Hello gentle readers.  The story below is my entry in the Ripper ficathon hosted by the fabulous mrsdrake .  It was due on July 7, as you can see............today is not July 7.  I have to say, this story kicked my ass six ways to Sunday.  I started 4 separate stories before settling on this plot, and it took forever for the ghoul of inspiration to show me the ending.  This story was written for mrtwstedwhsprs .  I am publicly apologizing for me delay, and I hope you don't hate the story.  The problem is, I can't think of a title.  I usually don't have a problem finding a title (not great titles, but hey, they work).  But this one leaves me adrift.  Because The Bane of My Existence or That Fucking Story that Took Forever to Write probably aren't appropriate, I'm going to open it up to suggestions.  Read the story, leave a comment, suggest a title (you could even put some feedback in the comment).  I need a title before I post it anywhere else.  I will write the lucky person whose title I pick a drabble of their choice, any pairing.  (be quiet Jen, I can write 100 words quickly.  I hear what you're thinking).

Here it is:

Title: ?
Author: Kim
Email:  lawyergirl152003@yahoo.com
Written: August 2004
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up through The Gift. 
Summary: A slice of life from the summer after The Gift.
Distribution: My livejournal, GRB, WG, ODD, Headquarters, BG efiction, anyone else, let me know, I’d be honored.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Joss, ME, Fox etc. Although I'm sure they have more fun in my world.
Feedback:  Is treasured above all else (except new shoes).  While I am especially fond of constructive criticism (go ahead, tell me what didn’t work for you) a simple “I liked it,” is also wonderful.
 
Source:  Written for the Ripper ficathon hosted by the lovely and talented mrsdrake.  Um, stories were supposed to be done July 7, as you can see, I’m a tad behind.  I wrote for TwistedWhispers who wanted a non-post-Chosen story, any rating, using Willow, Spike, Xander and/or Dawn.  The story needed to include rain and a misplaced coin.  I didn’t manage a pairing, this story just barged its way out.

Thanks:  To Phen for the beta.  Who said what I needed to hear:  do you want it to be a better story, or just be over?  Thanks for pushing me to make it a better story.
 
*******************************************************************

 
Willow and Xander entered the bar, grimacing in distaste at the dirty tables and grimy floor, sticky with substances best left unidentified.  Briefly, they scanned the crowd, looking for their quarry.  Finally, Willow spotted him and nudged Xander, nodding her head toward the bar.
 
Xander took in the figure sitting at one end of the bar, a half-empty bottle of Jack in front of him.  They watched as the man poured himself another drink, and then downed it in one quick swallow.
 
“Well,” Willow began uncertainly, “this will be interesting.”
 
“’Interesting’ isn’t the word I would use,” Xander replied.  “Probably loud and embarrassing, but definitely not interesting.  I don’t think he’s going to go quietly.  Take a look at what he’s wearing.”
 
Willow looked closer, then groaned.  The normally proper Watcher was dressed in faded denim jeans, a tight t-shirt, and scuffed motorcycle boots.  A well-worn black leather jacket rested on the bar next to him.   “Maybe we’re not the right people for this job.  I don’t do drunk and possibly hostile confrontations.  Why isn’t Spike here?”
 
“Peroxide boy isn’t here because, and I quote, ‘Bleedin’ crazy bastard said he’d stake me clean through if I opened my bloody mouth again.”  Xander’s mimicry of Spike was near perfect.  “He suggested that we two do-gooders come and try to put the ‘nice Watcher-boy’ to bed.”
 
“At least he agreed to stay with Dawn while we try.”  Willow turned to Xander, biting her lip.  “I’m not sure how to deal with him when he’s like this.  If this,” she gestured toward the bar, “is what I think it is.  We didn’t really deal with him last time.  If only Buffy was . . .”
 
