For Her

by The Red Poet

Copyright (c) 2011

Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy. Not the TV show and not the comics. Nor does Mystic Muse.
The Mystic Muse:
Spoilers: None really.
Feedback: Adored!
Author's Note: --Waves-- Hey, Mystic Muse!
Pairing: None.
Summary: Giles deals with the rogue slayer Simone.

With almost two thousand slayers, it was an inevitable for it would happen sooner or later, Giles thought to himself as he drove through the Italian countryside. The landscape was beautiful, but he paid it little attention, far too focused on what he had set out to do.

She had become too large a problem to ignore. There weren't even a dozen slayers with her yet, but some of them were as vicious and sadistic as their leader. If the problem was allowed to fester, it would not only cause the slayer army enormous trouble with public relations but also threaten the safety of other slayers as well as countless civilians. Already, there'd been a few casualties as a aftermath of their rogue slayer's ruthlessness.

Finally, he pulled over at the harbor, slung the large black sports bag over his shoulder and walked off. His destination was a currently deserted construction site where they were almost done building a parking garage. Calmly and purposefully, the watcher climbed the stairs to the topmost floor and set the bag down on the concrete.

He opened it up and spread a blanket over the floor, then pulled out an old-fashioned scoped rifle. Not particularly flashy, he knew, but reliable.

It was a model had used many times before, although fortunately very rarely for the same purpose as today.

Settling the weapon down on the blanket, he picked up a cell phone from his pocket and dialed the carefully memorized number.

"Hello?" said a female voice at the other end.

"Hello, Simone. It's Rupert Giles, I believe we have met before."

There was a momentary pause.

"We have. What the fuck do you want? And how did you get this number?"

"You would be surprised what a witch skilled both in hacking and magick is capable of. What I want is to talk to you. I have been keeping an eye on your doings as of late. I'm disappointed."

"We do as we please, send your precious Buffy if you don't like it."

Giles cracked a small smile at the juvenile attitude. She sounded rather like she tried to be Faith. The thing that made all the difference was that though that particularly slayer had done some terrible things, she had never really enjoyed them. She had tried so hard to be evil, at the lack of any other role for her, but hadn't ever truly become it.

He had given up on that particular slayer prematurely and would not repeat the mistake even if his every instinct told him that Simone was far beyond saving.

"She would destroy you if she set her mind on it, Simone. Therein lies the problem - I won't let her do that to herself when I have the power to stop it."

Over all the years he had known his slayer, she had kept on surprising him with her and courage and nobility. She was currently the oldest slayer in several centuries and as close to a daughter as he'd ever have. He was almost certain that she wouldn't be able to kill a human being in cold blood. But he still worried that she would see the necessity of such an action and destroy herself for the good of her fellow slayers.

That was where he came in. As far as he was concerned, whatever soul he had was already soiled to such an extent that another murder here or there would hardly tip the scales any further.

"Your power's pretty fuckin' limited, gramps."

"Indeed." Giles slipped off his glasses and polished them. "But I must still insist that you turn yourself in. To me or to the police. Trust me when I say that's it would be for the best."

"Are you kidding me? The cops?" Simone laughed harshly.

"Those are the only choices I can offer you."

"Answer's fuck you."

Giles sighed. "So be it." For her, he'd do what had to be done.

Hands steady, crosshair at the back of the girl's partially bald head, the watcher squeezed the trigger.

Magically (that's literally rather than figuratively) a note appeared on the desk now splattered with blood and brain matter.

"Desist or die."

The End

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