Hey! This is a cross-post of the story I wrote for Summer of Giles 2011. LJ seems a little buggy today, so I decided to publish here a little sooner than planned… hope everybody enjoys it!

Title: The Ivory Tower: Part 1
An unusually tame T. What can I say? Bitten by the UST bug...
Indicators of future Giles/Buffy
Fic Summary:
An AU season 4 scenario. What if Giles was never sent to be Buffy's Watcher? Things get interesting at UC Sunnydale when Buffy meets a handsome history professor who is English, variably tweedy, and happens to have a pocket full of stakes. A stand-alone retooling of 'The Freshman', with other installments hopefully to follow.
Word Count:
Entire fic clocks in around 15,000
Standard disclaimers apply. Not mine, just playing. Will give back when finished (maybe).
Definite spoilers for everything up to the beginning of season 4, despite the AU nature of the story.
Special shout out to littleotter73 for sanity checks and all-around tolerant helpfulness!
There are some literary/pop culture/historical references in this fic, which I will explain in notes at the end of each chapter for those who are at all interested, along with some info on characterizations. This fic contains a few instances of borrowed/slightly altered dialogue from S4 x 01, 'The Freshman'.

The Ivory Tower

A year and a half. That was how long he had been here.

One year, seven months, and thirteen days to be more specific.

Less than two years in Sunnydale, and Professor Rupert Giles had seen more things to raise the hair on the back of his neck than he had in the preceding twenty. During his travels, many of which were undertaken on Council business, he had encountered quite a number of incredible and terrifying things. Once there had been talking snakes in the Amazon, nine feet long and happy to tell him how delicious of a snack he would be. A few years later he met a blood cult of vampire ninjas on the northernmost island of Japan. Deep in the Natal Province of South Africa he was chased by ghostly Zulu warriors; his pursuers may have been ghosts, but the spears had been real enough.

And yet, he thought to himself, all of these put together seem a flash in the pan when you compare them to life on the Hellmouth. Vampires, demons, monsters, zombies, shape-shifters, witches, sorcerers, a whole host of nameless dark creatures… and perhaps most frightening of all, the normal people who lived in the town and failed to notice any of these things. The university was certainly no exception. The faculty and the students- well, most of them anyway- had no concept of the terrible things happening all around them or even, as was his more particular concern, right beneath their feet.

Sighing, the professor surveyed his handiwork. He had spent the past hour or so rearranging the books and other volumes on the shelf behind the desk in his office to reflect his teaching needs for the new term. The organizational 'system' was dubious at best, at least to an outsider. The alphabet was somehow involved, but that didn't mean that the shelves weren't chock -a-block full of haphazardly stacked tomes. The lower shelves were especially full and twice as dusty, but forgotten grimoires and demon compendia were entirely unlikely to be needed for his more immediate academic purposes.

Teaching was an unfortunate necessity here, as UC Sunnydale had none of the characteristics of a pure research university. Giles' reputation and world class credentials were such that he could usually get away with a couple of graduate seminars and perhaps a semester's worth of lectures on an obscure historical topic… Nothing so taxing that it detracted from his true purpose: monitoring the activities of the organization known as the Initiative.

Unfortunately he hadn't been so lucky this time around. The History Department were in dire straits, it seemed. Over the summer break they had managed to lose one professor to maternity leave, one to a larger university in the UC system, and one to… well, the third one was just lost. Sunnydale might be quieter in the summer months, but demonic activity never actually had the good grace to cease entirely. Therefore, thanks to a combination of hungry vampires and UCLA, Rupert Giles was about to embark on a most excruciating endeavor- teaching an intro-level course on Western Civilization to one hundred and fifty brand new freshmen. What was that old saying? Those who can't do, teach? Well he could 'do' just fine, thank you ever so bloody much.

Giles slumped into the chair at his desk, depositing his glasses onto a pile of paperwork and tugging fitfully at the collar of his Oxford shirt. Perhaps the universe was trying to tell him that there actually were worse ways to spend his afternoons than spying on that harridan Margaret Walsh and her seemingly endless supply of muscular underlings. This change in his workload bore the mark of exceptionally poor timing- monitoring the Initiative hadn't been the most exciting job he had ever undertaken on the Council's behalf, but a careful observation of the involved parties suggested that something big was going to happen soon. From his observations, the 'something' was complicated, top secret, and keeping Professor Walsh up at nights.

