0_Ruthless_0 (0_ruthless_0) wrote in summer_of_giles,

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Ripper Season 1 Episode 1 (Fic)

Word count: 7,336
Details: Written script-style, although I’m afraid I draw the line at fully capitalizing every name before speech. Again, I experiment with a slightly different style of writing, in an attempt to keep things fresh.
Rating: PG-13/15; about on par with an episode of Buffy.
Warnings: Occasional use of the f-word, some slang scattered throughout, and Buffy-style violence, nothing to OTT. (Laughing) Umm, do I warn for the fact that there will be no slash, when that’s usually my forte, too?

Ripper 1.1) Siren Song



Camera moves down a dark empty street, in the middle of the road. No moon or stars are visible, and the shops on either side of the street are obviously old and little-used.

We move between a pair of street lamps and the camera angles down towards the ground, to show a large bloodstain, and a trail leading away from it. Following the trail with what feels like a walking motion we approach a narrow alleyway between two shops, moving towards the back of a young man who has short, brownish hair and is dressed in a leather jacket and black jeans.

He is leaning against the side of the nearest building, keeping out of sight of the scene happening down the alleyway, observing.

We move past him, without turning to look, and towards three vampires, standing in a semi-circle, facing out towards the street. Three bodies are just visible in the shadows behind them. They are looking down towards a grey-haired middle-aged man who is on the ground before them. He is obviously scared.

The one in the centre, who is dressed in smart, sensible tweed, and has light brown hair that’s just beginning to go grey at the edges drops into a crouch, and grabs his victim’s hair, tilting his head back to expose his throat.

Said, softly: Shh, shh, shh. It won’t hurt. Well (expression changes to a wide grin) not for me, anyway.

Camera moves backwards, aiming towards the vampires as the leader bites at his throat, and the other two take a wrist each. Stops near the mouth of the alleyway, and turns sharply to show the person that we went past before. He is wearing a white shirt under the jacket, and heavy steel-capped boots. There is just enough light that we can see his eyes are green. This is our first look at Rupert ‘Ripper’ Giles, and he appears indifferent to the scene before him.

Speaks softly, so that he doesn’t draw attention to himself.

Giles: Well, bugger that. Like hell I’m stepping into that.

Turns and slips out of the alleyway, and we watch his retreating back.



Camera moves in towards a set of wrote-iron gates which stand open. Gates are left their natural colour, and set into the centre of an archway in a brick wall.

Moves through and pans out and we see:


A massive sprawling stone building that is four levels high, fencing and building itself are old grey brickwork, crumbling at points but that just adds character. The grounds at the front consist of a large, grassy yard and several huge oak trees, which have seats under them. Windows have wooden frames, and only enough paintwork to keep them in one piece. A sign on the building proclaims that this is ‘Harrison’s Academy of Higher Learning, est. 1754’.

Boys, dressed in grey trousers, white undershirts, blazers that have the school crest on the left side of the chest, with black and red striped ties are walking towards the school, in twos and threes, with the occasional loner.

Camera drops in towards one such pair, moves out around the shoulder of one of them, and facing back towards them begins to move with them as they mount the stairs to the school.
Boy one has dark hair, and is of medium height and build. We recognize him from last night as our alleyway watcher. Boy two is taller and greyhound thin, with lanky black hair and dark brown eyes. He has a slight jerkiness to his gait, almost a twitch. This is something that disappears when he is running. Both have black bags worn over one shoulder.

Boy Two: So did you hear about Wickham, Giles?

Giles: What do you think, Randal Addams? Biggest news of the day probably, and you think what, that I slept in and missed it?

Addams: Wouldn’t have been surprised. It’s not like you’re not out until all hours, is it? Hell of a rough way to go, don’t you think? I heard that evidence points to three of them at once.

Giles: Wickham was a coward and a fool.

Addams: Haven’t you ever heard the old saying ‘speak no ill of the dead?’

Giles: But it’s the truth. He’d have been better served turning tail and running, like he usually bloody would have. It was foolish to think that he could take on three vampires at once, when he refuses to acknowledge magic, and it was a fool’s decision that got him killed. They’re probably five times as strong as us. I wouldn’t have waded into that situation, and I reckon you’d have more intelligence then that, too.

Addams: But he did it to try and save lives.

Giles: Oh, yes, those innocent bloody bodies. They were dead well before he got there, mate. No point in trying to save a corpse, is there? Especially not at the cost of your own life. Better to stay alive and tell someone else exactly what happened, rather than leaving it to guesswork.

