Chapter Text
4616 Newcrest Ave, Sunnydale.
Here he is.
My eyes flickered over the old rust bucket in his drive, nose wrinkling in distaste.
Yup, there’s his shitty car. One day I’m going to scrap that junk and get him something better.
Rupert’s dingy car was parked out the front. A 1963 Citroën DS. Grey. Ready to fall apart. It looked like a real fixer-upper with no love gone into it. Some rust was starting to crawl over the bottom, and it was in dire need of a wash.
This place was a two-story building. There were green, rectangular tiles fitted on the ground, as well as two overgrown trees on either side of the black iron entrance gate. It looked smaller, but I preferred that. My house back home was too big. It had too many rooms and it was cold. Not in the temperature sense, but…in the lonely and pretentious sense. It was a prestigious brick building that was worth quadruple more than my student loans in this life and the next — if I had actually paid for university, that is. My parents did that.
After approaching I realised the gate was locked, and after a quick glance, there was no intercom system either. Huffing, I collapsed the roller handle of my suitcase, shoving it down before slowly dropping the case on the other side of the iron fence. There was a blue wheelie bin right next to the medium sized wall that was a good enough boost for me to climb, so I hauled myself up and over, letting out a grunt as I landed somewhat less than gracefully.
Rolling my ankle, I glanced back up, faced with a courtyard that centred around a decently sized stone fountain, lily pads floating around the trickling water. The whole fountain had a flower shaped base that could be used as a seat, and framed around it were curved garden planters. Above me, there was a balcony sealed off by a lattice railing and an open window on the second floor, impossible for me to reach.
Hard for normal people to reach, at least. Experienced thieves or the supernatural would have another say in the matter. True, he wouldn’t have to worry about vampires during the day, but that said nothing about the other demons roaming the Hellmouth. Leaving the window open was like begging to have his stuff stolen. His priceless and timeless artefacts. It hurt me just thinking about it.
Sloppy, uncle.
Below that, just ahead of me, was a large metallic, antique looking door, lined with panels and a giant knocker in the middle.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek and approached, my suitcase rolling on the tiles. Setting it aside for a moment, I knelt and appraised the keyhole. The lock was a little dirty, making it a little difficult to manipulate.
I should really invest in proper tools.
Sliding two bobby pins from my hair, I pulled one apart into a long flat piece of wire, stripped off the rubber on the ends with my teeth and prepped the other pin into a lever. Closing my eyes for a moment, I envisioned the inside of the lock and got to work.
I inserted the tension wrench first and applied gentle pressure. The lock resisted slightly. I felt the pins shift and drop as I worked the pick back and forth. A few were stubborn, refusing to budge at first. I listened intently, focusing on the faint sounds from within the lock.
I kept my ears open for the first click, and felt a grin tug at my lips when I heard it, but forced it down, not wanting to celebrate too early. There was a lot of fiddling, but practice made me faster over the years and it wasn’t long until I seized the rest of the pins, and heard the last click.
Bingo.
I entered, and closed the door behind me, a tinge of satisfaction in my chest. Scanning the room, I found a light switch and flipped it.
Rupert’s home still held the essence of that ‘antique’ demeanour our family seemed to love so much. The walls were all a light shade of sage green. The whole living room was large with dark carpet underneath my feet. Side tables were adorned with tiffany glass lamps and interesting figurines. There was a dusky wooden desk pushed up against a wall, and facing the sofa was a fireplace fixed into the wall. In the back, I spied a short standing shelving unit, absolutely packed with books, and the place was lit by several light fixtures built into the walls, with one hanging from the ceiling over the stairs.
I turned and noticed an opening cut into the wall — a serving window of sorts, revealing a cramped kitchen behind it. A narrow doorway led into it from the side. There was barely an inch of clear counter space; every surface was cluttered with condiments, loose papers, a bowl of fruit and other bits.
I left my suitcase in the corridor, about to investigate upstairs, but heard keys jingling in the front door.
Oh sure, now he gets here.
To my surprise, my uncle wasn’t alone.
Two people walked in behind him. There was a boy almost as tall as my uncle, with dark curtain styled hair that could be considered cute if not for a weird mouth and an oddly punchable face. The girl seemed a little endearing, with fiery red hair cut just below her shoulders and dressed in dungarees with a multi-coloured, long sleeved striped shirt underneath.
