Passing The Mantle
Parts 7 and 8
by Cathryn and Mary M.
Part 7
Lucius guiltily tried to curb his anger upon seeing the stunned expression on the young man’s face. There was no reason to be angry at him - he had been but a small child when Sharna was killed. Besides, he reminded himself, unless the Council had changed policy - and when was the last time that had happened? - Wesley knew nothing of the
Passing. It was knowledge reserved for the Council members only.
Not that that changed the facts. The odds were in favor of Wesley’s having been brainwashed by the teachings at the Academy. But he was still young. Perhaps there was a chance for him.
“To Pass a Slayer,” he began to explain, “is to take her life -”
“- in order the prompt the calling of the next Slayer,” Wesley interrupted. “I know.”
Wilson gave him a sharp look of surprise. “You do?”
Wesley nodded. “Yes. It’s why I was fired. Do you know that there are two Slayers now?” At Wilson’s nod of confirmation, he continued.
**********
Wesley set down the slim packet, his mind reeling from the revelations inside it. An incapacitated Slayer was killed? When he thought it over, he could appreciate the logic of it, but what did that have to do with anything now? There were two Slayers now. When one was unable to perform her duties, that no longer meant that the fight between good and evil was fatally unbalanced. With the other girl able to fight, the injured Slayer could be afforded time to recover, if possible. The Passing had been rendered obsolete by Buffy’s death and consequent resurrection. So why had he been delivered this information coupled with the warning that it was strictly top secret?
He looked down at the packet. It was a case history of each Slayer that had been Passed within the recorded history of the Network. A Passing was rare - there was perhaps one a century, if that - so there was room for a detailed record of each girl, even in the small packet. They were sound and logical, leaving no room for doubt as to the necessity of the Passing in each situation. At least, most of them were.
But the last entry, dated twenty years ago, bothered Wesley. It was short, scarcely half the length of the other entries, and vague, offering half-formed, ambiguous explanations and leaping about between topics.
Wesley was trying to make sense of it and quell the growing discomfiture it was causing when the summons tone sounded. As always, Wesley was reminded of the remark one of his Academy classmates made every time the sound was heard: “His Majesty will see you now.”
Swallowing a nervous chuckle, Wesley stood and waked down the hall to the Head Watcher’s office.
“Come in,” Travers called from inside before he could even knock. Wesley blinked and entered the office.
“I trust you’ve read the literature?” Travers remarked as Wesley sat down.
Wesley’s time in Sunnydale had taught him, among many other things, to put forth his opinions in rapid bursts when he knew they would be unpopular, before the others had time to interrupt him. He utilized that lesson now, saying quickly,
“Yes but I don’t see the relevance of the Passing anymore as we have two Slayers instead of just one.”
Travers frowned at him. “Our sacred laws are not open for interpretation, Wesley. They are as they are written. Now, do you want your assignment or do you wish to continue educating me on what *you* seem to think I am doing wrong?”
The unspoken implication, of course, was that no young Watcher who had failed with two Slayers should presume to contradict the Head Watcher. Wesley, stung, flushed and remained silent. Travers gave a curt nod.
“Faith,” he began, “is useless to us. Even if, by some miracle, she should regain consciousness, her behaviour is not conducive to the activities that a Slayer is duty-bound to perform. She must be Passed.”
Wesley stared in disbelief. He had suspected that this was the reason for this meeting, but to actually hear it out loud . . .
“But - Buffy is more than capable -”
“We have two Slayers at our disposal now, Wesley,” Travers interrupted. “We must take full advantage of our opportunities. I want you to perform the Passing.”
He held up a hand to ward off and protests, but the gesture was pointless; Wesley was stunned into speechlessness. “This was a unanimous decision. The Council feels that you are the best choice for the job. You are familiar with Sunnydale, and Rupert Giles and his little posse are less likely to interfere with you than with an operative they don’t know.”
He leaned forward slightly and continued in a confidential tone, “And, off the record of course, carrying the Passing out successfully will restore the status you lost by bungling your last assignment.” Travers sat back and folded his hands together on top of his
desk. “Consider this very carefully, Wesl -”
“No,” Wesley said quietly. Travers, unused to being questioned, gave him a sharp stare.
“I beg your pardon?” he demanded coldly. Wesley matched his angry stare with an even gaze.
“No,” he repeated. “I won’t kill her.” Taking Faith’s life when the time could be spared for a possible recovery was something that Wesley could scarcely comprehend, much less actually perform. It went against everything he had been taught - by the Council, no less - to stand for, both personally and as a Watcher.
Traver’s voice was dangerously silky. “Alive, Faith would be a very dangerous liability. She entered that coma on the side of evil and she is not going to wake up as Pollyanna. If anything, she will be even more lethal, if she manages a full recovery.”