Addams (pausing to stare at Giles): You know something I don’t?

Giles: I knew Wickham. Half the bloody school knew him.

Addams: I know you. Have done since we were five. I know when there’s something you’re not saying, either.

Giles (after a pause): Wickham was as good as dead, himself, when I came across the scene as well. Those ‘people’ that he was trying to save looked like they’d been dead for a while.

Addams: Blooded?

Giles: No idea. Didn’t get that close, did I? Suppose not, though, if their corpses were still there this morning.

Addams: So damned logical, Giles.

Giles: Keeps me alive, doesn’t it?

Addams: I’ll bet the Council love that attitude of yours.

Giles (Looking furious): Don’t you bloody talk about what you don’t know anything about.

Giles turns to face Addams fully, raising his fists. Addams raises both hands, palms outwards in a defensive gesture, as he takes a couple of steps back.

Addams: Sorry, Rupert. I’m sorry. It was an honest slip.

Giles punches his left fist into the palm of his right hand, flexes his shoulders and then relaxes his stance.

Giles: Anyone else, and I’d have decked you.

Addams: I know. You’d have had the right to, too. I’m sorry.

Giles (following a slight hesitation): Forgiven. Just don’t let it happen again.

The boys keep walking, an uneasy silence falling between them as they mount the stairs to the second level, which are at the far end of the hallway that leads to the left of the entrance. The flooring and walls are dark, polished wood, with windows set along it at regular intervals. The second level is exactly the same, with classrooms branching off at regular intervals.

As they come to a halt outside the forth door along Addams breaks the silence.

Addams: So, were you going to go to Latin today then?

Giles: Nah, it’ll be Michaels, who takes over, and I’ve known left from right, yes from no and demons from dogs since… well, actually since about the time I met you. Besides, Michaels has no association with the Council, does he?

Addams: You’re right about that.

Giles: So, he can’t do anything to me, can he?

Addams: Could always give you a detention.

Giles: And the Council would overrule it. I’ve better things to be learning than how to write lines.

Addams: The cane?

Giles: Parker doesn’t like using that even for the worst offenses. It’s a chance I’m willing to take.

Addams opens the door, and hesitates.

Addams (with a grin, over his shoulder): I’ll see you at lunch then on the fourth floor, and then we’ll head around to the boundary around the back of the school?

Giles: You can bet on that, my friend.

Camera stays in place as Addams goes into the classroom and closes the door, then turns to focus on Giles as he goes into the room two doors down.

Fade to black

A room comes into view. It is a large, open room with a rectangular dark oak table set in the centre, illuminated by electric lighting and two windows set into the far walls. Tapestries hang on the walls, depicting scenes of demons facing men and girls, with scenes of disaster behind them. There are also several shelves lined with very old books that are locked onto the shelves by bars that sit across the spines of them, without obscuring titles. The bars are padlocked at either end, and if you look closely you can see faint sparks of magic arching out from the books, to stop anyone who doesn’t have permission from taking them down.

Every seat at the table, apart from the one at the head of it is filled, mostly by men although there are four women scattered around.

Man 1 (Euan Thomas), sitting to the immediate left of the head of table clears his throat.
Thomas: So, other than the unfortunate (hesitation) passing of Wickham, and the matter of who will be assigned his Potential, did we have any other main items to discuss before we move on to the more mundane subjects?

A murmur of ‘No, Sir’ goes around the table.

Thomas: Right, then. So, moving on. How are our new recruits coming along?

Woman 1 (Abigail Jones) who is sitting halfway down the table sits forward.

Jones: From what I’ve heard they’re living up to all expectations. There are a few that are above the cut as usual, and a couple that we need to have a serious talk with. I’d say that both Addams and Winchester are ready for personal tutoring.

Thomas: What of the Giles boy? You informed me last time that you felt he was ready as well, yet I haven’t heard a thing about it since.

Jones: We’re keeping a close eye on Giles. It’s true that his intelligence leaves little to be desired, but since his father’s unfortunate demise his attitude has changed, and not for the better. Magickally speaking, he’s powerful, too. Such a combination leaves me reluctant to sign off on the order. If he’s… unwilling to follow instruction, then there’s a risk in furthering his skill. I’m not sure that the boy’s mother can keep him in line particularly well, either.