Rupert was talking to them, as he stopped in front of the book shelf, actively searching for something. “I believe the text directly translates to abore.”
“Actually it’s Ar-bo-re.” I spoke aloud casually, correcting his pronunciation, then pausing briefly with a tilt of my head. “Why are you looking for a tree?”
They all whirled around. The girl just stared wide eyed and took a step back, and the one with the punchable face frantically grabbed one of Rupert’s lamps from the side and pointed it ‘threateningly’ at me before exclaiming, “Who the hell is that? Who the hell are you?!”
“Edith?” Rupert asked. He scanned my features in a moment of shock before a slow smile split across his mouth. I smirked, and wiggled my fingers in a wave. His arms opened wide excitedly as he approached me. “Edith!”
I eagerly returned his hug and he picked me up slightly, squeezing out a slight wheeze from me. Over Rupert’s shoulder, I noticed the two bystanders exchanging baffled glances. The one holding the lamp gently put it down, guard lowering again.
“Wait.” He put me down, holding onto my shoulder as he met my gaze, his momentary elation pausing and replaced with scrutiny. “What on earth are you doing here? More importantly, how did you get in?”
“Your security system leaves much to be desired.”
His lips thinned, but there was a ghost of a smile at the corners.
“Excuse me,” one of Rupert’s guests waved their arms to gain our attention. He leaned his head forward, giving my uncle a sharp, expectant look. “Um. Hi. Out of the loop here.”
“Oh, y-yes, sorry.” Rupert put a hand on my shoulder, and turned to face them. “Willow, Xander, this is Edith. Edith, these are my… uhm- they’re…” His brow furrowed as he figured out how to introduce them. “Well, they’re friends of the slayer.”
“Oh, that Xander and Willow!” I realised, vaguely recalling mention of them in Rupert’s letters.
“Aww, you’ve talked about us?” Willow asked. She looked touched. She shuffled her feet, tucking her hair behind her ear. There was a faint lift of her lips. Her eyes were puppy-like.
My uncle blushed, taking off his glasses to clean them. One of his tells when he was nervous or thinking. In this instance, he was more likely embarrassed. “W-well, only a little bit.”
“Why?” Xander had more of a cynical reaction. “What is she to you? ‘Cause I have to say, if you’re starting to date them this young, I might have some competition.”
My face scrunched up at the mental image. Oh. Blurgh. Ew.
“She’s my niece!” Rupert spluttered in irate disgust, nearly dropping his glasses to the floor.
“Kidding!” He held up his hands in surrender, scoffing and chuckling nervously. I had a feeling this was a ‘schrodinger’s joke’ situation. “As if you could even score-” my uncle must have shot him a look from behind me because he trailed off and stammered, changing what he was saying. “-snatch up -a-a lovely, young lady such as Miss Editih here.”
He gestured my way, and shot me a bright smile. I think it was supposed to be charming.
It wasn’t.
“Yes, well, anyway.” Rupert tilted his head, putting his glasses back on. He turned back to me. “Does your mother know you’re here?”
“She does.”
“And she just… let you cross the pond? By yourself?” If I couldn’t see his face, his tone was dripping with enough doubt. “What about your training?”
I stood up straighter. “The council actually sanctioned and paid for my trip here.”
Surprised entered his face, along with a slither of suspicion. “They… did? Why?”
I could feel the others' eyes on us, and played with the hem of my sleeve, lowering my voice slightly. “Perhaps this is something to discuss in private.”
“Now hold on, anything you say to Giles, you can say to us. We’re part of the team!”
“Xander. Get out.” My uncle curtly ordered.
Xander looked insulted, but huffed and walked out the door, giving me the impression of a petulant child. Willow smiled sweetly at me and waved. I mirrored her gesture. “It was nice to meet you!”
When she left, just in case they were standing outside I gripped Rupert’s sleeve and dragged him to the corridor. “Okay, so, I asked for a transfer.”
He looked a tad confused, but his voice automatically quietened. “Why are we whispering?”