“She deserves a chance.” This was the same argument Buffy and Giles had been throwing at Wesley mere weeks ago. Of course, then Faith’s life had not been at stake. Or so he had thought. Now he realized that, had his capture attempt been successful, she would have been Passed immediately upon arriving in England.
[Oh, god, I almost killed her.] The thought was so horrific that he almost missed Travers’s next words.
“I see. So not only would you have us deny the natural process of activating a new Slayer, but you would offer salvation to a girl who would slap it away with both hands and then wring your neck. You have just proven beyond a doubt that you are a hopeless case. We have wasted enough of our time and resources on you. You’re fired. Get out of my office.”
Travers calmly turned his attention to a small black journal that lay next to the lamp on his desk.
Wesley was never certain, afterwards how he managed to stand and make his way to the door in the stunned haze that swallowed him following Travers’s pronouncement.
As he reached the door, Travers spoke.
“And Wesley, if you attempt to contact Sunnydale and warn them of our plans for Faith, she will not be the only Slayer to die in the immediate future.”
**********
As Wesley finished his story, Wilson found himself seeing the boy from a different angle. Before, he had considered Wesley to be just another Watcher, though perhaps one who could still be reached. Now, though, it was clear that Wesley did not need rehabilitation.
Most Watchers would not be able to turn down an assignment that came directly from the head Watcher, no matter how distasteful or immoral. He himself had been like that once, not daring to say no. But this boy was stronger than most. Stronger, perhaps, than even himself.
“Every Watcher should have such ethical standards,” Wilson said softly.
Wesley flushed a little at the compliment, but reminded him grimly, “At the rate things are going, I believe that every Watcher now does.”
***********
“Wesley - *is* alive?” Ethan asked hoarsely.
“Yes,” Giles answered slowly, guiltily remembering, too late, his promise to Wesley. “He’s spent the summer fighting off the assassins. His stamina is running down, his health is beginning to be affected, and he would have been killed this afternoon if Buffy hadn’t been there to intervene.”
Ethan sat back, his thoughts swimming chaotically, and struggled to process everything he had heard. From thinking Wesley dead, to knowing him to be alive - it changed things.
Giles fell silent, giving the other man a little mental breathing space. A few minutes had passed before Ethan spoke.
“I will help you, for Wesley’s sake. But if he dies, I walk away.”
“I understand,” Giles replied softly. It was actually more than he had expected when he had walked into the office.
“I suppose I’ll have to put off grading these for another day,” Ethan remarked, gesturing to the papers on his desk. “Shame, really, I was so looking forward to it.”
Giles allowed himself a little smile.
Part 8
As the car left the campus, the silence inside the small car was palatable, both men lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Rupert Giles cleared his throat, and asked, ”So why did you take the job UC Sunnydale?”
“Because I had the credentials and needed to eat,” Ethan Rayne said with a shrug. “Worshiping Chaos is fun, and quite rewarding at times, but it doesn’t pay all the bills.”
“I see,” Ripper said as he made a turn. Silence reigned inside the car once again.
An imp rose inside him, he was quite sure which it was the one that liked to get him in trouble, and forced him to say something inside the car, just to provoke Ripper. Ethan looked at his former lover and friend. “So how do you like shagging the Slayer’s mother sill-oof!”
As Ethan grabbed his jaw, Ripper yanked at his tie and glared at him while keeping an eye on the red stoplight. “You keep your tongue civil when taking about her. Or to her, got that Ethan?”
“Playing the gentleman, Ripper? Since when?” Ethan sneered as he struggled with Ripper’s hold on his tie. “As I recall, you used to love a quick shag with women. ‘Anytime, Anywhere’ was your motto, I believe. The same went for your men as well. Don’t you remember Randall, Deidre and Tom, and our little five-some fuck-fest afternoons?”
“I haven’t done anything like that for a long time,” Ripper gritted out as he yanked at Ethan’s tie. He started the car again when the light turned green. “Now keep your trap-”
Ethan choked out, “Why? Is the Slayer’s mother that much more an energetic fuck? Or are you too old-gurk!”
“You really just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Ripper snarled as he yanked at Ethan’s tie again. “Is a thrashing what you really want? Or are you just trying to get killed before you can help Wesley? What are you trying to do, Ethan?”
“I’m bloody trying to find out why the hell are you more faithful to her than you were to me!” Ethan choked out as he yanked at his tie again. He flung himself into the door when Ripper’s grip on his tie suddenly loosened. “Ow! Bloody hell!”
“Oh, that hurt!” moaned Ethan as he grabbed his head with a grimace. Then he noticed something. “Why are we stopping?”
“I was faithful to you,” Ripper said as he stopped the car. His face was set in stone. “I was more faithful to you than you were to me.”