Thomas (nodding): Very well then. Have you any suggestions?

Richard Davies (near the foot of the table): May I, Sir?

Thomas: Go ahead, Davies.

Davies: With all due respect, Adrian Giles’s death hit all of us hard. The boy has more right then any of us to react to it, and considering the manner of it, I feel that he is showing remarkable restraint for… (falls silent under Thomas’s glare)

Brian Travers (the other side of the head of the table): We don’t need remarkable restraint (saying the words with a tone of sarcasm) what we need is obedience. These self-indulgent behaviours that he is exhibiting must be curbed, for all our sake. If he truly has the potential for power that he seems to be exhibiting, then he could become a risk if he is uncontrollable. A risk is something the must be contained. It is my suggestion that we give him another week, and if by that time he hasn’t shown a marked improvement then we should consider removing him to our care.

Thomas: A sensible suggestion, as usual Travers. I’ll bring it up with Williams once he’s recovered from this latest bout of illness.

(A hushed voice, from down the table, as one of the other women speaks): Are we sure, in light of this, that he’s still capable of handling the unique pressures of this job?

Thomas (scathing): Are we entirely sure that you are intelligent enough to handle your position, Miss Sachs?

There is no reply. She looks taken aback.

Thomas: Well, if there are no further items on the agenda?

Again, a muttering of ‘No, Sir’ goes around.

Thomas: Then you’re dismissed. Aside from you, Miss Sachs. I’d be appreciative if you would remain behind.

The rest of the Council members rise and file out of the room. Camera stays on them until the door shuts, then turns and focuses on Sachs, who has stood and is waiting behind her chair. Thomas closes his file, and stands before finally looking at her.

Thomas: This isn’t the first time you’ve overstepped your boundary.

Sachs: I’m concerned. That’s not a crime, is it? I was under the impression that the Council was a democracy, not a dictatorship.

Thomas: Need I remind you how tentative your position as a member of the High Council is? Or of how you were elected to it, in spite of certain misgivings?

Sachs: No, Sir. I remember well enough.

Thomas: Well, I’m glad to hear that. Perhaps in light of that, you’ll be able to find a satisfactory explanation to give to Williams.

Sachs (hesitant): I… I’m sorry, Sir?

Thomas: Williams. You can explain your concerns to him in person.

Sachs: But if he’s not well…

Thomas: He’s well enough to listen. Now come along.

Sachs: Yes, Sir.

Camera turns, tracking them across the room and stays in position as Thomas holds the door open for her to leave before him.


A loose group of boys are gathered around a window in a student lounge on the forth floor, smoking. We see Giles leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and his eyes half closed, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He takes a deep drag, and blows the smoke out of his nose, before raising a lazy hand to the smoke and taking it away from his mouth.

A boy with his black hair cut down to a crew-cut, and skin that has an almost golden tan comes up the stairs, looks around and wrinkles his nose in an expression of distaste. At the sound of the tread he opens his eyes fully.

Giles (coldly): Winchester. What the hell are you doing creeping around up here? Last I checked you lived in the library.

Winchester: You think I’d have come up here if I could help it? In matter of fact I’m looking for you.

Giles (mocking): Because we’re such close friends?

Winchester: Because you were instructed to come to the library at the start of the lunch break, to talk with Stephen. You didn’t show, so I was given the menial task of tracking you down and making sure that you attended. Come along Giles, I can assure you that I don’t want to spend any more time in your company than you do mine.

The other boys look towards them with interest.

Giles: I don’t need to talk to a sodding psych, so you can just forget it.

Winchester: All that you are jeopardising by refusing to cooperate is your own future.

Giles puts the cigarette back into his mouth, and in one smooth movement grabs Winchester by the front of his shirt at the shoulders and bundles him back into the wall. Throwing a forearm across his throat and leaning in slightly he grabs the cigarette again and holds it near his cheek.

Giles (voice low, and pissed off): I don’t want to tell you again mate. Fuck. Off. I’ll do it in my own bloody time, and not a moment before.

The camera circles to the other side of them and pulls back to show the rest of the boys looking at Giles and Winchester warily. This is someone who has proven in the past that he’s not to be messed with.

Sound of footsteps pounding down the hallway and Addams runs into the shot.

Addams (tone even, placating): Giles? Giles let him go. That burke isn’t worth it, Giles. He’s not worth your expulsion, or anything else for that matter. Just let him go, yeah?

