disclaimer on first part

"Do you have a problem with this plan, Ripper?" she asks, and he sighs.

"No, but let's call it what it is. You're going to threaten Smythe's life, and in return you expect him to reverse the vote on Buffy's. I've never liked the man, and I expect this may even work, but I can't say I wish there weren't a better option." He crosses his arms and looks at Cait, who is shaking her head at him.

"Back in the day, you used to threaten people just for the hell of it, Ripper. What happened?"

"I grew out of it," he answers quietly, looking at Cait over the tops of his glasses. She shrugs.

"Well, that's what mortals do, I guess." She bites her lip and regards the Watcher for a moment. "This is business, Ripper; my kind of business. Smythe's got no right to call for her death, and you know it. I just need to make that clear to him. Now, are you in, or do I need to waste time getting back to England?"

"By boat," Xander points out, when Giles does not answer right away. Cait is rolling the small blue vial back and forth between her palms.

"Yes, of course I'm in. What do you need me to do?" Buffy feels the tension run out of her body. For this first time in days, it seems as if her immediate death sentence will truly be revoked. She sags back against the couch, leaning against Xander for support.

"Just help me get him here. I can do the rest." Giles nods, and Cait slips the bottle back in her pocket.

"Smythe's a demon?" Xander asks. "No wonder the Council's so mean to you," he says to Buffy, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"What?" Giles asks, before he catches the boy's meaning. "No, Xander, he's not a demon. There are rituals that allow one to summon human beings. They're very difficult, and require certain, well, possessions, of the person one intends to summon, as well as other ingredients which are typically hard to find." He walks over to a side cabinet and opens it, revealing a variety of jars, boxes, and bundles of dried plants. "I do have most of them here, but not all that I'll need. It will have to wait until tomorrow, when I can pick a few things up."

"What possession of his do we have?" Buffy wonders aloud. "Something he used? A Watcher-wide memo he signed? A lock of hair?" She recalls peering over Willow's shoulder at a book, as the young witch showed Buffy some of the creepier spells she had seen; most of them seem to require a body part in order for them to work properly.

Cait pats her pocket gently. "His blood," she replies, and Buffy shudders.

"Where did you get his blood?" Buffy asks, and Cait gives her a wink.

"From his body, of course," she says, smiling. "Remember, I'm a professional." Giles has closed the cabinet, and Cait crosses over to him. "We'll do this tomorrow, then. I'll be back in the evening. I'd like to time it so we can yank him out of his bed, if that's not a problem. I want him to be as confused as possible."

Oh, I think he'll be quite confused," Giles says. Cait pauses in front of him, then reaches out and lays a hand gently on his chest.

"Heart's pounding," she says softly. "Guess that means you're still here. Remember that?"

Now it is Giles' turn to blush. "Difficult to forget," he replies, voice strangely thick. Cait makes a fist, bunching up Giles' sweater in her hand, and pulls him towards her. She leans up and kisses him gently on the forehead, then releases her handful and steps back.

"Night, all," Cait says, as she heads out the door. Buffy and Xander exchange a look, and then both turn to Giles, who is still gazing after the absent Cait. After a moment, he sees their look and raises a warning finger to them.

"It's none of your business," he says firmly, adjusting his rumpled sweater.

*****

"This stuff reeks. Why does magic have to be so smelly?" Xander grimaces and folds the paper bag closed again.

"You'd have to ask Willow," Buffy replies, setting down her own bag, clinking with bottles, on Giles' kitchen counter. At his request, the two had agreed to keep Cait's presence and the night's activities a secret from Willow. He feared that she would get "far too overexcited" at the magic to be done, and perhaps try to do something similar on her own. That, he had cautioned them, would certainly lead to disaster, and they had decided it was best to keep Willow out. That did mean, however, that Buffy and Xander had to be the ones to pick up the magical supplies necessary for the ritual, while Giles prepared at home.

The preparations were indeed considerable. Giles had moved all his furniture to the sides of his living room, and rolled back the carpet. On a table to the side are laid out ingredients of unclear origin: a bunch of dried purple flowers, some white powder in a shallow bowl, and two vials of a thick and opaque liquid. A fire burns in a brazier at one end of the table.

"What time is it?" Giles asks, as he comes down the stairs, leather-bound book in hand.

"About an hour after the last time you asked," Xander replies, crunching himself onto the sofa between an end table and a stack of papers. The Watcher's increasing tension has manifested in a preoccupation with the time, and a seemingly overwhelming need to pace. Slowly, Giles circles the room as he pages through his book.

