attack. We have three eyewitnesses who placed him at the hospital and in your Slayer’s room. With Maggie Walsh."

Giles was too stunned to speak for several seconds, then his eyes widened. "Are you telling me that Maggie put some sort of spell on Buffy to prevent her from healing?"

"I am," Malachai replied with a nod. "We were able to obtain documents that Maggie had accessed from our database and each of those documents entailed different ways to alter someone’s healing ability. The Shaman was the link she needed to complete the ritual."

"So, Buffy can walk?" Angel asked, his mind struggling to comprehend everything at once.

Malachai shrugged his shoulders slightly. "There would be no way of knowing unless the spell was lifted. There is a real possibility that the Slayer was physically damaged to the point of being crippled," he paused, "but in my experience, Slayers are either active or they’re dead. There’s never an exception because as long as her body is alive, it’s constantly rejuvenating itself. She won’t bruise, if she does, it’s gone within hours. When she’s cut, it heals faster ... it’s the way of the Chosen. And Buffy Summers has certainly gone above and beyond when it comes to her victories."

"I should have known ... I should have thought of that." Giles rubbed his fingertips over his forehead in frustration. "I mean, all this time I've just sat by and watched her withdraw and I never even considered that there could be something supernatural involved. I should have--"

Rueben, the man to his left, laid a hand on his arm. "There will be time for should haves later. We’ve come to make this right. We were able to secure the location of Maggie’s lab and we have a disk that will shut down her operations for three hours. That’ll give us enough time to infiltrate, take her into custody, and put an end to this madness. Demonic forces can not be trifled with as she is doing."

"And what about her father?" Giles eyed the Councilmen wearily, recalling Maggie's father when he had been an instructor at the academy. "Is Darren Walsh aware of your intentions?"

Malachai took a deep breath and shook his head. "I'm afraid that we had to deal with Darren Walsh in very extreme measures."

"You killed one of your own people?" Angel asked, raising his eyebrows in shock.

"Would that shock you, Angel?" Malachai leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"Pretty much nothing shocks me," Angel said. "But if you did kill one of your own people, I'd say that puts us on a level playing field and you have no right to look down your nose at me."

Malachai chuckled and glanced at the man beside him. "He's a spirited old chap, isn't he? I like him." Stretching his arms back, the elder Watcher grinned at Angel. "We didn't kill Darren, we simply relieved him of his duties and left him to his own devices. He got himself killed."

"Pity, that." Giles crossed his arms over his chest, unable to even pretend to be saddened for the loss. "So, you're going to handle this situation yourselves? Would you happen to have space for one more ally?"

"Two," Angel added. He looked toward Malachai. "The fact that my heart doesn ’t beat isn’t the only thing that makes me a vampire. My strength could be an asset in all of this."

"Very well." Malachai nodded his head and paused, taking the Scotch from the waitresses tray when she returned. He passed out the glasses and filled each. "Then what do you say we toast--" he held up his glass and tapped it against Angel's. "to unholy alliances."

"To unholy alliances," Angel replied, drained his glass, and sat it back on the table. "Where do we start?"

"We start by bringing Maggie Walsh to her knees." Giles smiled over the rim of his glass as he swallowed the strong liquor down in one gulp. He half listened as Malachai began to outline the plan. By the time he reached his third shot, he had hatched a plan of his own. Maggie Walsh had once told him that he was too much of a loose cannon to ever be taken seriously as a Watcher. And she was right-- he was a loose cannon--

And he was about to go off.