Giles takes a deep breath, and lowers his hands to his sides as he steps back, visibly trembling.

Giles: Get out of my sight, Winchester.

Keeping his back to the wall and his gaze on Giles, Winchester edges along the wall of the room. He pauses in the doorway.

Winchester: I’ll bring them down on your head for threatening me, Giles.

Giles (snarling): You can try.

Winchester turns and storms out of the room. Giles turns his attention from his back and to the rest of the room.

Giles: What the hell are the rest of you staring at, huh? Forgot how to turn away?

The closest to him shakes his head and looks away.

Boy #1 (sounding respectful): Sorry. It’s just… Ripper Giles lives up to his name, you know? Quite a show you put on.

Giles: Wasn’t for your bloody benefit, Stephen. So stuff it.

Addams steps a little closed to Giles.

Addams: Shall we?

Giles looks around coldly.

Giles: Lets. Well past time we blew this joint today.

Giles raises his cigarette back to his lips, and lights it again, taking a deep drag as he walks over to the door, Addams falling into step behind him.

Addams (pausing at the door, spoken cockily): Later, gents. Much, much later.


Library is a massive room, shelves that reach to the ceiling stacked with books. There are a couple of hanging chandeliers on either side of the room, in the centre of the ceiling, and in spite of the fact that it is fully fitted with electric lights the old brackets that once held candles are still on the wall that is unadorned at regular spacing. This room, too, continues the tradition of beautiful dark wood and walling, and the light shining in through the window slants through leaving patches that are almost painfully bright on the spines of books.

Stephen, a man with a ruddy complexion, ginger hair and a close-clipped moustache is waiting over the far side of the room. Winchester approaches slowly, looking down at the ground in front of him, rather than at Stephen.

Winchester (just in sight) slows his run to a walk, as he comes into the room. Stephen looks up at him.

Stephen: So, you’re back. How far is Giles, behind you? Or did you overestimate your own ability, boy?

Winchester (biting back an angry snap): I didn’t overestimate anything.

Stephen (knowingly, not quite a mock): Then I trust he will be along presently?

Winchester slinks across the ground and pulls out the chair from the table nearest Stephen, sinking down onto it still staring at the ground near Stephen’s feet.

Winchester: It… it’s not quite that simple, I’m afraid.

Stephen: The way I see things, he’s either coming or he’s not. From everything I see he’s not, is he? Would you care to tell me what happened?

Winchester (shrugging): Giles happened, didn’t he? I approached him, and told him he was expected, and he turned on me. That bloke is seriously mental, I tell you.

Stephen (thoughtful): Now tell me, knowing what you do of his recent circumstances, did you approach him or confront him?

Winchester: It’s possible that I came over as confrontational, I suppose. Although all I did was talk to him, honestly. He didn’t have any call to react the way he did.

Stephen (coolly): So how exactly did he react, Winchester.

Winchester: Threw me back, threatened to burn me, and told me to fu… get lost. If Addams hadn’t happened along when he did, then I’m not sure where it would have gone.

Stephen: Where exactly are they now?

Winchester: I don’t bloody know, do I? I didn’t exactly hang around to follow them. Ripper told me to shove off, and at the time listening to him seemed rather proactive.

Stephen: So, essentially he could be anywhere, is what you’re saying.

Winchester: Why the hell are you worrying about where he is, and not what he’s done?

Stephen: It’s not a boy’s place to question his elders and betters, Winchester. You can rest assured that he will regret his actions. But we can not do anything to curb him if we don’t know where he is.

Winchester: He’ll be back, once he’s cooled off.

Stephen (looking at him pointedly): I think you’d best go and start preparing for your next class, hadn’t you?

Winchester stands and pushes the chair in, nodding to him.

Winchester: Yes, Sir. I suppose I ought to.

Stephen: Good lad. Don’t you go worrying about Giles? Leave it to those who are paid to.

Winchester leaved the library, and as we draw back from Stephen he is frowning and muttering to himself, although we can’t hear the words properly. We faintly catch the end of one sentence.

Stephen: …not going to like this….


The wall around here is in a bad state of repair. It’s grey brickwork just like the rest of it, but chunks have come away or been removed in a clear pattern. The grass is worn down to the earth at the base. It’s clear that students have been getting out through here for a long time.

Addams: Did you want to go first?

Giles: The pleasure is all yours, Rand.

Addams (grabbing the first handhold): Don’t mind if I do, old chap.