“Don’t say it,” Xander cut her off harshly before she could finish her sentence, looking around to make sure no one was listening.  “We’ve been saying that for the past month.  If only Buffy was here, she’d know what to do.  If only Buffy was here, she could kill it.  If only Buffy was here, Dawn would listen.  If only Buffy was here, Giles wouldn’t be drinking himself into oblivion,” he trailed off, eyes filled with tears, unable to continue.
 
Willow’s eyes welled up to match.  “I never thought we’d actually have to say it.  I never thought, I mean really THOUGHT, there would be a time when she wouldn’t be here.  I miss her Xan, it’s getting harder, not easier.”
 
Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Xander squeezed reassuringly and dropped a kiss on her head.  “I know.  Believe me, I know.”  Realizing where they were having this painful moment, Xander decided to try and lighten the mood before someone or something marked the two sensitive types as an easy target. “But, hey, we still have three-fourths of the original Scoobies.  That’s saying something.  I mean, we’re probably definitely ahead on the odds on that one.”
 
Willow smiled tremulously at him, appreciating his vain attempt to find something good in the situation.  Before she could respond, however, she heard the all-too familiar voice, loud and slurred.
 
“What’re you lookin’ at, mate?  Can’t a bloke drink in peace around here?  Ugly git.”
 
Xander’s arm tightened around Willow as he began to direct them toward the bar. “I think we’d better try to get him home before he gets in a fight.”
 
To the casual observer, Giles looked nothing more than a man intent on drowning his sorrows in a bottle. But Xander noted the tension in his shoulders, and the way his head moved restlessly, scanning the other patrons of the bar.  He wondered what finally had driven Giles into a bar on this particular night.
 
*****************************
 
Earlier that evening, Xander and Willow had been sharing Dawn duty.  All of them took turns staying with the girl, who was still despondent over Buffy’s death.  In the middle of the tenth viewing that month of the ‘Princess Bride,’ Spike had burst through the door.
 
“He’s going to get himself killed,” he announced.
 
“Who?” Dawn asked.
 
“Bloody Watcher, that’s who.  He’s drinkin’ at Willy’s, tryin’ ta pick a fight with anyone that even looks at him.  So far Willy’s managed to keep anything from happenin’, but it’s only going ta be a matter of time.”
 
“Why didn’t you bring him home?” Willow asked, outraged.
 
“I tried to,” Spike explained, followed by a retelling of Giles’ comment regarding staking.  “You’re gonna have to go get him.”
 
“Us?  Why us?” Xander asked.
 
Spike moved over to sit on the couch, pausing to root through the bowl of candy on the coffee table before answering.  “Because, for some reason he seems to have a soft spot for you two useless prats.  So you’d better get over there before someone gets hurt.”
 
**********************
 
Before Xander and Willow made it across the bar, the demon that Giles had insulted growled something back.  Unfortunately, Giles obviously was familiar with that dialect, because he stood abruptly, swayed for a moment until he got his balance, and shoved the demon in the chest.  “Yeah?  And your mum shags fairies.”
 
Taking offense to the slur on his parentage, the demon roared, standing and knocking his barstool out of the way.  The purple scaled, but otherwise humanoid, creature shoved Giles’ shoulder, pushing him into red-haired man sitting on Giles’ other side.  The man looked irritated, eyes flashing golden.
 
Giles teetered drunkenly, but caught his balance on the bar and turned back to the demon with a feral grin.  “Is that the best you can do?” he asked, before throwing a right hook that caught the demon in the face.
 
Barely phased, the demon countered with a punch to Giles’ stomach, followed by an uppercut that sent him flying into the redhead a second time.  Giles stood, wiping a trickle of blood off of his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Sure that’s the best you’ve got, mate?” He shook his head briefly and launched himself at the demon again.
 
Xander and Willow halted halfway across the bar, trying to decide the best way to handle the situation.  Every patron’s eyes were on the fight, and Xander hoped desperately that no one else wanted to get involved.
 
Giles landed two quick punches and blocked the demon’s return volley with his forearm.  The demon deflected Giles’ next punch and managed to smash him square in the face.  Giles rocked back into the patron on his opposite side again.  This time, the man pushed back and stood abruptly, his face morphing, showing his vampire nature.
 