"How long is this all going to take?" Buffy asks. Giles shakes his head absently without looking up. "It's just, I have this paper..." At that Giles does respond, snapping the book closed.

"So sorry this is cutting into your academic life. If you want it to move along a little faster, you could set up the rest of the ingredients. Mix the ash and the Widow's Dust, then pour in about half of the holy water. There's a bowl on the counter." With that, he goes back to his book, and his pacing.

Xander extricates himself from the couch and heads for the bags. "Widow's Dust, huh? That's the smelly stuff." He pulls out a small plastic bag full of grey and green flakes. "Think this stuff is made out of actual widows?"

Buffy shrugs. "Girl Scout cookies aren't made out of real Girl Scouts. Hand me the bowl, please." They mix and pour; thankfully, the addition of the holy water eliminates the pungent smell of the Dust. They add the bowl to the items on the table, and stack the three ritual candles into a pyramid on the side. Giles' circles have gotten increasingly small, and now he is standing in the center of the room, turning around and around slowly as he mutters to himself.

"You're going to get dizzy," a quiet voice says. Giles starts, and there is a clatter as Xander knocks the candles onto the floor. Cait is standing in the open doorway.

"Didn't your mother teach you to knock?" Xander asks, stooping to gather the thick purple tapers.

"Not many doors where I grew up," she replies, swinging the door gently closed. "Night's falling; it's a good time to do magic. Are you ready, Ripper?"

"Yes. I have the ritual, and the ingredients, but you have to draw the circle." Cait nods as she produces the blue vial from her coat pocket and moves towards the table. Giles gestures at Buffy and Xander. "You two, stay to the side and don't interrupt. This is a particularly tricky ritual. In fact, it might be best if you weren't even here." Before Buffy can protest, Cait cuts in.

"I want the Slayer here. This is all about her." Cait has retrieved the bowl of white powder from the table and seats herself in the center of the wooden floor. She looks up at Giles as she settles the bowl in her lap. "The boy can go."

"Well, the boy's not going anywhere, thanks," Xander replies, stepping closer to Buffy. "Where the Slayer goes, so go I. Or stays. So stays I. So stay I? So..." He is cut off by a look from Cait.

"So stay. Just keep your mouth shut and don't cross the magic line. Got it?" She winks at Buffy, who manages a weak smile in return.

"Got it." Buffy and Xander clear a space on the couch and cram into it. Buffy finds Xander's solid presence reassuring, and she leans into him more than is necessary in their close quarters.

In the middle of the room, Cait is uncorking the blue bottle. She pours the blood slowly into the powder, shaking the bottle a bit at the end to get the last drops out. Then she sets the bowl on the floor, moving into a kneeling position. She strips off her jacket and tosses it to Buffy, who pulls it to her chest; the combination of the leather and a soft, spicy scent is comforting. Cait rolls up her sleeve and holds her pale wrist over the bowl.

"Caitlin, is this necessary?" Giles asks softly. The woman rocks back on her heels for a moment, looks at him, and nods firmly.

"It will make the bond stronger, so the summoning will be easier on you. After all, you're an old man now, maybe you can't pull it off by yourself." Giles shakes his head, but can not keep a small smile from his lips. Cait's smile is the same, as she returns her attention to the bowl. To Buffy's surprise, a thin stream of blood begins to drip from Cait's wrist into the bowl. She feels Xander shudder next to her.

The flow lasts for longer than Buffy thinks could be safe, and then stops as suddenly as it began. Cait lifts the bowl up and swirls slowly it in her hands. "Your turn, Rip," she says, as she slides towards the side of the room and holds the bowl away from her. At the table, Giles begins to chant in a low voice, and a language that Buffy does not recognize. As he lights the candles, Cait begins to pour out the contents of the bowl, a now-darkened powder which she uses to make a very large, crude circle on the wooden floor. Giles continues the chant, burning his ingredients in the brazier; the room begins to smell odd, though not unpleasant. Buffy is reminded of bonfires in the fall, piles of leaves smoldering under a full moon.

Xander leans over to whisper in her ear. "Smells like the ocean," he says softly. Buffy casts him a quick, confused look, and then turns back to the scene before her. Giles' voice has raised in volume, and Cait has completed the circle, with her on the inside. She absently pushes up her sleeve again, and holds her wrist above where the powder line meets itself. One drop of blood falls from her arm, barely visible in the flickering firelight. The blood meets the powder and there is a sudden bright flash. Buffy turns away, shielding her eyes against Xander's shoulder.