Laughing to himself Addams hoists climbs up the wall and swings his legs over the top, dropping down smoothly over the other side. Grinning, Giles follows him up and over, landing in a crouch beside Addams.

Giles straightens himself, and Addams leans against the wall for moment, staring out towards the trees that are growing over this side. Most of them have been here as long as the school has, too.

Addams: He said he was going to bring them down on your head. You’re not concerned in the slightest?

Giles: Tell me, what difference would it make whether I was concerned or not? Besides, it’s not like they’re going to write me off, is it? As for the whole ‘personal tutor’ deal, I’m honestly not sure that there’s much more that they could show me that I wouldn’t be able to work out for myself, anyway.

Addams stretches his arm, resting it in the crock of his elbow and then does the same to the other before he rolls his head from one side to the other, giving himself time.

Addams (shaking his head): What I wouldn’t give for your self-confidence…

Giles begins to walk, winding his way through the trees, and Addams settles into his usual place half a step behind him.

Giles: Should we take this conversation over to The Drum? Have a liquid lunch?

Addams: Sounds like a good plan to me. Race you?

Giles doesn’t reply, but instead moves smoothly from a walk to a run, and Addams follows suit, passing him within thirty seconds. As soon as he’s drawn ahead properly he glances back.

Addams: Last one buys.

Giles (speeding up): That’s not bloody fair.

Addams: Hadn’t you best save your breath for the run?


The Drum is the same as any cheep pub that you stumble into. There’s a long bar, of lacquered, stained wood marred by the round rim-stains of countless mugs. The idea of coasters has obviously never occurred to the bartender.

In spite of this, there are massive windows which are completely clean, as well as a huge skylight. Engraved above the door are words which are repeated on the outside too. The words state ‘Enter only ye of warm blood and heartbeat’. There is no way that a vampire can trespass, as by those words and the Latin above them this isn’t a public building.

The door is thrown open and Addams bursts in, Giles’s hands on his shoulders trying to tug him back. Both are laughing as Giles closes the door, and Addams pulls out two stools and slides onto one of them. Giles sits to his left.

Giles: You dirty bloody cheat.

Addams: So you’re the dog’s bollocks? You couldn’t have beaten me, even fair and square.

Giles: Probably not. But it wasn’t fair, so it’s void. Dug your own, there, mate.

Addams: Split the tab? I’ve a bit of bread on me. You?

Giles: I’ve enough.

The tender comes out, having heard the sound of voices. He is a tall, lanky man who doesn’t look as though he’s seen a decent meal or washed his hair any time in the last few years. His hair is a dull brown, which hangs down to his shoulders, but his eyes are a warm blue, and when he smiles, like he does now it lights his whole face up.

Tender: Afternoon, boys. No class today?

Giles (returning his smile): Something like that, James. Hit us with the usual, will you?

James: Depends. Bring that high quality I.D with you?

Giles grins and pats at his pocket, glancing over to Addams who pulls his out for a brief moment.

Addams: Have we ever let you down, man?

James grabs two bottles from under the counter and cracks them open, before sliding them open.

James: So, is this business-related or did you just need a bit of downtime?

Giles (after taking a long drink from the bottle, and putting it down half-empty): Bit of both, I guess.

James places another pair of bottles on the counter, as Addams follows Giles’s example.

James: Well, I’ll leave the two of you to it, head back to my lunch if you don’t mind. Just give us a yell when you’re ready.

Giles: Thanks. We will.

Giles stares at James’s back as he turns and heads back through to his private room. When he is gone Addams twists around in his chair to face Giles.

Addams: So, would you care to tell me what’s been getting up your nose lately?

Giles: Nothing new, Randal. I’m simply getting rather fed up with everyone trying to tell me how exactly I ought to be living my life, and what exactly it is that I should be feeling. How the hell does anyone know what I should or shouldn’t be doing, or feeling, or…or…
Addams: Take a breath, Ripper. You’ll find it easier to talk, then, I’m sure.

Giles (after taking a deep breath): You’re right Addams. After that I find it far easier to tell you that you’re a bastard.

Addams: Hey, that’s a reputation that I’ve worked hard for.

Giles: Don’t I know it?

Addams: You know you can’t keep on like this.

Giles: I do know. I just with they’d give me time, maybe a bit of a break, you know? I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve damned near bent myself over backwards for them, and they can’t give me a single fucking break, after I discover my own father’s body, inside the walls of their impenetrable fucking Council, to boot. I need the space to process, not them shoving their bloody psych at me.