Giles stood panting, blood streaming down his nose, his countenance all the more gruesome for the smile he wore.  “Now, come on.  M’Aunt Mille can hit harder than that and she’s 93.”
 
Before the demon could react, the vampire chuckled mirthlessly.  “What’s the matter, Watcher?   Did your Slayer let you off the leash to play a little bit?  She looks like a tasty morsel; pity she’s not here to join in the fun.”
 
At the vampire’s words, the smile dropped off Giles’ face, replaced by a chilling blankness.  Before the vampire could react, Giles slipped a stake from the waistband of his pants, and plunged it into the creature’s chest.  The vampire’s surprised look shattered into a thousand dust motes that drifted to the floor, settling almost audibly in the absolute silence of the bar.
 
“Would anyone else like to talk about my Slayer?”
 
Everyone in the bar, including the purple demon, suddenly found their attention needed desperately elsewhere.  The noise level rose as the bar’s denizens chattered aimlessly, trying not to draw Giles’ focus.
 
Xander and Willow, released from the stasis of their indecision, rushed over to Giles.  He stood, back to them, and poured another shot from the bottle before him.  Throwing it back, he slammed the glass down.  “Piss off,” he said, without turning around.
 
“And good evening to you, too,” Xander said.
 
“Might as well leave.  I’m staying here.”
 
“Because here has worked so well for you so far.  I can see the draw of staying a little longer, and maybe, hey, getting your other eye blackened.”
 
“Giles.” Willow laid her hand on his shoulder.  “We need to go.  It isn’t safe here.”
 
Giles poured another drink before turning around and leering speculatively at Willow.  “Name’s Ripper, luv, and maybe you’re the one who won’t be safe if you stay.”
 
“Nice try.  Gay now, remember?”
 
Xander grabbed Giles’ arm.  “Come on, we don’t have all night to stand here and watch you get in touch with your inner bad boy.”
 
Giles shrugged off Xander’s hand, his fist clenching.  “Don’t.  Touch.  Me.  I’m staying.”
 
Xander looked down at Giles’ clenched fist before raising brown eyes to meet angry green.  “Do you really want to do that?” He asked sadly.  “Because if that’s what it’s going to take to get you to leave, we can.”
 
For a split second, a flicker of shame crossed Giles’ features before his expression hardened once more.  Finishing his drink, he grabbed his coat off the bar and headed for the door.  Xander and Willow scrambled to follow in his wake.
 
Giles walked determinedly down the street.  Willow and Xander followed behind, unsure of how to approach him, but not wanting to let him go home alone.  After a few minutes, it started to rain. 
 
“Great,” Xander groused.  “This is exactly where I wanted to be tonight -- shadowing a half-drunk Watcher who’s trying to connect with his inner demon raiser in the pouring rain.”
 
“We could call Tara to come and give us a ride,” Willow suggested.
 
Xander patted his pockets, “I left all of my change on top of my dresser, and my cell phone is still in the shop from that unfortunate encounter with the R’gesh demon last week.”
 
“So, we walk.  We can’t let him go home by himself like this.  He’s had an awful lot to drink.”
 
“Didn’t seem to bother him too much at the bar.  He was all ready for another fight.”
 
Willow slipped her arm through Xander’s and squeezed.  “Xander, he didn’t mean that.  Giles would never,” she gestured helplessly with her free hand, searching for the right word, “fight with you.  I just don’t think he’s dealing very well with, you know, Buffy.”
 
“Is there anyone that’s dealing well with it? Because if someone is, I’d like to know how.”  Xander shook his head in exasperation.  “None of us are dealing, Will.”
 
“But you have Anya, and I have Tara, and we all have each other.  Giles doesn’t have anyone,” she said sadly.  “I don’t even think he’s cried.”
 
“I haven’t cried,” Xander contested.  When he looked Willow in the eye, he flushed guiltily.  “Much.”
 