A frown edged its way onto the undercover Watcher's face as he considered whether or not it might be time to reveal his presence to the Council's other active operatives on the Hellmouth. It would be best that the Slayer be apprised of the situation, he reasoned, and informing her Watcher would seem logical. On the other hand… if there were one person in Sunnydale that Professor Giles knew was more intrinsically irritating than Maggie Walsh, it was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Surely it was a miracle that the man still wasn't aware of his assignment after all this time, but the university was something like a world of its own… the proverbial ivory tower, looming and distant.

Thinking about Wyndam-Pryce, with his smug face and idiotic by-the-book philosophy, Giles shook his head. By all accounts, the rookie field Watcher had his hands full with the Slayer as it was. He had overheard right from Quentin Travers' own indiscrete mouth in a corridor at Council headquarters that Miss Summers was possessed of a dangerous streak of independence, bordering on outright insubordination. How anyone could think Wyndam-Pryce would be the right man to succeed Merrick under such circumstances was beyond him- perhaps he had expressed sufficient zeal for her rehabilitation that they had deemed him highly suitable for the post.

The professor's lip quirked in amusement, imagining his fellow Watcher being beaten about the head with his own rulebook. As for the Initiative, nothing cataclysmic had happened and the information would keep. He supposed it could wait, for now.


For new grad Buffy Anne Summers, the road to higher education was paved with homicidal intentions. Not general ones, though. It's not like she wanted to kill just anybody. She had a specific target in mind, and his name began with a W. So did his occupation, although Buffy would be damned if she ever started thinking of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce as her Watcher. The Council was obviously trying to send her off the deep end so that she could be replaced. The only reason it hadn't worked yet was that she refused to give them the satisfaction.

Wesley had been trying to make her life miserable for eight or nine months now. They had sent him as a replacement after the so-called 'test' on her birthday, after Merrick had… Buffy shuddered, not wanting to get lost in the unpleasant memories. It wasn't as if Wesley could ever take Merrick's place, not in a million years. Somehow they had survived the second half of her senior year without doing each other grievous bodily harm, though there had been some close calls. Wesley had even made himself useful in the battle against the mayor, throwing the switch on the explosion that roasted the giant demon snake and decimated Sunnydale High.

Sometimes Buffy felt bad for being so uncooperative with her new Watcher, but he made it so easy. When he tried to be authoritative it tended to fall flat. He disapproved of the 'Slayerettes', but had no choice but to grudgingly allow their presence since Willow and Xander were often more effective at research than he was. And on the rare occasions when Wesley tried to be nice, it just came out sounding so condescending that all Buffy could do was roll her eyes.

As far as college was concerned, he hadn't wanted her to go. After all, it would 'interfere with her duties as the Slayer'. Snorting, Buffy recalled the thunderous look on her mother's face when she shared that particular Wyndam-Pryce gem. If Buffy with or without weapons wasn't enough of a threat to begin with, Joyce Summers' glare could certainly get a job done in style. After several mutual tantrums, one three-way screaming match which included her mother, and an incident with some throwing knives, Wesley agreed to Buffy's perfectly reasonable compromise- she would attend UC Sunnydale. This way she would still be here to guard the Hellmouth and she could get her college education. All those smarty pants ancient demon lords had better watch out, because slay gal was about to start climbing the ivory tower… whatever that meant, exactly.

Depositing the last of the boxes at the foot of her new bed, Buffy looked around the dorm room. Glancing at the clock, she relaxed for a moment. Still half an hour until she had agreed to meet Willow in the quad. Perching on the edge of the bed and crossing her arms over her chest, she smiled slightly. Slayer in college. This should be interesting… right?


On the night before classes began, Rupert Giles stopped by the requisition desk at the library to make sure all of the additional course reading he was planning to recommend to his students would be available at circulation in sufficient quantity. Not that he expected all that many of the students to take on more reading than necessary; freshmen rarely did so, but he would encourage them just the same. It seemed that quite a few professors were getting in a last minute request or two, so he took his place at the back of the queue.

After a few moments of standing patiently in line, the professor felt an unpleasant tingling sensation on the back of his neck. Turning his head to the side, he saw that a much shorter figure had arrived in line behind him. The individual in question had short blondish hair and wore, as per usual, an arrogant little smirk. Maggie Walsh. Just what he needed…

"Professor Giles, how nice to see you," she said.