“In case of nosy kids.” I looked pointedly toward the front door, peeking out. I couldn’t see anyone, but I didn’t trust my eyes. Growing up being watched everywhere back home had taught me to be more cautious, and I wasn’t talking about the casually extensive use of CCTV the UK government loved so much.
“I’d say you’re being paranoid…” his eyes flickered. “But previous experience dictates that you may be right.” He muttered, and escorted me to a room toward the bathroom. It was a little small for my tastes, but I put that thought aside for now.
“Alright.” I leaned my shoulder against the door. “I’ve transferred.” I explained. “To observe a professional Watcher and his slayer. Seeing first hand experience is what I told them for my reasoning.”
“They didn’t feel inclined to mention this to me?” He muttered with a sharp sigh, annoyed. I wasn’t offended. I knew it wasn’t directed at me. The council could be a bunch of prats sometimes.
“I told them not to. I wanted to surprise you.”
“A surprise it was,” he said, with a soft smile. It faltered. “But I suspect this is something that you could have mentioned in front of the others, what’s the catch?”
“They want me to write reports on you, to test if your judgement with the slayer has been compromised.” I shook my head and shrugged. “No idea why they’d trust me, your niece, for that assignment, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Is that so?”
“I know. It’s not like I’m going to fudge the reports or anything.” He blinked, and I clarified. “That was sarcasm. Of course I’m going to fudge the reports.”
“I don’t want you to get into trouble for me.”
“I won’t.” I nudged his arm with a light smile. “I’m your clever niece, remember?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “My clever niece, whom once broke her ankle jumping out of a second story window, trying and failing might I add, to sneak out of her very prestigious boarding school.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “You were almost expelled.”
“Point taken, but you have to admit sneaking out to see Motley Crue live was a very good excuse. Plus, the only reason I fell was because the window ledge was covered in frost. It was the middle of March, how was I to know?“
“Rookie mistake, always check in case it rained during the night or if it is damp from morning condensation.” He blinked, and quickly stuttered as he added. “N-not that I’m handing out advice for delinquency. There definitely shouldn’t be a next time.”
“Mm, god forbid mother hears you encouraging bad behaviour.” I teased playfully with a chuckle.
He grimaced. “Please, no. Ahem, how is she?”
“Good, her blood pressure has been steady. She’s taking the medications. She won’t go into a home but she has a nurse who checks in once a day.”
“And how are you two?” He gave me a pointed stare.
My features twisted, a bitter taste in my mouth. “Better than my relationship with Edna.”
“It may not seem like it at times, Cricket, but she does love you. In her own, cold and sometimes cruel way.”
“She sent me into a room with a starving vampire.” I said with a flat tone. “With no weapons.”
“Like I said, cruel.”
I shook my head slightly, exasperated. “I don’t know how you dealt with it.”
“With great difficulty and a touch of rebellion. Maybe a couple of tattoos.”
“Maybe I should follow in your footsteps.” I glanced absentmindedly toward his arm, which was covered.
“The mystical dark arts are not to be trifled with, don’t even joke about that.” Giles said, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms defensively where the mark of Eyghon was forever stained on his flash.
“I meant a tattoo, uncle.”
His cheeks tinged with a sheepish red. “Ah. Well it can’t hurt to have a reminder.”
Rupert was looking down at his arm with a soft frown, and I felt a pang of guilt. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up memories.”
“It’s quite alright.” His shoulders slouched a little at my apology. “What’s done is done, but at least I can let you learn from my mistakes.”
Whilst there was a difference between blindly following what someone tells you to do, I also respected Rupert enough to follow his advice on more than one occasion.
I had already died once, after all.
“And I appreciate your lessons.” I assured him, with a lighter tone in hopes of distracting him. “There’s a lot less risk of falling asleep than with the other Watcher’s.”
He chuckled. “The others might be inclined to disagree with you there.”
“Mm, the slayer and her gang.” I nodded. “You mentioned them in your letters, but is there a particular way to.. conduct myself around them?”
“Well um. I’m not sure. Just, I know you are an adult but if you could try and be a positive influence? It’s hard enough being Buffy’s Watcher on a normal day, I dread to think what kind of trouble the pair of you could get up to together.”
“It’s not like I’m going to start a Sunday class to teach everyone how to pick a lock, Rupert.” I smirked a little. “Which I learned from you, by the way.”