Before Willow could answer, a dozen shapes slipped out of the rain, surrounding the three of them.  A blond giant of a man stepped forward.  “Well, well, what have we here?” He mocked.  “Three tasty snacks who have lost their way.”
 
Giles looked him in the eye.  “I’ll give you one opportunity to leave.  You don’t want to do this tonight.”
 
“No,” the stranger disagreed.  “I think I do want to do this tonight, Watcher.  You seem to be without your Slayer, and the thought of killing three of her friends at one time is quite appealing.  It’ll certainly go a long way toward helping me take over the town.”  His face, along with those of his companions, morphed to display ridged brows and yellow eyes.  “Besides, I’ve always wanted to taste Watcher blood.”
 
Willow and Xander pulled out their stakes.  Years on the Hellmouth had taught them not to go unarmed.  The leader and seven of his minions held back, while the rest rushed to engage.  Giles eagerly moved forward to engage two of them, ignoring the stake in his jacket for the time being, content to pummel with fists and feet.  Xander and Willow found themselves back to back, stalked by the other two.  Xander’s opponent tackled him, sending Willow flying forward.  By sheer luck, her stake found the heart of the vampire in front of her, dispatching him handily.  “Huh,” she exclaimed, “Maybe I’m getting better at this.”
 
“Willow,” Xander called frantically from underneath the vampire.  “Some help.” 
 
Willow spun and quickly staked the vampire attacking Xander in the middle of its back, missing the heart.  “Or not,” she muttered right before the vampire sent her flying with a backward blow.  The vamp’s momentary distraction gave Xander an opening to push with all his strength, sending the vampire rolling away.  He used that opportunity to regain his feet, scant seconds before his attacker was back.
 
Giles, meanwhile, was using every dirty fighting technique he’d learned on the streets of London, enjoying every second of it.  He taunted the vampires, enraging them further to encourage sloppy attacks.  Finally, he pulled his stake from his jacket and staked one, turning his full attention to the other.  The vampire slowed down, realizing this wasn’t the easy fight he had assumed it would be.  For the next several minutes, the fight was evenly matched, with both landing painful blows on the other.  A sharp crack after a particularly vicious punch signaled the possibility of a broken rib for Giles.  Wincing in pain, Giles ducked under the next swing and stuck his stake firmly between the vampire’s ribs, finding the heart.  Turning, he watched Xander struggle to hold down his vampire while Willow staked it.
 
Panting harshly, he started to laugh.  Xander decided at that moment that Giles had gone insane. “Now that was fun.”  Giles turned back to the leader.  “I’m going to give you one last opportunity to leave.”
 
Looking slightly nonplussed at the loss of four minions, the vampire shook his head.  “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”  He looked at the rest of his minions.  “Kill them,” he instructed.  “And hurry.”
 
Xander and Willow found themselves overwhelmed by an onslaught of vampires.  Xander got in two lucky swings, before a blow to the side of his head dazed him.  Willow struggled in the grip of a vampire, squirming desperately to keep him from getting a clear bite at her neck.  The two vampires attacking Xander pummeled him into the ground.  Finally, one grabbed him and hauled him to his knees, holding his arms behind his back.  The other leaned close, and Xander closed his eyes.  He couldn’t believe he was going to die in the middle of a street after all he’d survived.  As he squeezed his eyes shut, he heard Giles shouting words in a language he didn’t understand.  When the screaming started, he opened his eyes in time to see all of the minions on fire. 
 
When the last was ash, drifting on the wind, Giles turned to the leader.  “I told you tonight wasn’t a good night.”
 
“I have hundreds more minions,” the vampire boasted.  “We will meet again Watcher,” he said, turning to leave. 
 
Giles watched him for a moment.  “I don’t think so.” Throwing the stake in his hand, he caught the vampire in the back and watched impassively as he fell to dust.  He turned toward Xander and Willow, but before he could take a step, his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell to the ground.
 
