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Logan glared at the building in front of him. The sprawling architecture was very different from anything in the backwaters of Canada, or the nicer New England area where Xavier had established his school. No, this was all Spanish-influenced warm weather buildings, with long covered walkways open for breezes, wide plazas and palm trees. Palm trees, for crying out loud. Sunnydale High School, where Buffy had classes, along with her friends and now Marie. Where Rupert Giles, the man who was supposed to help Buffy figure out the whole Slayer mess lurked.

Logan couldn't remember his own school years. A part of him wondered if they had been anything like this. Another part whispered that his own education had been nothing like this sprawling building, nothing like these clusters of chatting, oblivious teenagers. A thought wound through his mind – kids these days had no idea how lucky they were, how many opportunities were open to them.

With a small huff, he decided that he wouldn't get anywhere staring at the building and headed towards the nearest door. Once inside, he began searching for the library. In the end, it was the faint scents that mingled old leather, sword oil, sweat and a trace of old fear that led him towards the library. Drawing closer, there were also strong scents of Buffy and her friends, as well as Marie.

A weedy teenager with dyed-black hair and baggy pants scurried away, glancing nervously at Logan the whole time. That left only the older man, clad in a far more formal looking suit than he'd have expected for this place.

The man glanced over, a small frown on his face as he adjusted his glasses. "Is there some way that I might be of assistance?"

The British accent explained it all for Logan. Moving closer, he gave a small nod, "You're Rupert Giles, the one who helps Buffy figure out the stuff that doesn't have to do with ordinary school. Marie's staying with Buffy, has started to think of Joyce as a mother-figure. I want to help keep them alive and healthy as long as possible."

"You are not a Watcher," the words were low, too soft for an ordinary man to hear. "In what way do you think you could be of assistance? You don't appear to be a skilled magic user..."

"No, that I'm not. I know blades, and all sorts of tricks for fighting - both the clean tricks and the dirty ones. I don't scare easy, and I'm very good at getting rid of problems." Logan wondered if he'd ever known much of magic, but if he once had, that was gone now.

"A fighting instructor? Have you experience with vampires?" the man looked curious.

Logan nodded, "I can spot vampires easily. They don't smell right. Decapitation works wonders, and adamantium through the spine or heart is just as fatal to them."

"Adamantium? And just where do you suggest we might find some of that? It is supposed to be an exceedingly rare alloy, forged with minerals thus far only found in meteorites," the man raised one eyebrow.

In response, Logan raised one fist, letting the claws pop out to their full extent.

"Ahhh... hmm. While that raises all sorts of questions, I suspect that now is not the appropriate time." He paused, and removed the glasses to start polishing the spotless lenses. "I shall interpret that to mean that you wish to take part in Buffy's physical training, to insist on a measure of the same for Marie, and that you will be taking a portion of the patrols, whether I like it or not?"

Logan nodded, seeing no reason to say anything about the fact that he also thought some lessons for Joyce would be a good idea.

"Quite untraditional, but the assistance from the others has been beneficial. And you do seem remarkably stubborn, I suspect that parts of that are not so much an offer as a statement of intention..." The gleaming glasses returned to the man's face. "I shall hope that you have better luck getting Buffy to take her training seriously than I have had thus far."

Pulling the claws back in, Logan grinned, "I've got ways to make her listen."

"Good to know. You are also welcome to assist with the research," the man gestured towards a back shelf, the books old and bound in leather.

"We'll see how that goes," Logan murmured. From what he'd heard from Buffy, this research was a whole different thing than what the X-Men did. The fact that his memory was more holes than cheese, so to speak, didn't give him a fuzzy feeling about helping look things up. "Most people don't expect to keep me around for my brains."

"That's hardly the same as you lacking them," the man shook his head with a disapproving sniff.

This Giles was definitely very British.

end Such a Nice Girl 16: Plan for Strength