He resisted the urge to answer the way he really wanted, instead giving a clipped but polite response. "Likewise I'm sure, Professor Walsh."

His hopes that the conversation would end there were dashed as she inched forward in line to stand beside him. She crossed her arms over her chest, regarding him with a sort of condescending curiosity. "I hear you've picked up an intro class this semester. Have you finally decided that freshmen students aren't a complete waste of your time?"

He rolled his eyes, staring ahead at the slow moving queue. He spoke for a few moments, making innocuously professorial comments about the difficulty of teaching a large group with such wide ranging experience levels and rates of understanding. All the while his brain, perfectly capable of intense multi-tasking, silently wondered what HR specialist at the university had checked Walsh's references when she was hired. From what he'd learnt through light research and a certain stream of hearsay, the term 'mad scientist' was uniquely applicable in her case.

Giving him a disdainful look, Walsh continued to proselytize. "Perhaps you feel a little bit threatened by the young, professor? A touch of Ephebiphobia, maybe? Personally I find them fascinating. Their minds are so… untainted when they first arrive. So willing to be molded and changed by our teachings."

Professor Giles gave the woman what could certainly pass as a dirty look, narrowing his eyes. "I don't remember signing up for the free psychoanalysis, thank you very much. As for the students, I prefer to build them up rather than spend my time picking their brains apart to see if I can find any interesting tidbits."

Walsh shrugged. "Sometimes taking something apart and putting it back together in a different configuration is the only way to really make it work."

The line had dissipated, leaving only the two of them. Sparing Maggie Walsh one last glance before stepping up to the desk, Giles fired off his parting shot. "I tend to disagree with that sentiment when it is applied to living creatures. Good evening, professor."

Cringing internally, he could feel her eyes boring into his back with suspicion while he spoke in clipped tones to the library clerk. He knew the Initiative were up to something, and Walsh was at the heart of it. If what his sources told him were true, even a demon didn't deserve the kind of treatment doled out in her secret underground laboratories. Until he knew for sure, however, he really would have to be more careful to hold his tongue- blowing his cover was not on the list of things to do this term.


Yeah, so the first day had pretty much sucked up to this point. Buffy had barely slept at all, the 'sucking energy' incident in the Pop Culture lecture had been totally demoralizing, she had gotten lost about fifteen times, and her roommate liked Celine Dion. Psych class hadn't been bad. The TA she and Willow had met at the bookstore was cute, for one thing, but it seemed like it could get pretty tough. None of this stuff had been in the orientation packet, and the Slayer was indeed feeling quite disoriented. She was increasingly glad that Willow hadn't chosen to go flying off to MIT or Columbia or one of the dozen other schools that had accepted her. Even though the red-haired girl was annoyingly chipper in the college environment and almost overbearingly excited about academics, Buffy found her presence comforting.

The two girls met again for lunch, picnicking under a shady tree on the green across from the humanities building. Buffy felt herself feeling a bit more calm; she was able to meet Willow without getting lost, and Oz's momentary absence cut down on the amount of loud and enthusiastic visitors they received. Willow munched away happily on some fruit and crackers as Buffy tried to skirt around the issue of why she had decided not to take Images of Pop Culture. "It was weird and boring. And the prof? Yuk. He was so not a guest at the Happiness Hotel. All shout-y and 'me me me' and nobody else gets to talk…" Buffy trailed off, still feeling the sting of the rebuke she had received.

Willow frowned sympathetically. "Wow, Buff. That does sound kinda awful. But hey, you could still sign up for Intro to Western Civ! That's what I've got in that time slot, and the prof is amazing. His profile in the syllabus says he went to Oxford and everything! One of Oz's older friends is majoring in history and he says Professor Giles hardly ever teaches undergrads, especially intro level." Lowering her voice, Willow leaned toward Buffy conspiratorially. "Plus, he is so cute. Like, all British and distinguished but just a little rough around the edges. Definite Indiana Jones vibe. At least if Indiana Jones was, you know, English. Which he isn't. But…"

"I think I get it," Buffy smiled indulgently. You could always count on Willow to think that something like a degree from Oxford was the pinnacle of sexiness.

