All Watchers’ wear tweed in the beginning, it’s a uniform, it’s anonymous, and it’s damn uncomfortable! Rupert Giles had worn tweed for nearly three years before he broke the habit. Not long after he’d been accepted into the Council’s inner circle, he relieved himself of it. And no one batted an eye.

Rupert Giles strode through the mirrored hall that formed the shortcut to the Archives. He needed to deliver his Watcher diaries to the Council’s archivist. He nodded a greeting to one of the secretaries who had nearly dropped her files at his approach. He smiled at her and she smiled back, blushing.

The Council Archive was a hole in the wall, where one dropped off documents to be filed away by the resident filing pixies. Rupert grinned, well…Perhaps not real pixies, he mused but one never saw them and they never spoke as phantom hands whisked paper away from your grasp. Maybe they ate it. Or made houses with the excess waffle of Watchers’ deranged minds.

As Rupert handed his diaries over he cocked a sardonic eyebrow at the anonymous wall and muttered “Bon appetit…” It made the hand hesitate on the book’s binding. A single pair of eyes levelled through the “letterbox” opening. The long lashes swept over the quick silver irises twice before snatching the book away and murmuring “thank you” in a light baritone.

Rupert’s palms rested by the opening, his diaries-his link to Buffy and the “New World” were gone. What was he to do now? He swept a bitter tear from his jaw and walked away from the Archives.

The quicksilver eyes followed his passage with more than intellectual interest.

Mrs.Deeds’ Garden was a riot of colour at this time of year. Her trowel dug into the sweet earth as she reached for another Tagetes to add to the summer bedding, a stray lock of Auburn hair floated on the rose scented breeze and she tucked the strand behind her ear, smudging earth on her earlobe as she did so.

Her concentration was broken by insistent birdsong at her hip; she shook off her glove and answered her mobile. "Yes, Mr. Tomas?" Only one person knew her mobile number.

"Mr. Giles is back, madam, and I think he’s ready for our special attention." Mr. Tomas spoke quickly into the phone while leaning against the marble pillar of the Archive hall. He rolled a rock crystal in his palm gently, examining its multifaceted surface.

"I see," Mrs. Deeds’ fingers played with the amethyst at her throat. "What brought you to that conclusion, Mr. Tomas?"

"He’s nude, madam. I don’t think he realises it either." Mr. Tomas’ fingers stopped caressing the crystal and he stared at the wall. "If we don’t help him to find his new purpose, you know what the Council will ask of us…"

"Very well, Mr. Tomas," Mrs. Deeds sighed. "Make the arrangements." She broke the connection and Mr. Tomas quivered with excitement. The game was about to begin.

End of part 0ne.

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