Backgrounds

Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to another of my WIPs, Control Issues. As I was writing along on it, I felt the intense need to bring Ethan Rayne into the picture. This is going to throw some new twists into the story-line. To make it work, I needed to think about where his relationship with Giles began, and by extension about all of Giles' past. This came out of that thought process. It's not necessary to read this to understand CI nor is it necessary to read CI to understand this. Just realize the stories came from each other. It should also be noted, that while I love Band Candy, I find the assumption that he has reverted to 16 to be a consistency flaw with the series, or at least the scoobies way of thinking. We really aren't given an indication that Giles was particularly wild as a teen. He was at University until he was 21 and then he dropped out and had the whole incident with Eyghon. I tend to believe that the candy simply returned them to their least responsible time of life. It works better for me that way.



Rupert Giles was 21. He was an excellent student, smart, well-mannered, and well-spoken. If his family life was less than perfect, well that happens. He wasn't completely alone. He had his mother, a lovely woman. She had always encouraged his love of art and music, and his natural inquisitiveness. She understood him, in a way that no one else ever seemed to. She understood the intense desire to feel. She understood the longing for connection. His father didn't understand. He never had. "Young men, should concentrate on reality; not ephemeral things." his father had used those words time and again. Then he had droned on and on, about how his destiny and duty required him to remain detached. His father had done his best to break the very traits that Rupert's mother had nurtured.

This atmosphere had produced a quiet, deeply introspective young man. He learned early, that if he were to do well in his studies, and stay out of his father's way, he could mostly avoid the endless lectures. So he had become a scholar. He discovered that he had a knack for languages. He enjoyed them as well, so that was no real hardship. He had few friends. It was his concession to his fathers detachment policy. He couldn't remain detached with friends. He simply wasn't capable of it, so he had chosen not to have any. Instead, he had nurtured his relationship with his mother. They were very close. Rupert told her everything in his life. He told her of his dreams, that one day he would be allowed to love, to feel. He told her of his wish to sing. He told her how he dreaded becoming what his father was, dreaded joi the the Council. He feared it was the Council which had made his father into the cold, unfeeling man he knew, and wanted to avoid the same fate.

For her part, Catherine Giles told her son as much as he told her. She spoke of her long abandoned dreams of becoming an actress, of feeling the love and devotion of thousands each night. She told of her own growing disillusionment with the job her husband performed. She told him how frightened she was every time his father was called away on business. She knew that every time, there was a chance that he would never return to her. She also told him about how she was deemed "different" as a child. She had seen things, things that would happen later or things that had happened before. Later, when she had grown she found she could sometimes interact with these visions. Her own mother had told her it was a gift, one which she would pass to her own child one day. Her husband had told her it was a curse. She said that she had been glad to find that her child was a boy. This "gift" was only passed to the women in her family. Rupert still had magic in him. He had power, power he could learn to use. It wouldn't do for his father to know about his power. His father believed all magic to be Evil. It would make no difference that this magic resided in his son or in his wife. Evil must be destroyed at all costs.

It was this rather solemn y man man, that was awakened early one morning by a phone call. Rupert Giles stumbled to the phone, and answered sleepily, "Hello."

The voice on the other end of the line was heavy with grief, but firmly controlled. "Rupert, son, your mother...She's died." That was it. No explanation was offered, just the cold words. Rupert Giles' only friend and confidante in the world, his mother, was dead.

Rupert remained silent for a long moment. Tears were streaming down his face as he tried to comprehend this news. Finally one strangled word escaped his mouth. "How?"

"We'll discuss that later. Now, just come home." Even the grief that had been there had been cut from his voice this time. No emotion showed through at all.

Rupert was broken. He was too upset to question his father's words at this moment. He quietly agreed to come home. He would be there within the hour.

The next days passed in a haze for Rupert. His grief was total. He was unable to focus or concentrate on much of anything. Tears came quickly and easily. He was lost. The funeral was held. He could barely remember the particulars of it. A childhood friend, Deirdre, had come. He had no other friends to turn to, so in his grief, he allowed her to comfort him. She had stood at his side at the funeral, holding his hand.

The following day, his senses began to return to him. There was still a raw pain, just below the surface, but he was able to function again. That morning, he went to his father. He needed to know what had taken his mother from him. He entered his father's study, and waited to be acknowledged.

After a moment his father looked up from his papers. "Rupert, I see that you are feeling a little better. Can I do something for you?"

"Tell me how she died." The words sounded cold and a little harsh to Rupert's ears. His father would probably approve of the tone.

"Of course, I simply didn't think you were up to it before. Rupert, did you know that your mother was dabbling with magics?" He paused looking for a response.

It took only an instant, for Rupert to examine past conversations and draw conclusions. "My God, you killed her."

His father almost managed a look of shock at that. "I did not. I would recommend that you hear facts before you make accusations. The magic killed her. I assume you knew then." The tone was even colder than his usual.

"No, I didn't, but I suspected. I don't believe you. You've told me so many times. Magic is evil, and evil must be destroyed. And you, never waver from your precious principles do you Father." The words were spat out, venom dripping from every one.

"That is true. I would have made every effort to have stopped your mother's activities if I had known of them. Magic always draws from dark forces, it is not to be trifled with. But I did not kill her. Her own work killed her." His father tried to reason with him.

"Of course. I still don't believe you, you understand. I will be leaving now. Don't look for me. Stay away from me."

"Rupert, you have a duty. You have a calling with the Council. Your role as a watcher is your birthright as a Slayer's calling is hers. You can't turn your back on the Council." The voice was commanding now.

Rupert answered his anger and contempt evident. "I both can and I will. You took away the only thing that was ever good in my life. You did it, and the Council of Watchers made you what you are. I won't find a place with them. I refuse that destiny." With that he turned and left. He didn't wait for an answer. He wouldn't listen to the reasoning and the arguments. He knew what they would all be anyway. Why bother listening to them. He would leave. He would turn his back on his father's world, and honor his mother the only way he knew how. He would follow their dreams. His own dreams of musnd mnd magic, of feeling and passion and her dream of the love of thousands. He would live that life. He wouldn't turn away from it.

Rupert Giles took a few things from his room, mostly reminders of her. He also went to her room and took three items: her journal, a ring that her own mother had given her, and a small locket with both of their pictures. He would keep these things. He then left the house. He didn't look back.

He drove to his small apartment near Oxford and packed a few things there. He was leaving school as well as his family and the Council. He took a small piece of paper from his pocket. His old friend Deirdre had given it to him, the day of the funeral. It seemed that she had moved to London. It was a phone number, she had said to call if he needed anything. He hoped that she meant it. He dialed the number and waited. After several rings, her voice came on the line. "Hello."

"Deirdre, it's Rupert. I need a place to stay. Can you help me?"