Willow helped Xander up.  One of his eyes was swollen and a large bruise blossomed on his cheek, purpling nicely.  Together they went to check on Giles, who lay still, a stream of blood flowing out his nose and down his face.  Xander groaned as he knelt on one knee, not sure he would be able to get up again.  Willow, less battered but equally shaken, crouched next to Giles and reached a tentative hand to shake his shoulder.  “Giles,” she begged softly, “you have to wake up.”
 
Giles groaned and lifted a hand to his head.  When he opened his eyes, Willow thought for a moment that his eyes were completely black.  After he blinked a few times, though, they returned to their normal hue, and Willow chalked it up to the darkness.
 
Xander and Willow helped Giles to his feet.  He gingerly pressed a hand against his ribs, wincing in pain.  Surveying both of them, he looked sad for a moment.  Thunder crashed in the distance.  “Come on, we need to get inside as soon as possible.”
 
All three supporting each other, they reached Giles’ flat without further incident.  Neither Xander nor Willow had been to Giles’ since Buffy’s death.  The Summers’ home had become their de facto headquarters, and all were so wrapped in their own pain, that none sought out the company of the others when not there.  Both were surprised when they walked in the door.  Open books covered every square inch of available space.  Willow recognized books of prophecy and Watcher Diaries, but mixed in were books of magic; the books Giles pretended not to have, those he had forbidden Willow from using.  Dirty glasses sat around the room as well, a testament to the fact that Giles did most of his drinking out of the public eye.  Soaking wet, they tried to find a clear place to stand to avoid dripping on the books.
 
Giles started up the stairs.  “I’m going to get dry clothes.  Willow, there’s a bag in the hall closet; it has clothes that she,” he swallowed convulsively, “that Buffy left.”  Willow retrieved the bag, disappearing into the bathroom to change.  After an uncomfortable silence that left Xander alone with his thoughts, Giles returned bearing sweats, a t-shirt, and a towel.  He had changed into a similar outfit.  The blood from his nose had slowed to a trickle.
 
Before Xander had to think of something to say, Willow emerged from the bathroom, clearly uncomfortable in Buffy’s yoga pants and halter.  Xander tried to smile reassuringly as he went past her into the bathroom.  When he returned, drier and warmer, Willow was standing awkwardly near the couch, as there was nowhere to sit.  Giles came out from the kitchen, bearing glasses.
 
“I’m having a drink.  Anyone care to join me?” The cold blankness was back in his eyes.
 
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough tonight?” Xander asked. 
 
Giles appeared to consider the question before he answered.  “Well, seeing as I am still standing, and still conscious, no, Xander, I don’t believe I’ve had enough tonight.”
 
Xander flinched at the tone in Giles’ voice but plunged ahead.  “You’re right, you should keep drinking.  I mean, hey, what’s a cracked rib and a broken nose but signs of a night well spent.  Drinking.  Yay!  The cure for what ails ya.”
 
Giles moved to the liquor cabinet.  “There is no cure for what ails me, Xander.  So this will just have to do.”
 
Willow, increasingly dismayed, searched for some way to change the subject.  “So, hey, that was some spell you did back there, Giles.  I’ve never seen you do magic like that.  I mean, sure you have with the whole Amy’s mom and the curse and stuff, but never like that.  Have you been practicing?  Getting back into it?  Is that what the books are for?  Or is there some new demon?  Do we need to research?  Is that what you’ve been doing?”
 
She ran out of steam in the face of Giles’ impassive stare.  “No.  There is no new demon.  I just thought I’d catch up.  Look through a few of my books.”  He poured another drink, but was stopped before taking a swallow by Xander’s hand on his arm.
 
“Looking for what?  Did you misplace a recipe?  Because the place is trashed, Giles.  We can handle the truth.  What are you looking for?”
 
Giles angrily pulled his arm away from Xander, sloshing scotch on the floor. He stalked to the other side of the room, deliberately drinking before answering.  “For an answer.”  The flat monotone of his voice was in contrast to his angry actions.
 