“As Bridget likes to remind me… every day.” He groaned, sliding his fingers underneath his glasses to rub his tired eyes.
“I’ll behave.” I laughed.
“Oh yes,” he perked up as he suddenly remembered something. “Perhaps it is wise we do not mention the agenda behind your visit to the others. Buffy, especially. They tend to be rather um, rather black and white about these things. If they knew you were sending reports to the council it may cause some issues.” His hand lingered on the doorknob. “Also, try not to get into too much trouble, would you?”
“Trouble? Me?” He shot me a look. I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Hey, your nickname is Ripper. Not me.”
“Touché, cricket.” I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or if there was a flash of a small smirk.
“Anyway, better let Xander and Willow back in, they’re probably scratching at the door like stray cats.” I said with a small grin. Rupert scoffed, but his eyes glinted with mirth and he opened the bathroom door.
I jumped back when something fell toward me, allowing it to collapse to the floor.
Rupert let out an exhale at the sight of Xander, who was face down. He hurriedly fumbled to his feet, and brushed himself down. His expression was sheepish. He opened and closed his mouth. “I was…” he gestured weakly in the corridor, then cleared his throat, putting his hands on his hips. “I was keeping look out for you guys.”
“I take it back,” I said, looking up at Rupert. “He’s worse than a stray cat.”
“So what you’re saying is I’m cute and fluffy?” He gave an obnoxiously big grin.
“No, I’m saying you have attachment issues and can’t be away from your owner for two seconds. If we spent any longer in here, I think I would’ve seen your hand under the door.”
I caught Rupert trying to cover a smile with a cough.
“Yeah well you-!” I raised an eyebrow. “Are very… opinionated.” Xander said, cowering under the weight of Uncle Rupert’s stare.
“Thank you.” I said, tilting my head, smirking a little before interrogating him. “How long were you trying to eavesdrop?”
He said dismissively, “not long” at the same time as Willow, who had just appeared behind him, happily said, “five minutes!”
He shot her a glare. She shrunk a little with a sheepish look on her face.
“And what did you hear?” Rupert questioned, tucking his hands in his tweed jacket pockets.
“Nothing. At all.” He smiled, but it was strained by frustration. “You should really be thanking me, I tested the integrity of your doors.” He knocked on the wood. “Very thorough. Good craftsmanship.”
“I’m sure uncle Rupert will give Ikea a good review.” I quipped. “Or wherever he got them.”
“Yes, well I’ll be sure to congratulate the contractor if I ever meet him.” Uncle Rupert said, his eyes pinched in annoyance.
Willow winced before shuffling her feet and saying in a quiet voice, “M-maybe we should head out, Xander, give Edith some time to settle in?”
“Settled? She’s…” he gestured toward me, realising I’m giving him a questioning stare. “I mean I’m sure she’s settled-”
“She can speak for herself.” I interjected, dryly.
“So she should speak. For herself.” He retorted, and I didn’t like his tone. “But we have more important matters at hand. Demons. You know? The evil creatures from hell? The slayer is on a sabbatical, we don’t have any time to waste.”
Rupert considered Xander for a moment, then gave me a brief wink before he turned to face them and cleared his throat. “Ah, well I wouldn’t mind a helping hand clearing out a room for Edith, there’s a lot of labour to be done-”
“Uhh- new plan! You and Edith clear out the room, me and Willow will do research on this Abdor- thing! Cover more ground- and all that.”
My eye twitched. Abore. Ab-or-re. Not Abdor.
The teen hurriedly grabbed Willow by the hand, making the red headed girl blush as he hauled her out of the house, the door closed with a slam behind them in their haste. A picture frame fell from the wall, glass shattering on the floor.
Rupert stared at the frame, sighing.
“Bit like a mosquito, isn’t he?” I said aloud after a moment of silence. “Or a moth fluttering in your face when you’re trying to read a book.”
“Well, um, yes. But he does have his uses… occasionally.”
“Bait?” I asked, with a hidden smile.
“That or poorly done research.” He tilted his head slightly with consideration. “Sometimes he brings snacks.”
“Oh! A snack boy!” I nodded in approval. “If only he didn’t talk.”