Something in the corner of Willow's eye caught her attention, and she made an odd squeaking noise. Grabbing Buffy's arm, she pointed, in a way that she probably hoped was subtle. She whispered loudly, "Look, that's him over there!"

Buffy looked in the indicated direction and scanned for any immediate signs of distinguished Britishness which, considering her recent experiences with the Watcher's Council, Buffy more or less equated to 'stuffed shirt-y and/or tweed'. Her eyes alighted on a gentleman who could certainly fall into the distinguished category; tweed jacket, spectacles, and an armload of books. It must be who Willow meant, but … "Gee Will, I never knew you were so into old guys. He's got to be like, what, eighty?" Buffy wrinkled her nose.

Looking confused, Willow followed Buffy's line of sight. Giggling, she slapped Buffy's arm. "No, stupid! That's Professor Randolph from the linguistics department. Look at the guy he's talking to!"

Oh. Ohhh. Well that was a relief. Wrinkly old Professor Randolph was brightly engaged in conversation with a tall man, probably in his forties. He had a tweed jacket too, but it was slung over his shoulder casually. The man's striped shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow, tie loose and slightly askew. Buffy had only previously seen suspenders being worn by Merrick, who had been short and somewhat rotund. She decided that they made much better visual sense when viewed in context with the lean frame of Professor Giles. Nice, she couldn't help but think.

"So, what do you say?" Willow grinned, regarding a slightly dazed Buffy beside her.

Buffy tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "Well I think I'm at least a little civilized, and California is definitely of the west… so why not?"

The girls giggled as Professor Giles disappeared into the distance, Buffy feeling better than she had all day. "Looks like we've still got some time before our next classes… you up for a round of anywhere but here?"

"You better believe it!"


Professor Giles' finalized list of students topped out at one hundred and fifty one when he received it on the second day of class. He thought nothing of it at first; it was fairly common for two or three students to add or drop during the opening week of school even in a smaller lecture. That being said, the cursory attention he gave to the names on that list came back to bite him when she walked into the auditorium with the Rosenberg girl. It wasn't that he recognized her; he had never seen her before, not even a photograph. He had heard that she might be attending UC Sunnydale, but the report had not been particularly credible. He had read parts of her file a dozen times, but that made little difference. It was more that he could feel her power the moment she entered the room. He found himself gripping the desk for support with one hand, the other holding the class list as he scanned incredulously for the name 'Buffy Summers'. It was there, right at the bottom. Oh bugger, his mysterious extra student was the one and only active Slayer!

There was a certain amount of magic involved in the process of becoming a Watcher, though most of his colleagues carried a marked distaste for the subject. Any Watcher should be trained at least well enough to recognize the presence of vampires as well as that of the Slayer, if they really tried, and as a result of his colorful past Giles was more sensitive than most when it came to such things. The only reason he had even taken notice of Willow Rosenberg in the first place, after all, was that he could sense her undiscovered powers. They were relatively faint, indicating that the girl was barely aware of the magical reservoir she possessed. Giles was something of an expert at sensing these things. Even so, he had never considered that the magic of a Slayer could induce such a violent reaction in him. Her power pulled at him like a riptide, dragging him under and forcing the breath from his body.

Once the magic burning in his blood acclimatized and calmed, he took a moment to really look at her. Students were still swarming through the door, laughing and calling to one another. Papers shuffled and knapsacks thunked as they hit the floor. Inside of the professor's mind, however, it was quiet as he contemplated his subject. Blonde hair, golden skin, features that were delicate but interesting… she was nothing like what he would have expected. The stories he had heard throughout his youth as well as during his Council training had schooled him to think the Slayer would be dark-haired, somewhat severe, imposing, and athletically built. Miss Summers' body appeared slim and unassumingly attractive on first glance, but if one knew what to look for her strength could be seen. This Slayer- already a living legend in her own right- was small but centered, her movements deceptively graceful for one whose body was in itself such a deadly weapon.

The students began to settle down, noticing that the professor was at the front of the room and presumably ready to begin. Miss Rosenberg quickly whispered something to the Slayer, who responded with a brilliant smile. Good lord, to see a smile like that on the face of one who could snap a foe in half with her bare hands… he was so intoxicated by the contrast that he almost failed to notice that she was now regarding him with mild interest. Their eyes met, just briefly. He gave a small smile, hoping that his nerves were up to the task of being under her politely attentive scrutiny three days a week.