“An answer to what?”  Willow looked at Xander, wondering if he knew what Giles was talking about.
 
“An answer to what?” Giles asked incredulously, his voice growing louder.  “An answer to what?  To why two plus two is four, you stupid little girl.  What do you bloody well think?  An answer to why!” 
 
Xander thought he had a good idea what answer Giles was searching for, but he wanted to know for sure.  He mentally steeled himself.  “Why, what?”
 
Giles began to pace, flinging his arms in agitation.  “An answer to how fucking hellgods get trapped in this dimension.  An answer to why the Council bastards can sit in London and maintain wet ops forces all around the world, but we have to confront creatures seeking to punch into this realm on our own.” 
 
Angry tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.  He clenched his fist and set a stack of books flying with a muttered phrase.  Something deep inside Willow woke up at Giles’ casual use of magic. 
 
“An answer to why Dawn, who, while a lovely young lady, is still a construct that has only existed in our lives for eight months, and is still alive while her sister is dead.”
 
The rising energy in the room prickled the hairs on Willow’s neck, evoking a longing to unleash with her own magic.  When Giles turned his head to look at them, she sucked in a breath.  She hadn’t been wrong earlier; his eyes were black.  “An answer to how you, and Xander, and everyone else that has come and gone through this miserable pissant town and our happy band are still alive and doing well while Buffy is rotting in a god damned grave.”  A gust of air threw the door open and whipped through the apartment.
 
With flicks of power, he sent glass after glass from around the room crashing into the walls.  “An answer to how the powers of good could possibly look down and decide that the one person who was shining and strong and spent her life sacrificing herself so this bloody world could go on had to die?”  With the last, he threw the empty glass in his hand at the wall, where it shattered into tiny shards. 
 
“An answer to why she was so fucking selfish as to think that she had the right to go and leave us behind,” he shouted at the same moment a crash of thunder split the air in the room, and lightning struck so close they could smell the ozone.
 
Spent, he slumped in a chair, knocking over the books that sat there.  For several long moments he sat, head bowed, before he looked Xander in the eye.  The look of despair pierced Xander in place, not letting him look away.  “But most of all,” he whispered, “an answer as to why I couldn’t save her.”
 
Wary, but struck deeply by the desolation in Giles’ voice, Willow and Xander moved to either side of him. 
 
“Giles,” Xander said, crouched next to him.  “You did everything you could.  We all did.  It was Buffy’s decision.”
 
“But she shouldn’t have needed to make it,” he sighed.  “If only I could have found something, anything, to stop Glory before any of it was necessary.”
 
Awed by Giles’ display of magic, Willow only had eyes for the spell books.  “Do you think there’s a spell that would have helped?”
 
“Perhaps,” Giles answered dully.  “Spells for everything.  Spells for life and for death.  Spells for killing and for maiming.  Spells for resurrection and for desecration.  I’m sure there’s one somewhere.  If I look hard enough, I’ll find it.”
 
“And then what?” Xander asked sadly.
 
“Then I’ll know that I failed her.  I won’t just think it.”  With that, the tears that had been threatening finally began to fall. 
 
Xander waited for Willow to do something, then frowned as he realized she was lost in thought.  Awkwardly, he patted Giles on the shoulder, surprised when Giles leaned against him.  “I miss her.”
 
“I do too, Giles.  We all do.”
 
Xander cleared his throat to catch Willow’s attention.  He jerked his chin toward the loft.  “Let’s help him to bed.  I think he needs to sleep.”
 
Exhausted from the drinking, magic, and tears, Giles docilely followed, and allowed them to pull back the sheets while he stood dully by.  Sighing, he crawled into the bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
 
Xander left the bedroom, Willow trailing behind.  “I’ve never seen Giles lose it like that.  It wigged me,” he admitted.
 
“Hmm, mmm,” Willow agreed, not paying attention to Xander; her mind, instead, replaying Giles’ words.  Spells for life and death.  Spells for resurrection…  Before they left, her eyes swept the magic books lying about, and a plan began to form.