Blinking to clear the afterimage from her eyes, Buffy realizes that the room has gone silent. It is dark, save for the flicker of candles, and an odd, deep red glow. She looks back at the circle to see that the powder is gone. Only a heavy red light remains, flowing clockwise on the floor around Cait like a narrow ruby river. The room is still, and Buffy can feel a pressure build up in her ears, and she yawns, trying to clear them. Across the room she can see Giles, looking eerily young in the red light, his eyes locked on Cait. The silence continues, and the tension increases, until Buffy feels she is going to have to scream, run across the room, do something, or she'll be crushed to death. But she holds her ground, gripping Xander's arm firmly as he fidgets beside her.

With a sudden popping sound, the pressure disappears, and Buffy takes a deep breath in relief. It takes her a moment to realize that Cait is no longer alone in the circle.

The man on the floor in front of her is propped on his side, shaking his head as if to clear it. He is dressed in striped pajamas, and looks old and awkward in the red light. He gathers his senses quickly, however, and in a moment is on his feet and glaring around the room. His eyes alight on Giles, and a sneer crosses his narrow face.

"What effrontery is this?" he snaps, looking from Giles to Cait, and back again. Neither of them answer, and Smythe continues to survey the room, stepping delicately away from Cait as she gets to her feet. His eyes come to rest on Buffy, who sits a bit straighter at that, and does not look away. Smythe shakes his head slowly and looks back at Giles.

"Well, well. Shall I assume from this that you have gotten wind of the Council's decision? Really, Giles, don't they have telephones in America?" Smythe gives a short laugh, walking to the very edge of the glowing circle. "You've gone to great lengths to speak to me; I'm flattered. But a Council decision is a Council decision, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"You underestimate yourself," Giles answers, also stepping forward. The two now face each other across the ruby line. The older man is taller, but more narrow, with pointed features and sharp shoulder blades that his pajamas do not soften. Giles' body is oddly relaxed, arms hanging at his sides, but his chin is up, and Buffy wonders if Giles would be happier throwing a punch than having a conversation right at the moment. Just don't cross the line, she thinks, not knowing what would happen then.

Smythe sighs. "Look, Giles, I'm sympathetic to your wishes. But this Slayer is clearly trouble; you've known that for a while, and frankly, it's about time that we move on to a more suitable girl. I mean," he continues, turning his back on Giles and walking over to Buffy's side of the circle, "consorting with a vampire? A cursed one, no less; how many deaths did that cause?" Buffy winces, looking over to Giles; a shadow flits across the Watcher's face. "And then throwing aside her responsibilities to the Council, nay, to all humanity, and for that same vampire? If you hadn't gotten so personally involved with her, Giles," Smythe says, smiling sweetly at Buffy, "you would agree with me."

"If he hadn't gotten personally involved," Buffy snaps back, "I wouldn't have lived even this long." Smythe shrugs at that.

"That's exactly my point, girl; thank you." Smythe turns back to Giles. "Well, you've had your fun, now send me back this instant." His voice is that of a man accustomed to being obeyed, and Giles rocks back at the chill in it. Next to Smythe, Cait casts Buffy a quick smile, and then reaches over to tap him on the shoulder. He twitches away from her touch and half-turns towards her.

"Aren't you even curious who I am?" she asks, her rich voice almost caressing. Smythe wrinkles his nose, looking her up and down before giving a shake of his head.

"The witch Giles required to summon me here; he has neither the power nor the ability to do so on his own."

Xander gives a quiet snort. "So true, and yet so not the point," he says softly, and Giles rewards him with a thin smile.

"So not the point," Cait repeats, tipping her head to the side. "You hired me first, actually, to kill the Slayer. You really should look into getting more competent assistance." She circles Smythe, and he turns in place to keep her in front of him, a puzzled look on his face.

"Clearly I should, if they hire creatures such as you. What did you do, Giles, offer her a better price to leave the Slayer be? Or," and a slow smile crosses Smythe's face, "you didn't hire her to kill me, did you? I'm impressed at your audacity; you might have made a very good Watcher indeed with that attitude." Smythe then turns his full attention to Cait. "I assure you that whatever he is paying you will not be worth the immense amount of trouble you would be in for even laying a hand on me. The resources of the Council are quite vast, and would most certainly be sufficient to track down an one such as yourself. Not to mention," he adds wickedly, "that they would simply hire someone else to kill the Slayer. Acting against me would be pointless."

Cait holds out her right hand to Smythe, who regards it suspiciously. "We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Caitlin; I believe I worked with your predecessor as Caitlin Grey. Sound familiar?"

