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Part FiveGalen walked back to the car. That Spike and Siobhan were together was very unnerving. Willow and company needed to be notified, and soon. He could have tried to kill the two vampires, but given the vagaries of prophecy, he would have been far more likely to end up dead.
He hated that these things always needed to happen at certain places and times, in certain ways. Be much easier if he could just kill them now and save everyone the headache, and the heartache.
Knowing about prophecies made things harder, sometimes. But not knowing could be just as bad …
… and there was no way to justify keeping this a secret.
So he drove back to the hotel, quickly, trying to formulate what he’d say when he called. This was harder than a typical, “hey, I found an artifact” call — the kind he usually made. He was part of this prophecy. This meant personal revelations or distrust, and —
He really wasn’t comfortable. Andy treated him like a friend, and trusted him implicitly, but — they didn’t really know each other. It had been a long time since he’d really trusted anyone.
Or, since they’d trusted him.
But wasn’t that what this was about? Being seen, and being forgiven? Maybe one would lead to the other.
Up to the hotel room, then. He called over to his portable phone, “Phone, connect me with Xander Harris.” One ring, then two, then a flurry of quieting voices. “Hello?” A tired-sounding male voice said.
“Hello,” he answered. “Is Willow Rosenberg there?”
“Um, yeah … hold on a second …” Another flurry while the call was transferred to a handheld receiver for privacy.
“Galen? Is that you?” Willow’s voice came through clearly. She also sounded tired. “This isn’t a very good time —”
“I know,” Galen answered. “I’m in town now. The day of Dark Judgment is coming soon.”
“That’s right.” She hesitated. “Is this something all of us should hear?”
“Who’s there?” He knew quite well, who was there, but still —
“Xander, Cordelia, Emily, Buffy, and her Watcher.”
“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” he muttered. “Yes. This concerns all of you.” A faint click and then background noise. Galen could hear accusations and counter-accusations flying; something to do with … Buffy and how she was the double Slayer.
To his horror, he thought he overheard Regan Leary defending the odd position that Buffy Harris was her namesake. But …
… that namesake had died eighteen years ago, in an explosion in Sunnydale. This was impossible …
… and not his immediate concern. “Hello,” he called out. “I don’t know most of you — but Willow’s told you about me, I assume —”
“Who is this guy, Will?” Xander’s voice, tinged with jealousy. Willow Rosenberg was still single — had been ever since the vampire Angelus had killed her boyfriend 25 years ago — and Galen would have bet a lot of money that part of Xander liked it that way.
“I’m sorry. My name’s Galen Petrillo. I’m sort of a freelancer; I study about vampires and look for new ways to help destroy them. I was the one who originally passed on this prophecy to Willow —”
A harsh, even voice: “Why didn’t you send it to me?” Regan, he guessed.
“You weren’t a Watcher at the time,” he answered. “I assumed once you became a Watcher they passed these things on.”
“So did I,” came the Watcher’s voice, clearly annoyed. Obviously Willow hadn’t passed the information on to the other Watchers. Why was obvious, but this was the wrong thing to have been protective about. Would they have time now?
They’d have to. This just moved this schedule up a bit. “I have some bad news to pass on to you. The blood and the red have joined.”
“I met the blood earlier tonight,” came a haunting voice. Buffy Harris. “Spike, right?”
“Right,” he answered them. “The red is a very powerful Irish vampire —”
To his amazement, Emily, Willow, and Regan spoke at the same time.
“Siobhan.” Muttered, furious swearing from Regan. Galen knew why, too, though he hadn’t put two and two together until now. Siobhan was the one who’d broken Emily’s back, killed Cale Benjamin, and vowed revenge on Regan for stopping her. Right on cue, Regan said, “That bitch is mine. No one hurts my friends the way she did.”
A brief scuffle, then Cordelia — who’d amazingly stayed quiet until now — said, “Sit the hell down, Watcher woman. Our daughter’s life is more important than your petty little revenges. So Siobhan broke one of your nails or something. Big deal.”
“She killed Cale and broke Emily’s back,” Regan said coldly.
“Oh. Sorry.” She sounded a bit cowed. “But still — Plus, there’s the matter of who our daughter really is. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.” Galen, temporarily reduced to spectator, chuckled for a second. Cordelia had come a long way.
“It’s a good point she made,” Galen said. “Stopping the Day of Dark Judgment is too important to let any of us be distracted by old grudges, no matter how justified.”
“What’s your part in this, anonymous boy?” Xander asked. “You get your kicks from watching disasters play out?”
“Hardly,” Galen said patiently. “I have a role in this, too. There are two prophecies concerning the Orb of the Savior, and I am present in both —”
“Two prophecies?” Regan, Willow, and Buffy Harris demanded.
“They’re identical except for one thing. In the prophecy intended for the side of good, I’m called the Invisible. In the other one I’m called the Unforgiven. I ran across Spike earlier tonight — no interruptions, please, now — and he told me to make sure I stayed Unforgiven. That’s as subtle as he can get.” Galen hesitated. This next was hard. “So I have to stop being the Unforgiven.” Another pause. “Willow, I need to meet with you to explain this. Could you come to my hotel?”
There was a click as he was put on mute. Thirty seconds later, she said, “I’ve, um, never met you; could we make it somewhere more public?”
Issues of trust. They hadn’t met him, so he couldn’t blame her. “I’m sorry, no. But, please, Willow. I’ve talked to you for ten years. You can trust me.” Another click; he was muted again.
“Can I bring someone with me?”
Time to gamble and hope it wasn’t the wrong person. “Yes. But please, hurry.” He gave the hotel name.