Idly he pondered to himself that Wesley Wyndam-Pryce must either be infinitely more powerful or significantly more oblivious than he had originally supposed if the man thought he could exert any real authority over a Slayer with mystical energy of such strength. Her power was suffocating. This contemplation stretched on, to the point where some of the students began to raise their eyebrows in response to his state of inaction. Damn… he was supposed to be teaching a class, wasn't he?

He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. "Good morning. We'll be starting a brief study of Ancient Egypt today, beginning with the unification of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms and the importance of the Nile River for the control of trade routes and agriculture. I hope you're all well versed on your early hieroglyphs, because we haven't got time for a review."

Two-thirds of the students looked extremely panicked, including Miss Rosenberg. Miss Summers looked a bit shellshocked herself, and some of the other students were shuffling through their notes or desperately flipping through their syllabi to find where 'knowledge of hieroglyphs' was listed as a prerequisite for the course. Bloody freshmen…

"That last bit was actually a joke, by the way. Now then, shall we begin?"


This is too much to handle.

I can't take it anymore.

No time to say goodbye!


Something was definitely not right here. The room couldn't be described as anything other than depressing. Bare walls, abandoned furniture, and no clues whatsoever as to the personality of the occupant. Or lack thereof… The emptiness and silence were merely enhanced by the cheerful noise drifting in from the hall beyond. Buffy narrowed her eyes as she pulled the tattered paperback out of Eddie's bedside table. Of Human Bondage. Also known as Eddie's security blanket. And yet he had abandoned it. Out of all his possessions, this was probably the last one he would forget no matter how quickly he pulled up stakes and left. She had only met Eddie for a few minutes, but this was something she understood. It would be like Buffy skipping town for good and remembering to bring everything except for Mr. Gordo.

On top of that, her Slayer senses were tingling. Some… thing had been in the room, possibly vampire. She had never really been an expert at honing, much to Merrick's chagrin. Looking at the dog-eared book and imagining a sad and lonely Mr. Gordo, Buffy made a decision. She would find out what had happened to Eddie, no matter what she had to do…

…even if it meant she had to go ask Wesley for help.

Sighing, she thanked Eddie's resident advisor and left the barren single room. Next stop, chez Wyndam-Pryce.


"Buffy, what on Earth could you possibly need from me at this hour?"

Rolling her eyes, Buffy pushed past a rumpled and pajama-clad Wesley, flipping the lights on as she went. "Hello? Slayer here. Evil never sleeps, and Buffy is ever-vigilant. You, on the other hand? Looks like the only thing you've been 'watching' lately is the back of your eyelids."

"Well, I-" Wesley sputtered indignantly.

"Besides, it's only ten o'clock!"

"Well you know what they say. Early to bed, early to rise…"

"Yeah? And how's that working out for you?"

Wesley scowled sleepily, motioning for Buffy to take a seat on the couch. He slumped into a nearby armchair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Some of us do have to work in the morning, you realize. Certified accountancy requires a surprisingly alert mind. Now what is this all about?"

Glossing carefully over the details of her disastrous first day of college, Buffy explained to Wesley about how she had gotten lost and met Eddie. Emphasizing the details regarding his favorite book and the strangely impersonal and out of character tone of his hastily scribbled farewell note, the Slayer laid out what she thought was a very suspicious scenario. Wesley, on the other hand, didn't seem quite so impressed.

"So one student has disappeared? I'm sorry, Buffy, but it doesn't sound particularly alarming." Yawning, the Watcher rose out of his armchair and gestured toward the door.

Buffy looked at him disbelievingly. "No. Haven't you been listening? This is so not Eddie. He wasn't someone who was about to give up, he just having a little trouble adjusting. Believe me, I know. There's definitely some funky evil going on here. There could even be a gang of vamps working the campus! We need to research!"

Releasing a small snorting sound, Wesley shook his head. "Research? Research what exactly? The fact that some people just aren't cut out for college life, or the physics of how easy it was for this boy to pack his things and leave?" Opening the door, the Watcher waited none too patiently for Buffy to exit through it.

"But-" Buffy sputtered, hardly able to believe she was being given the brush off by Wesley of all people.

"But nothing. You are the Slayer. You certainly have many more important things to worry about than some milquetoast teenage boy who probably just ran home to his mum."