They fall into silence and finish off the first bottles. Addams grabs one of the others and pops the top off against the side of the table then pushes it towards Giles, then opens the other one for himself. Giles sits, with his fingers linked together around the back of the bottle, thumbs around the front, simply staring at it.

Addams (sighing): so, any idea of the nature f the hornet’s nest that you’ve booted this time?

Giles: Do you have any idea how often I’ve had to copy out ‘Lester’s Guide to Conduct’ over the last year?

Addams: At last count wasn’t it around eighteen?

Giles: Nineteen. I think you were off on that camp the last time.

Addams: So you think it’ll be the same old, same old?

Giles (after taking a mouthful): I don’t bloody know. Probably not. God, I can close my eyes and read whole chapters of the damned book. It’s a wonder I don’t go to sleep reciting it, sometimes.

Addams: You do know that the best way to get them to leave you alone would be to follow their rules to the letter?

Giles: You honestly think that I can be arsed?

Addams: No, I don’t. But the theory is a sound one.

Giles: I’ll not refute that. Are you getting used to theory, Addams?

Addams: No, I’m just a good actor.

Giles laughs slightly at that. Addams sips at his drink, and eyes Giles over the top of his bottle.

Addams: You’ll let me know how things fair after they bring the hammer down on you.

Giles: I will. As far as I see it, the fact that you think they will bring the hammer down is all the more reason to get good and pissed today.

Addams: There’s the Giles I know. Drink up now, like a good boy.

Giles tilts his head back and skulls the rest of his drink, puts it down, then reaches over and snatches Addams bottle from out of his hand, with a grin.

Addams: Hey, that’s…

Giles: Not fair?

Giles takes a draught from the bottle, and then pushes it back over, rolling his eyes.

Giles (calling out): Next, please.

Addams sits quietly, as James comes back out and fishes of another four bottles, which he leaves on the counter-top. He finishes off what little beer Giles left him in his bottle, and Giles cracks the next two. James goes back out to his room.

Addams: You know, I never heard. Did they get the one that… well, did it?

Giles: No. They locked the building down, but it must have been long gone.

Addams: I know I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry. Truly, Rue, I am.

Giles: You know no one else has ever actually bothered to say that to me?

Addams: Oh, come on, I’m sure that’s not true.

Giles: It is, though. Everyone so bleeding eager to tell me to hurry up and get over it that they don’t stop to think that some fore of sympathy might make a difference.

Giles (glaring at him): Don’t you bloody look at me like you pity me, either. That’s the last thing I need.

Fade out, with Addams looking at Giles.


It’s just before dawn. A tiny spot of grey light is just visible where the curtains meet in the centre, one wall is lined with a shelf and books, a bottle of whiskey stands in the corner near the bed, a large pine desk that’s under the window is covered with scattered schoolbooks, and a few of his own in a haphazard pile to the side of them, and the rest of the wall have band posters and magical symbols painted on the walls. Giles is fast asleep, resting on his side sith his arms flung wide out to either side.

He starts and opens his eyes, at the sound of pounding on the door.

Giles (voice rough from sleep): What the hell did you want?

He looks visibly shocked as the door is opened and the intruder snaps it light on, leaving him squinting upwards in a harsh, yellow glare. It is someone who is obviously a member of the Council, judging by his dress. We recognize him as one of the men who was around the tale at the High Council meeting. Giles swings out of the bed and stands, wearing only a pair of boxers. In spite of this, he still balls his hands into fists and does his best to look threatening.

Giles: What the hell gives you the right to come barging into my room, without so much as a by-your-leave?

Stewart: Your own actions give me the right to, Giles. Did you think that we wouldn’t hear about the way that you threatened Winchester yesterday, ignored the meeting that we scheduled for you, and then walked out for the rest of the day?

Giles (sounding incredulous): Excuse me? I fail to see when my actions are your business, especially when I didn’t agree to see your psychiatrist in the first place.

Stewart: Do you think that we care about what you did or didn’t agree to? Your place is to follow instructions, not to dictate your own circumstances. Surely you must have realised that a reaction like this is well past due.

Giles (narrowing his eyes): An action like what?

Stewart: We’re taking you into our care, Giles. If it is the only way to curb your behaviour and put a stop to your attitude, then we will do it.

Giles: Perhaps I don’t care about the Council and your rules any more. Maybe I just want to live my own life.

