It was one of those days


He sat at his desk with his mid-morning tea. He allowed himself a biscuit in the afternoon on occasion, but never before lunch.

The intercom buzzed. “Yes, Miranda?”

“There’s a man here.”

“Yes? And what does this man want?”

Another voice wafted through the machine. “Hello, Ripper.”

“Oh, god,” Giles said under his breath and then said, aloud, “It’s all right, Miranda. Let him in.”

When the door swung open and Ethan was standing there, looking a little tired but casting a sardonic glance around the room, Giles felt his heart jump just a little. “Nice digs, Rupert. Landed on your feet, as usual.”

“And you’ve managed to worm your way out of a tight corner. Again.”

“Yes. Fascinating story. Shall I tell you it? But first, let me take the chair you haven’t yet offered me.”

Giles made a small snorting sound. “I always trust you to take what your want without waiting for it to be offered.” Then thought, Christ, why do I always sound like Oscar Wilde when Ethan’s around.

Ethan put the small box he was carrying on the edge of the desk. He leaned back in the chair and draped one leg over the other. “Let’s see, the last time we met was in Sunnydale, wasn’t it? You had me carted off—illegally, I might add—for playing a prank on you.”

“I remember it as a near death experience.”

Ethan smiled and shook his head. “Overly dramatic. Anyway, to get back to me. I was transported to a sunny clime and stashed in a small cell to begin with. Surprising primitive. I mean, for Americans. I really think they didn’t know what to do with me, once they got me.”

Giles shifted in his seat, “Ethan...”

Ethan waved his interruption off. “They asked me questions, but I could tell their hearts weren’t in it. Prisoners and guards, we were just a forgotten cul-de-sac of officialdom. Well, you know me, I try to make myself agreeable. Soon I had a better cell and a little more freedom.”

Giles looked resigned. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it? Tea?” At Ethan’s nod of assent, he pushed a button and said, “Miranda, could we get another tea in here.” Giles threw a quick look at Ethan and continued, “No milk, one sugar. And some biscuits.” He addressed Ethan, “This doesn’t end in a daring escape, does it? Perhaps across ice floes?”

Ethan smiled at him and continued, “Hmmm, no. It was too tropical a location for that. Well, I’d gotten into a routine, just a little sunbathing, a little reading. I knew I was getting lazy, but I kept putting off deciding about how to get out. Then, as usual, fate decided things for me.”

A young, slim woman entered the room with Ethan’s tea just then, giving him a smile as she put it and the biscuits on the desk before him. “Thank you, my dear. Rupert is, I see, a lucky man.”

Giles said, “Thank you, Miranda. Please try to hold any calls for me. Tell everybody I’ll call them back.” She nodded and without saying anything, left the room.

Ethan took up where he left off. “Suddenly, the prison became a hive of activity. All the cells were filled. The number of soldiers dramatically multiplied. Very few of the prisoners spoke, or they claimed not to speak, English. I simply got turned out of the place. They needed the room and no one could remember quite why I was there.”

“This is Guantanamo you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“Why, yes, Rupert, very perceptive. The military wanted to take me and dump me wherever the first plane out was going. I managed to wiggle a little shore leave, so to speak, out of them, and a later plane to going to Atlanta, and ticket back here to Mother England. For that, I’m to keep mum about my experiences, forever.”

“Ethan, you’re telling me. You’ve already broken your promise,” Giles found himself smiling in spite of himself.

“Oh, you don’t count. And look, to show you I hold no grudges, I brought you a pressie.” Ethan indicated the box he’d put on the desk. “Cigars. Cubans. My only luggage from the trip. Well, I had some rum, too, but I drank that. I turned you into a demon; you had me arrested; I bring you cigars. Everything, as the Americans say, is even-steven.”

“And, yet, why do I think there is something else?” Giles asked.

“Because you know me too well,” Ethan said, pleasantly. “I thought you could give me a job. Of sorts. Umm, what are they called?...an independent contractor.”

Giles sat upright in his chair. “My god, you never cease to surprise me. We try to bring order into the world, not spread chaos. Where in the hell would you fit in?”

Ethan drank the last of his tea and put down the cup. “You trade in information. I’m good at sussing things out. You pay me by the job. Really, is that so hard to understand? I’m a bit on my uppers, not that I’m blaming you for putting me out of circulation, but, I do think you owe a little something. Moreover, I can go where your goody patrol wouldn’t think of venturing. I daresay I’d be a considerable asset.”

“And what guarantee would we have that you wouldn’t sell us out at the first opportunity?”

Ethan gave Giles a serious look. “My word. That is, I would promise to inform you that I’ve stopped regarding you and your organization as my liege lord, before I began any mischief. I don’t see how I can be fairer than that.”

Giles looked at Ethan, as if judging the offer. Ethan went on, “As a sign of good faith, I can tell you of a group smuggling voodoo artifacts into southern Florida in preparation of raising a great many zombies. Quite well along in their plans, too. They hope to prey on tourists.”

Giles said, “Ethan...”

And that was the day Ethan Rayne came to work, on a day to day basis, for the Watchers' Council.