"I just think we should-"

"Goodnight, Buffy."

And that was that. She stood on the doorstep of Wesley's apartment, fists clenched. Setting her jaw, Buffy strode away quickly. Fine. He was right, after all. She was the Slayer. It wasn't like she needed help from any stupid wanna-be Watcher anyway. She would just go find Eddie by herself. Maybe if she started looking near the place where they'd met last night she might find something.

Briefly, she wondered what Wesley had meant about the milk and toast. They were both readily available through the cafeteria meal plan, so it was highly unlikely that Eddie would have disappeared to a diner, if that was what he was suggesting. God, sometimes Watchers made no sense…


Midnight on a college campus was an infuriating thing, at least as far as Rupert Giles was concerned. The people of Sunnydale constantly proved and reproved their ignorance of the Hellmouth by walking along happily at all hours of the night, and the campus was no different. Strike that; it was different, in the sense that the students were even more vulnerable and/or intoxicated than the average wandering citizen.

The liveliness of the UC campus made stealth a bit more difficult, although the population's apparent dedication to total obliviousness was some consolation. It was constantly baffling to the professor that heavily armed commandos, half a dozen of whom he was surreptitiously observing at this very moment, passed unnoticed through well-trafficked areas on a regular basis. Their training appeared to consist of 'nobody can see us in the bushes', so tracking them was anything but difficult. Tonight was no different; so far they had tranquillized one entirely harmless demon, practically tripping over each other for the privilege of firing the dart gun.

There would be a shift change for the soldiers soon, and all the truly dangerous vampires and demons in the area undoubtedly knew when it happened. Since nothing of interest seemed to be transpiring, the professor decided to call it a night and head for home before the real trouble surfaced. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he casually stepped out from his hiding place and began to make his way down the tree-lined pavement. His home was just beyond the quieter edge of campus, with a nearby path leading right to his back door through the slightly overgrown garden.

He found himself contemplating a cup of tea as he walked along the dimly lit track, although monitoring the dunderheaded Initiative operatives had given him a rather unhealthy predisposition toward Scotch of late. Yes, tea would be better. He could drink it and attempt to figure out how he was going to make a lecture hall full of freshmen understand the importance of the Classical Greek philosophers. If he survived their essays on Egypt without his brains melting out his ears, at any rate…

Nearing a fork in the path, Giles paused. He could hear a disturbance on the other side of an adjacent stand of trees. His instinct was to conceal himself or at the very least to take up a defensive position, because he sensed a barely controlled strength in whatever was approaching. There wasn't time to act, however, as a flailing shape came crashing onto the path. Half running, half stumbling, the pink and black blur collided with his torso, sending him sprawling onto the pavement.

"Ow," muttered a pained feminine voice.

Looking to his left, he realized that the creature that had bowled him over was a girl. The eyes of his assailant widened in recognition, most likely a mirror of his own. She looked much worse for the wear, gazing back at him with a confused expression.

Sitting up, it occurred to him that she had no idea who he was- apart from being a history professor- or what he knew. He found it ironic that both of them, at this moment, were probably more concerned with concocting a false story with which to trick each other than anything else. It would probably be best for his true identity to remain secret for the time being, but she was obviously in some distress.

Thus it was that Professor Rupert Giles stood and offered a hand to his fallen student. "Miss… Summers, isn't it?" Affecting ignorance was hard for him, but he did his best to sound as confused as possible.

She nodded, reaching out shakily and sliding her small hand into his. She winced as he pulled her to her feet, and he noticed that she was cradling her left arm as though she were in quite a bit of pain.

"Dear Lord, are you alright?"


That's it for part one. A few pertinent notes for this installment:

1. Ephebiphobia: Fear of youth; inaccurate, exaggerated and sensational characterization of young people.

2. Happiness Hotel: The dilapidated London hotel visited by Muppets in 'The Great Muppet Caper'.

3. 'Evil never sleeps, and Buffy is ever-vigilant.': Paraphrased from Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Original quote: 'Evil never sleeps, and virtue is ever-vigilant.'

4. Characterization of Wesley: Yes, I know he's completely horrendous here. This is AU, however, and needs to be considered in the context of a Giles-free season 3. Which clearly leaves gaping plot holes all over the place, but when we write AU we have to pick and choose, don't we? :P I promise he will get better in later installments.