A dry smile appeared on Rupert’s face. “That never happens.”
“Unfortunate.” I walked around the kitchen door, ducking under the counter and opening a couple cupboards. “Where’s your dustpan and brush? I’ll clean the glass for you.”
“Under the sink.” He added, “oh - if you’re going to do that, please be careful. There’s also rubber gloves behind the faucet.”
I moved the laundry detergent aside and found my target. I grabbed it, shoved on the gloves from behind the tap and walked over to the mess, delicately handling the glass. The picture was just a minimalist art piece, but I set it aside whilst I cleaned up the shards. My uncle brought over a rubbish bag to shove the frame debris in. They all clinked together as I dropped them in.
“Forgive my lack of prudence, Edi, but I wasn’t expecting you.” Rupert said, a frown knitting at his brow as he tied up the bag. “I’m not.. entirely prepared for your visit.”
“Sorry uncle, I didn’t mean to just impose. I can stay at a hotel if you like.” I peeled off the gloves.
“No, no.” He said quickly. “No need to go to a hotel, and don’t be silly, you’re not imposing. You’re always welcome with me, my home is always your home.” He tapped his finger on his bottom lip, lost in thought. “I’m just more worried about where you’ll sleep.”
“I can crash on the sofa.” I offered.
He didn’t seem enthralled by the idea, sparing it a look. “It isn’t terribly comfortable for sleeping.”
“I can deal with it.” I shrugged. “Or cash in for an airbed.”
“I do have a spare bedroom but it’s currently being used somewhat as a storage unit. Relics, books and such.” He said. “You can take my bed, I can take the settee for a bit whilst I clear it out for you.”
“That’s fine, uncle, I’ll take the sofa.”
“Are you sure?” Hesitance shone through his eyes.
“I expected it, since I came by unannounced.” I shot him a reassuring smile. “Besides,” my lips slid into a slight smirk. “You’re old now, that’d be terrible for your back.”
“I’m not that old.” He protested, mildly affronted.
I took a seat on the leather sofa, and felt the buoyancy. It wasn’t too bad, but I knew my back would hurt after a couple nights. “Oh yes, I’m sure you’re still taking drugs, drinking and diving into mosh pits.”
“I’ll have you know, I fight demons on a regular basis. It keeps me fit enough.” He put his book onto the coffee table. “Do you want me to stick the kettle on?”
I considered it for a moment and nodded. “Yeah, go on then.”
He walked around the kitchen entrance. I twisted on the couch and rested my arms on the back, watching him through the window. He held the white kettle underneath the water and slowly filled it.
“So, your letters.”
“What about them?” He set the kettle to boil, and opened the cupboard to take out two mugs.
My fingers drummed on the sofa’s spine. “I have a feeling you left out some details.”
The ceramic of the mugs clinked on the counter as he paused, ever so slightly, but it was enough of a tell. “And how did you reach that conclusion?”
“For a start, the slayer died.” I pointed out. “And I notice things in your writing. I know you and your tells.”
He dropped the teabags in, and sighed tiredly. “Yes, yes you always have been more astute than people have given you credit for.” I silently continued to give him an expectant stare, and he sighed again. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I always worry about you, uncle.” I said earnestly, and he gave me a soft smile.
I meant it more than he knew.
At first, my ‘family’ were just people I thought of as adoptive guardians that expected a lot of things out of me, in return for the food and shelter and privilege I’d been born into, they never accepted less than perfection. During these weird years, the definition of ‘family’ had changed for me. Sometimes, some of the people ‘related’ to me acted more like employers or very distant relatives you saw at a wedding of a mutual. It was a lot more obligation than out of love.
But Rupert, he was different. He always had been. Rupert was one of the few things that kept me sane over the years. He was true family. I kept in contact with him, even after he left to return to his Watcher studies, as well as when he graduated and got his own assigned slayer. Having been through this song and dance before, I made sure to tell him I appreciated him when I could in every letter, randomly calling him up on the house phone to ask how his day was, so unlike a teenage girl who had supposedly never known the tragedy of mortality.
It was lonely, but I never bothered him about it. I just dealt with the emptiness it brought.