Stewart: Did you honestly think that we’d give you a choice, after the work that’s been put into training you? What you care about doesn’t matter. Until you pull you head in, then you’re moving into our care, and that’s where you will remain.

Giles (sounding numb, shocked): But this is my life.

Stewart: No, Giles. It was. We’re putting the paperwork through today. This will be your last day in attendance. You will wait for me after the school day is over, we’ll come back to gather a few of your belongings, then you’ll move in with Kristina and I.

Giles (shaking): You have no right t-t-t-t… to do any of this, you arsehole.

Stewart: I’m sorry, Giles, but we have every right to do this. I know it will be hard on you, but maybe a shock is just what you need.

Giles: But…

Stewart: Once we’re satisfied with your behaviour and your progress then we can discuss a trial return to your mother’s care. In the mean-time though, you only have yourself to blame, I’m afraid.

Giles stutters, speechless.

Stewart: I’ll collect you from the library half an hour after your last class is over, Giles. Please wait for me. All that you can do now is to make this more difficult for yourself.

Turning, he calmly leaves, closing the door behind him.

The camera spins and focuses in on Giles’s face. He has his eyes closed tightly, and as he opens them we see the start of a tear. He swipes it away, and his expression hardens to rage. Beyond rage, even. Storming over to his bag he tips everything out onto the bed, grabs a few books, both his own notes and some older books, from out of the pile and grabs a bag that’s a lot bigger from under the bed. He shoves these texts into it, scans the walls and grabs a few more from off his shelves. He piles up several changes of clothing on top of these, then opens a massive old bible that’s as the end of the shelf, undoes the padlock that’s holding it closed and stares at the cash that’s in several cut-out spaces in it.

Giles (spoken quietly): That’ll do, for now.

He closes the book and locks it again, throwing it into the bag as well, grabs the bottle of whiskey, tucks that into the side pocket, then pulls on his uniform and slips out the door. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs to make sure that there’s no-one in the main library.
When he’s certain of it he opens the door gently, and crosses the room, pulling another seven books from off the shelf, going straights to what he knows that he wants. With the books heavy in his arms he slips back up the stairs and tucks them into the bag as well, adds another layer of clothing to the top of that, including his leather jacket, tosses a couple of bottle of bear in on that, then heads over to the window. Dropping it so that it lands behind the bushes in the garden, he tosses it out the window.

Giving his guitar a longing look, he tucks a few more books into his schoolbag, and goes down the stairs again, making as much noise as he possibly can. At the front cabinet he stops, leaning towards it so that what he is doing is hidden from view as he slips a key from off the loop.

Tucking it into his pocket he leaves finally turns and leaves the house, slamming the door behind him as hard as he can, sending the clearest message that he can.

Sanctum Estate is a three-story Victorian-style home, painted in white. The master bedrooms on the top floor have balconies jutting out from them, and the way that the roof comes out over them gives the appearance that the house might wink at him.

He ducks into the bushes and heads around to under his window, where he grabs the other bag and picks it up, heading over to one of the garages set to the side of the place. The care in it is a common Ford, and it’s clear that it hasn’t been out in a while. Opening the passenger door with the key he swings his bags into it, then opens the driver’s door, and after a few false starts gets the car going.

With an expression that’s hard to read on his face, he backs the car out and gets out so he can close the garage door, slides back into the car, flips the bird to the house, then backs the rest of the way down the drive and pulls out onto the road.


The sun is fully up, when Giles pulls up outside the driveway of the Addams household. In a contrast to the large Giles Estate, this place is a modest red-brick single story affair. The harsh yellow sun glints painfully off the white-painted door, which is adorned with a lions-head knocker, the only personal touch that we can see.

Giles leaves the suitcase in the car, throws his bag over his shoulder and headed up to the door, knocking on it lightly. Thirty seconds later the front door is opened, by a taller, slightly more muscled, grey-haired version of Randal. It’s obvious that this is his father.

Giles: Good morning Mr Addams.

Addams Snr: Good morning Rupert. Would you like to come in? I’ve just boiled the kettle if you’d like a drink, and Randal is just upstairs putting his books into his bag for the day.
Giles nods and goes in through the door as Addams Snr steps to the side.

Giles: Thank-you, Sir.

He heads down the hallway to Randal’s bedroom, something that it’s obvious he’s done countless times before. The only sign that someone sleeps in here is a couple of books that have been left down on the small bedside table. The rest of the room is immaculate.