At her words, Smythe freezes; Buffy is sure that he has even stopped breathing. In the rippling light of the circle, Cait looks ageless, and Buffy wonders again exactly how old she is, and what sorts of things she has seen and done. I'm not even out of college, and I could write a book, Buffy thinks. Just imagine.

"Caitlin Grey," Smythe repeats numbly. "Kathryn Monarch. Claire of Monmouth. You're...this isn't possible," he mutters, and Cait withdraws her hand and her smile. Smythe takes a few steps back, stopping with a jerk just short of crossing out of the circle. He whips around to face Giles, fury on his narrow face. "Where in the hell did you come up with Caitlin Grey? You're nobody; only the Elders of the Council are told of her," he spits, only to be met with a mocking smile from Giles.

"It's a long story," he replies, crossing his arms. "And none of your business, I might add." Smythe turns back to face Cait, his face drawn and pale.

'What do you want with me?" he asks warily. Her grey eyes are dark in the red light.

"Leave the Slayer be. Change the vote, call in favors, get on your knees and beg. I don't care how you do it, but do it, immediately." She walks towards Smythe, forcing him to lean back until he is at the limits inscribed by the circle. "I think you know enough of me to not have to ask 'or else what', correct?" Smythe nods mutely, and Cait turns and walks away. With her increasing distance, Smythe seems to get some of his confidence back.

"And what do you expect me to tell them? The Slayer is a problem, and the Council must deal with her, one way or the other." He stops as Cait turns around, but does not look away from her.

"Good question," Cait says thoughtfully. "Let's see; how shall I answer that?" She walks back towards Smythe, stopping a foot or so away. Reaching out one hand, she rests it on the old man's pajama-clad chest, over his heart. A small choking sound issues from Smythe's throat, and his whole body stiffens at her touch. She regards him closely, one eyebrow raised. Leaning in, she says, almost too softly for Buffy to hear, "It's funny, you probably never noticed your own heart beating until I stopped it. How would you describe the feeling? Do you find it strangely pleasant? Upsetting? At least it's not painful. Other things are much more painful." She removes her hand, and with a sudden gasp, Smythe falls to his knees. Cait stands over him as he grips his thighs and breathes a few deep, panting breaths.

"Enough of your pathetic whining," she snaps. "I've told you what you need to do, now do it. She will live and die as the Slayer, not as your possession. If I find out that you've had a hand in her destruction, or in the destruction of anyone here tonight, I will see you again. And I will not be so gentle." With that, she looks over at Giles, who gives her a nod and crouches down besides the circle. He mutters a few quiet words, and draws his finger across the ribbon of red. The circle snaps open like a rubber band breaking, and there is another flash of bright light. The image of Smythe, on his knees at Cait's feet, is burned into Buffy's brain, and she watches it fade slowly in the darkness behind her eyes.

*****

On the second night, Buffy has the old dream. As always, she is walking alone in a park at night, though she is not there for Slaying. Tension runs through her body - she knows there is something in the darkness. It is not a vamp or demon, and it is not there to harm her, yet she is afraid. At the same time, she is strangely excited, like a six-year-old at the top of the stairs on Christmas day, torn between anticipation and satisfaction. In her dream, the sounds are exceptionally clear; the footfalls of the creature in the dark thrum against her skin like drumbeats. She wants to turn, but cannot, and the slow, measured chase continues, until the tightness within her suddenly gives way. Buffy whirls to confront her pursuer, and is, as always, suddenly thrown awake.

On the other side of the room, Willow is mumbling into her pillow, a comforting sound. Buffy slides out of bed and moves to the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. It is not long before dawn, and the campus is still. In the two days since Smythe's summoning, Buffy has thrown herself into Slaying whole-heartedly, an effort to spend less time thinking and more time doing. She has seen little of Giles, who has wrapped himself in research, and seen nothing at all of Cait. The strange witch-woman had simply walked out after Smythe's abrupt banishment, only pausing to collect her jacket from Buffy's arms. She had stopped for a moment, tilting Buffy's chin up with a gentle hand and regarding her, grey eyes into blue. Then she had left, not looking back. Giles, exhausted by the ritual, had simply stood and watched, silently, his eyes not leaving Cait for a moment.

There is a low morning fog out among the trees, and Buffy watches it curl around their trunks. She sees a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye, watching as it resolves into the shape of a person. Buffy tugs her jacket off of the back of her chair and throws it over her pajamas as she leaves her room, closing the door quietly so as not to wake Willow.