“That’s sweet, Edi.” He poured the hot water into the mugs. “But it’s my job to look after you, you know, not the other way around.”
Technically Rupert, I’m probably older than you, or about the same age.
But being treated like a child again for many years, and having to cling to dependency on parents to get the things I needed or wanted, I think it was fair to say my mental growth had been stunted, maybe even corroded, even if only a little.
Reincarnation with intact memories fucked me up. Go figure.
I absentmindedly watched him tilt the milk carton. “If I don’t, Rupert, who will?”
“Myself, supposedly.” He said. “I am a grown man, Edi. I get by just fine.”
“You’re a grown man in a dangerous profession and probably very nearly died a few times, I’m allowed to be a little concerned.”
He stirred the tea. “Honey? It’s chamomile.”
“Yes please, do you also have any cinnamon?”
“Of course, what do you take me for?”
“A grown man that keeps changing the subject in hopes I drop it.”
“Bloody astute.” I heard him murmur under his breath and smiled. He made his way over, my hand already reaching out to take my mug. He returned for his own on the windowsill before sitting beside me.
He saw me looking at him and let out a breath. “Yes, alright. I could never get much past you.” He stirred his mug with the small spoon, it lightly clinked against the ceramic. “There… were a few close calls, but the slayer saved the day, much as she always does.”
“What about when she died?”
He almost flinched at my words, and I watched him curiously. He never mentioned directly that Buffy and he were close, but judging by his reactions and certain constructed sentences in his letters, this only confirmed my suspicions. There was a small, childish part of me that had a pang of jealousy but it very quickly subsided when I realised how stupid it was and rationalised with myself.
It’s not like he replaced you. He’s found family much like I did with him. It’s not a bad thing. It means someone else is also going to look out for him too. It means he’s extra safe. Especially since it’s the slayer.
My rational mind knew this, but that tight squeeze in my chest still lingered. I ignored it.
“Sorry, it’s…” he lightly blew on his tea before sipping. I patiently waited, and he leaned back into the sofa cushions. “It’s still a sore topic.”
It was easy to see the pain in his face. “Do you feel responsible?”
“I do.” He confirmed. “I’m her Watcher. I was supposed to prepare her for the troubles ahead. It’s my job - it’s my duty.” His hand curled around the mug tightly, a faint waver to his voice. “I’m not allowed to fail. If I fail again, she’ll…”
He stared into his tea, unable to finish his sentence.
“She’ll have two Watchers to back her up now.”
His eyes raised. “You’re still an Acolyte, Edi.”
I swatted my hand dismissively. “Fine, she’ll have a Watcher and a Basically-Almost-Watcher-But-Hasn't-Graduated-Yet-Acolyte.”
“I can see why the council devised an Acolyte title.” He quipped. “Your version of the role is quite the mouthful.”
I rolled my eyes and slurped my tea. It was warm and silky, with a delicately floral taste. It meshed wonderfully with the honey-like sweetness, and a slight calm washed over me.
“You still have things to learn before you can become a fully fledged Watcher.” He placed his tea on the table. “Have you been practising your combat skills?”
“Yes.”
“What about your linguistics?”
“Didn’t I correct you earlier on your pronunciation?” I asked smartly.
He cleared his throat. “Demonology?”
I chuckled, noticing he skipped over my question. “I don’t know them all off by heart, but I have a notebook I keep updated with basics. Names, insignia’s, sketches of the creatures, strengths, weaknesses and the like.”
“Why not just search through a demonology compendium?”
“Because you’re searching through three volumes of history to do with an entirely different creature before you get to where you want.” I rolled my eyes. “Watcher’s and their penchant to note down inconsequential trivia.”
“Ah, so the purpose of your little book is to, what, make the search quicker?”
“In a way, yes.” I smiled proudly. “I’m also categorising them by type. High threat and aggressive, low threat and practically docile.”
“Docile? I can’t imagine they were pleased with that label.”
“As if they knew.” I scoffed. “You’re the only one I’ve mentioned this book to.”
“Maybe for the best.” He smiled. “But enough of quizzing you on your education, you must be dreadfully tired with jet lag.”
“A little.”
“Would you like a kip?”
“God yes, please.”
He smiled and kissed my forehead. “I’ll grab a spare blanket.”