“Bullshit,” Ethan spat out. Bile rose in his throat and old jealousies that always simmered in his gut rose. “I’ve seen you about town with her, the way you look at her, the way you act around her. She has your complete attention, no matter what she does, no matter what you do.”
Harsh laughter barked out of Ethan. “I saw you once, after the two of you had a bite at her place. From the look on her face, I knew that you had her for lunch. But the look on your face, after she left you in the driveway…I knew. I knew that she was still with you even though she wasn’t there. She has all of your attention. Something that I never got from you.”
“You always had my attention when we were together and when we weren’t,” Ripper spat out. “But it was never enough for you. You always wanted more of me, demanded more from me. When my attention wasn’t enough, you turned to everyone else. You wanted more from Randall, then Deidre, then more from Tom. You always had to come first, and to bloody hell with everyone else.”
“You wanted to come before everything I was, my music, my family, my studies, my magic. I didn’t mind, but then it came clear that I was not the first in your life, not like you were in mine,” Ripper bit out. “You demanded that you come before every single thing in my life, and gave me only the dregs of your attention. You pulled me so tight, I was itching to get away from you.”
Silently, Ethan stared at him, his face filled with hurt and fury. Suddenly, Ripper looked tired. “So after Randall died, I left because I had nothing else to give. You, Deidre, and Tom, I left you all because there was nothing left for me to give after everything we had was destroyed.”
“So what has she demand from you, Ripper?” Ethan sneered. “If all my demands for your attention made you leave, if all I did was take until you had nothing left, what does she demand from you?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Ripper said quietly. “Joyce demands nothing from me, she wants nothing but to be with me. And I want nothing, except to be with her.”
“Oh, please, you’re going to make me retch,” Ethan sneered at him. “No one that has a life is without demands. You mean to say that she never has once, demanded anything from you? No promises whispered in the night? Small assurances given during the heat of passion? Not even that you give your life to protect her precious daughter?”
Ethan felt the jealousies build up in him as Ripper’s mouth quirked. “She made her promises to me long before we got involved, and only two more after we did.”
Intrigued despite himself, Ethan asked, ”And they are?”
Ripper remained quiet for so long, and his eyes a far off glimmer, Ethan thought he would never answer. And the imp in him rose and demanded that he get the attention of his former lover. His mouth opened to say something when Ripper spoke quietly.
“Before we became involved, she promised me that I would forever regret it if I ever hurt her daughter,” Ripper said quietly as he remembered Buffy’s eighteenth birthday.
After a moment’s silence, Ethan prompted. “And after the two of you became involved?”
“She promised me-she promised me to never come between me and my duties as a Watcher,” Ripper said slowly, his eyes meeting Ethan’s.
“How romantic,” Ethan said, his voice filled with sarcasm as the barb stung. “She sounds like an angel.”
“She is,” Ripper said quietly. He looked at Ethan, cynicism marring his fine features. He shook his head at his former lover. “Haven’t you ever loved anyone that never made any demands from you? That never wanted anything from you?”
“Not in this lifetime,” Ethan said as he looked out the window. Unconsciously, he touched the small star shaped-scar, just above his heart. The one that Sharna gave him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ethan knocked on the door before entering the room. “Sharna? Sharna, are you in here?”
His eyebrows lowering as he heard a series of muffled bumps and bangs from behind the door, Ethan grabbed the doorknob, alarmed. “Sharna? What is that noise? Is that you in there? Are you dressed? Sharna! What are you doing in there? Sharna!”
“Enter,” came out a muffled, child-like voice. His eyes narrowing in suspicion, Ethan opened the door cautiously, and saw Sharna sitting in front of her small fireplace, her hands out as if to warm herself with the fire. There was a small dagger in her hand, and a spot of some sort on her other hand. “Hi Ethan!”
Walking cautiously towards her, Ethan blinked at the happy greeting. He knelt beside her. “Hi, Sharna. What are you doing?”
“Showing hands to Clan,” Sharna said as she smiled at him. “Did First Fire ritual. A little messy. See?”
Ethan looked down at Sharna’s hands and became alarmed. “BLOODY HELL SHARNA! You’re bleeding! What the fuck did you do to yourself?”
Confused, she looked at Ethan as he dragged her to her wash basin and started to tenderly clean her hands. “What is ‘fuck’, Ethan?”
“Ask Wilson, the damn fucker should have been watching over you and making sure that you’re not hurting yourself,” Ethan snapped back. He let out a sigh of relief when towel took off all of the blood. [Wait a min! Her hands aren’t bleeding, so then where did all the-] Ethan’s head shot to Sharna’s open blouse. Between the valley of her breast, just above her heart, she was bleeding from a small star carved into her skin.
“SHARNA!” Ethan shouted as he covered the wound with his towel. He glared at her. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me that it wasn’t your hands that were bleeding?”