Cait is sitting cross-legged on the low wall outside the dorm when Buffy comes down the stairs. The Slayer joins her, settling on the chilly brick with a shiver that brings a smile to Cait's face.

"Never did get a chance to throw that drink on you," she says to Buffy, as they both look out at the trees.

"You'll get me next time," Buffy replies, and the other woman nods silently. Questions chase one another inside Buffy's head, and it takes a moment before she can pick a one out of the crowd. She turns to face Cait, tucking one leg up underneath her, and waits until the other woman meets her eyes. "How many Slayers have you known?"

Cait squints in thought. "Mmmm....a few. Six? Seven, counting you."

Buffy smiles. "Lucky seven," she says softly to herself. "What happened to them?"

Cait, looks at her, startled. "You want the gory details?" Buffy nods, and Cait exhales deeply. "Well, let's see. Three were killed quite quickly, within the first year, by vampires. One actually died in an accident, a house fire. One was murdered by her Watcher." Buffy makes some small noise, and Cait shakes her head. "That wasn't pretty. And one was killed fighting a demon - a pretty powerful one. And then there's you." Buffy ponders the list as Cait uncoils her legs and swings them down, sitting on her hands. "My turn. Why are you asking me? There are chronicles, journals...Watchers are nothing if not excruciatingly detailed record-keepers."

"Books are Giles' job. He would be suspicious if I started poking around in them now. I've tried, a couple of times, but I can never think of a good lie."

"Just ask him. It's your history as well, he should tell you whatever you want to know."

Buffy sighs. "I don't think it's exactly something he likes to talk about," she says, remembering Giles snatching an old Watcher journal out of her hands as she sat, stunned by a detailed description of the death of some 16th century Slayer. He had snapped at her, something foolish about reading without his permission, and though he had apologized later, Buffy had not felt comfortable trying again.

"Ah, Ripper. Tries to be the tough guy, but he's just not got it in him to be clinical. A proper Watcher doesn't get too attached to his Slayer. I knew he'd never make a proper Watcher." Cait is smiling to herself as she hops off the wall. Buffy slips down too, wrapping her arms around herself against the cool morning air.

"Did you leave him? Or did he leave you?" Buffy is surprised by her own boldness, and suddenly nervous as a strange, cold look crosses Cait's face. The other woman tips her chin up and makes a face, as if chewing her reply.

"He couldn't," Cait starts, then stops, frowning. "No, he wouldn't, forget that he was a Watcher. He felt he had to go back, that he had...responsibilities. As if he really mattered, as a Watcher, in the big scheme of things."

"He matters to me," Buffy says, meeting Cait's cool glance. "He keeps me alive."

Snorting, Cait shakes her head. "You're mortal. Nothing he can do will keep you alive for any serious amount of time." She narrows her eyes and looks at Buffy. "You know, I could have made him nearly immortal. It would have been easy for me, and it's not an offer I make to just anyone. He was the first in centuries." Cait reaches out a hand and lays it on Buffy's chest, gently, on the fabric of her jacket. Buffy is suddenly sharply aware of the pounding of her heart.

"Tell me," Cait says, softly, "Would you say no to immortality?"

Buffy's head spins at the thought, and she has to close her eyes to steady herself. She feels time spreading out around her, like a thick carpet of leaves on a forest floor. Endless in all directions, and still, yet flowing beneath her feet; Buffy feels small and alone. Two, three deep breaths, and she opens her eyes again. Cait's hand is pulled back; she holds it to her mouth thoughtfully as she watches the Slayer.

"It's cold in there," Buffy says, shivering in her coat. "Can't I just live until I'm eighty? That would be enough, I think." Cait smiles sadly, slipping her hand back into her pocket.

"Such small goals," she says. "To live to old age. To be a good Watcher. You can't look above the horizon." Cait tips her head back and stares up at the sky, stars fading in the dawn light. Buffy looks around her; the fog is starting to burn off, though the chill remains. When she glances back at Cait, the woman has already started to walk away.

"Thank you," Buffy calls out to Cait's retreating back.

The woman raises one hand in response, not looking back. "He chose you," she calls out. "Take care of him."

Buffy nods, rubbing her arms briskly with her hands to warm them. Before Cait is out of sight, Buffy has turned back to her dorm. Slowly, she mounts the steps, counting them off as she goes. At six, she is at the top. Her reflection in the glass door is blurry; she reaches out one finger and traces her outline on the cold surface. She is thinking about choices, about stars, about infinite fields of leaves. She is thinking that if Willow wakes up with her missing, there will be more questions than she is prepared to answer. Firmly, she flattens her hand against her reflection and pushes the door open.