Going into the room he closes the door behind him. Randal glances up.

Addams: Morning, Rupert. So they didn’t come down too hard on you, then?

Giles grabs Addams’s bag from out of his hands, and places it in the centre of the bed.

Giles: We don’t have the time to talk about it. I’m out of here, and this will be the only chance that you get to come with me. I’ll have to keep my head low for a while after this. But if you want to come with me, then throw a few changes of clothes into that bag and let’s go. If not, then just forget I was ever here today.

Addams (looking edgy, even as he crossed the small room and grabs out some clothing): Where you leaving for?

Giles: Probably make my way to London. It’s as good a place to hide amongst the crowd as any.

He watches coolly.

Giles: So you’re with me, then?

Addams: I’ve been with you since I met you, Ripper. You think I’m going to abandon you, just because you’re stepping outside our usual circles? Besides, if I let you go on your own, then you’ll just get yourself into trouble.

Giles: I didn’t think you would. But it doesn’t make me any less grateful for it.

Addams swings his bag up onto his shoulder and opens the door, leading the way out just as his father comes to the door of the kitchen.

Addams: Tea’s ready, boys.

They nod at one another and head through to the kitchen, where two cups are sitting on the counter.

Giles: Thank-you, Mr Addams.

Addams: Thank-you, father.

They drink the cups as quickly as they can without seeming impolite then they head out the door. Giles points towards the car and Addams tosses his bag and Giles’s over onto the back seat.

Addams: Be dead obvious if we drove all the way there.

Giles: We’re not. We’ll leave the car parked between Downtown and Knoxton, and catch the train from Downtown. We’ll make a couple of stops and changes along the way. If I cast a glamour, that should make it possible to buy tickets without leaving an obvious trail behind us.

Addams: Are you sure you want to do this? What happens if you don’t?

Giles: I hang around here, and the Council take me into their care. Besides, it’s not like there’s much more that I can learn from them that I won’t be able to pick up myself, anyway. I’ve a strong enough grasp of languages, now, to see me through, and I’ve enough cash on me to take care of us until I pick something up in London.

Addams: You seem to have thought this through.

Giles: You can always head back when you want. I’m sure they wouldn’t begrudge you that.

Addams: Without you around it’d be dead boring.


Distance shot of Giles and Addams boarding a train. We sweep in closer, to hear what they’re saying.

Addams: Guess this is it.

Giles: I suppose it is.

Giles flips the bird over his shoulder, grinning, as he mounts the steps.

Giles: Farewell, and fuck you very much.

They both laugh.


By the quality of the light outside it is late afternoon/early evening. The sun has already sunk past the point where it can shine into the room, and we are facing a nervous-looking Thomas. A smooth voice speaks from behind him, although we can’t see the speaker.

Williams: What do you mean he’s gone?

Thomas: I… I… I’m sorry Sir, but I mean just that. The Giles boy is gone. I rung the school; a-apparently he hasn’t been in all day, and neither has the Addams boy. Adrian’s car was found thirty minutes ago, parked between two stations, and we can’t find anyone who recognizes the pictures that we have of them. I’d say they left this morning.

Williams: You’re saying that he was allowed to go into the school today, knowing his behavioural problems? That’s the move of an amateur.

Thomas: With all due respect, Williams, Sir, there was no indication that he would run. It’s true that he had behavioural problems, but that in particular didn’t seem like a risk.

Williams (long-suffering): I am surrounded by imbeciles. (Angry) Look, I don’t care whether there was any indication of it. I want the Giles boy found and I want him found yesterday. Am I making myself clear?

Thomas: Yes, Sir.

Thomas turns to leave, then stops at the door and turns back.

Thomas: If I may ask, why him in particular? I know that he’s potentially powerful, but surely there are other far more willing candidates.

Williams: As may be. However, my reasons for wanting him (angrily, again) are none of your damned business. All that you need to know is that I want him brought back here, and I don’t care what it takes. (Snapped) Now get to it.

Thomas: Yes Sir.

Thomas hurries out the door, and the camera turns to face Williams. In the dying light we recognize him, as the vampire that was down the alleyway at the start.

Williams (spoken softly): Oh, yes, Giles, I will get you back. I have plans for you yet, my boy.
Tags: fic type: gen, fic type: multi-part, rating: pg/frt, z_creator: 0_ruthless_0

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