“Ethan didn’t ask,” Sharna said simply. “Sir said one must be polite and answer questions when asked.”
“Oh, bloody fucking hell on the manners,” Ethan grumbled. He looked at her. “Can you tell me why you carved yourself up?”
At her blank look, Ethan amended his question. “Sharna, why is your chest bleeding?”
“Sharna performed First Fire ritual,” Sharna said happily. “Made mark of First Fire with Mother’s help, and showed to Clan. Woman now.”
Ethan looked around, and saw it was empty. “Sharna, there’s no one here. Where’s your parents and Clan?”
“At home,” Sharna said, her face clearly showing that she thought he had asked a stupid question.
Still confused, Ethan asked, “If they’re at home, how can they see-“
“Through fire, fire sees all, Ethan,” Sharna said. “Understand? So when Sharna made First Fire mark for Ethan-”
“You marked yourself up for me?” Ethan yelped. He looked down at Sharna’s chest, then up at her violet eyes. “Why?”
“Because Ethan is Sharna’s First Fire,” Sharna smiled at him, her eyes glowing. The look on Sharna’s face made his breath grow short. Her small hand stroked his face. “Now Ethan always in Sharna’s heart, always think of first, until Dhara embrace Sharna.”
Ethan’s head lowered as he thought about what she said. He really wasn’t sure about what a First Fire was, but he got the gist of it. It had something to do about matters of the heart. And that was the real kicker, the part that he couldn’t understand. He was a foul-mouth, self-serving little pissant, and that was on his good days. A part of him yelled to let it go, but that imp inside him, the one that helped him mouth off to everyone he’d every met in his life, caused him to ask. “Why? Sharna, why am I your First Fire? What do you want?”
Confused, Sharna looked at him. “Why what? Want what? Sharna not understand Ethan.”
“Why am I your First Fire? Why do the ritual?” Ethan asked a little desperately. At her confused look, he tried to explain what her needed to know, without knowing himself why he needed her answers. “Why me? What do you want from me?”
“Not understand. Sharna want nothing from Ethan,” Sharna said slowly, her brow lowered in concentration as she tried to understand what Ethan wanted to know. “Just happy to be with Ethan, want to spend time with Ethan. Clan knows now Ethan is Sharna’s First Fire. Ritual is only for Sharna, not Ethan.”
Stunned, Ethan stared at her innocent gaze. If he understood her correctly, Sharna had marked herself up for him, because of him. If he understood her, she performed the ritual because she loved him, and simply just wanted some part of him to be with her, always. He had a feeling that she never would have told him unless he had asked her specifically what she was doing. He lifted the towel away from her chest, and saw the small bloody star.
From his own experience with scars, he knew that she was going to get one. He lowered his head, and gently kissed the star, and then her forehead. At her questioning look, he asked, “Sharna, will you mark me? I want to mark you as my First Fire.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ethan shook out of his memory as the car stopped again. Looking out of the window, he noted that he was at Ripper’s place. “Here? And I thought you were shacking up with-Oof!”
As Ethan bent over and gasped for air, Giles rubbed his hand. Then pulled Ethan up by his hair. “Now, let’s get one thing straight, Ethan. You say anything that disturbs Joyce or say anything about her, I will not guarantee that you’ll have all your teeth or your life, got it?”
“A tarnished knight, Ripper?” Ethan gasped. “My, you must be in love.”
Grabbing Ethan, he threw him against his front door. Ethan crumpled against the door. “Must you treat me like a sack of flour?”
“Must you shoot your trap off?” retorted Giles as he reached for his key. The door opened, he looked up to see a stunned Wesley and an elderly man. Inanely, he said, “Wesley, I brought Ethan.”
Ethan straightened as he looked at his past lover. “Hello, tiger. Heard you were in a spot of trouble. Told you being a Watcher would bring you down to no good, that’s why I never became one.”
“And here I always thought it was because they kicked you out first, brat,” drawled a voice.
Ethan froze when he heard that voice, a voice he had not heard for over twenty years. Not since the night he found out what happened to Sharna. “Wil-Wilson? Sir? Is that really you?”
The older man stepped out to the foyer. He gave him an affectionate smile. “Hello, Ethan. How have you been?”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Shaking her head as she puttered around the kitchen, Joyce smiled as she listened to her daughter’s chatter on the phone. “Yes, yes. I hear you, sweetheart. I will bring the brownies so that you and Willow will have something to munch on at Rupert’s. I’m leaving as soon as I get off the phone. Love you. Bye.“
“What a kid,” Joyce muttered to herself as she gathered her car keys and the plate of brownies. Humming to herself as she started up her land rover, she never noticed the parked car a few blocks down follow her.
CONTINUATION OF FIC