“Emily and I are on our way.” Emily Harding. Well, it could have been worse.
“I’ll see you soon, then.” He disconnected the phone and began rearranging the room.
It was time for the process of being forgiven to begin.
* * *
“What, Will?” Xander demanded as the phone disconnected. “You’re actually going over there?”
“Yes, Xander. Galen’s right. I’ve known him for ten years; he’s done nothing but pass on good information and find anti-vampire relics. I think I can trust him.”
“Besides, Xander,” Cordelia told him coldly, “We have this little matter of our daughter’s identity to hash out. You’re not going charging blindly off into the night to protect your ‘little friend’ Willow, who if you hadn’t noticed is a mature adult able to make her own decisions.” Cordelia seemed very upset, Xander noted; best to just do what she said for the moment …
“Yes,” Willow told him. “You want to protect me. You want to protect all of us. It’s noble, it’s helpful, and right now, it’s unnecessary.”
Xander knew that sometimes his urge to protect all of ‘his’ women — and he didn’t mean to demean them by that, and they knew it — bothered them. In thirty years he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to accept emotionally that they didn’t really need him.
He couldn’t fail them. He couldn’t fail any of them …
… like he’d failed Buffy, twice. He’d never forgiven himself for that …
Sacrifices had to be made. Gritting his teeth, he told them, “Sorry. You’re right, Will, like you usually are. And you’re right, too, Cordy.” Then he grinned evilly, “I know it doesn’t happen all that often, so cherish the moment.” His wife stuck out her tongue at him, then everyone got serious again.
As she often did, Regan took control. “All right, then. Willow, you and Emily can find out what Galen wants. If he’s on the level, let us know; if it’s a trap, nail the bastard to the wall. Literally. Take the crossbow —”
Emily grinned at her friend. “We know how to take care of ourselves, Reeg.”
Surprisingly, Regan didn’t flash Emily a cold grin in response as she frequently did. “True. But just be fuckin’ prepared for anything. This isn’t the time to get careless.”
Emily saluted with a mocking smile, saying “Yes ma’am, Sgt. Leary, ma’am, whatever the sergeant says, ma’am.” Regan just looked annoyed.
On the other hand, Emily and Willow did load up on anti-vampire equipment; stakes, crosses, holy water, you name it. Emily was deadly with a crossbow and threw a hell of a punch if her feet were planted, and Willow’d been doing this for thirty years more or less straight. They could take care of themselves. He knew this.
Knowing, though, made it no easier. He kept all this to himself, of course. No sense worrying anyone else with his fears. He watched Willow and Emily walk away, trying to hold down his terrible sense of impending doom.
Then, forcing a neutral expression onto his face, he turned around and glared at the Watcher. “All right, Regan,” he said, a bit more forcefully than he might have preferred, “what’s this about our daughter being Buffy Summers?”
“Do you see what I meant earlier? She’s got blue-green eyes, she’s shorter than both of you … her hair’s a lighter brown?”
Before either of the Harrises could answer, Buffy piped up, “Um, Leary, I’m fairly sure I’m not 47 years old …”
“And — Hello! I’m fairly sure I gave birth to a 9-bound baby girl, not a 100-pound full-grown woman!”
Regan slammed her fist into the coffee table so hard Xander would have bet that her hand would have broken. It hadn’t … but the table cracked. “That was for emphasis,” she said in a voice utterly devoid of emotion. “Now. I wasn’t being literal. But something clearly has happened; Buffy has had dreams of being her namesake; she’s said a couple of things that sound like her namesake should have said them; and there’s this thing in the prophecy about a ‘Double Slayer’.”
“I’ve got it!” Cordelia said. “Buffy Summers put part of herself into me! Our daughter is the double Slayer — because she has part of Buffy’s soul. Right?”
Regan’s eyebrows raised, and Xander reached over and squeezed his wife’s arm. Cordelia might look stupid on occasion, but looks were deceiving.
Still, it didn’t rattle the Watcher. Not much seemed to. “That’s about what I think.”
“I’m me!” Buffy protested. “I’m not anyone else …”
“Buffy, you’re about to die,” Regan said. “No matter what happens, sometime in the next twenty-four hours something is going to kill you. There is no possibly way to survive. You. Are. Doomed.”
This was appalling. Why did she have to keep reminding them? Reminding her? He stood up and was about to yell at Regan when the Watcher silenced him with a glare and continued, “But none of this bothers you. You were quiet and thoughtful on the ride over here, but after that — you’ve been as much like your father as you’ve ever been. Why are you so calm about dying? Why?”
Good question, though she could have phrased it better. He told Regan as much. Coldly, the pale blonde said, “It’s more convincing this way.”
The hell of it was, Regan was probably right.
His daughter said, “I’ve always been like this. Slow to anger, calm, mature — and almost nothing rattles me.”
“I suspect she’s been influencing you her whole life,” Regan answered. “But I don’t know.”
Xander shot up. “What do you mean, you don’t know? This has all been a guess?”
Looking at Cordy, the Watcher said, “Control your husband, please.”
Wearily, Cordy told her, “I’ve been trying for thirty years.”
Regan blinked and said, “Anyway. We need the Double Slayer. And … I think there’s a ritual that might let us find out. Relax. It’s quite simple, if I remember correctly. But we’ll have to go back to my apartment.” Buffy got up, but he and Cordy stayed still for a minute.
Regan hissed, “Move, people. We’re on a deadline. Get stakes, crosses, what have you, even though we’re driving. Go, go, go!”
They got up and gathered up what they needed.
Might this save Buffy’s life? God, he hoped so.
There was a phrase he remembered from somewhere …
Failure is not an option.