He has a pile of assorted Latin textbooks in front of him and is skimming each one in turn, occasionally making notes on a sheet of paper next to the stack, even more occasionally remembering to pay some attention to the cup of tea next to the notes. He makes a vague noise of acknowledgment when Emily comes in, but doesn't look up, and a minute later seems to have forgotten all about her.

She picks out a book and walks up to the desk. "Excuse me?"

He looks up from his Latin, blinking with an amicable sort of startlement. "Yes?"

She carefully puts her book down on the counter and drives her hand towards his throat like a knife.

It stops just short, not quite as though she hit a barrier, more as though she lost all her strength in the moment before connecting.

He picks up his tea and takes a sip; his hand only shakes a little.

"No violence in the library," he says mildly.

"Ah. Well, I should have expected the ones that were left would start taking precautions. Bit of a surprise I haven't started having trouble sooner, really."

If she reaches for his wrist in a non-sudden manner is she prevented from grabbing it?

He moves his hand out of the way.

"Is there some purpose to this?"

"You're a Watcher."

Grab his shirt?

She can't quite get a proper grip. He moves back a little, out of easy reach.

"I had noticed that, yes. You may have to be more specific."

"Do you know what happened to the current Slayer's predecessor?"

She vaults over the desk.

Well now she's all over his personal space and instead of answering her question he's spluttering uncomfortably!

But can she finally get a grip on some part of him?

She cannot! But neither can he shove her away very effectively! It is the most awkward wrestling match this world has ever seen.

She hears a hand on the doorknob and fluidly backflips back over the desk before some teenager can get entirely the wrong idea.

A fourteen-year-old girl comes in, open backpack slung over her shoulder. The librarian is intently focused on cleaning his glasses and doesn't acknowledge her. She gives them both a funny look and walks past the desk to browse the shelves.

"I am in point of fact sorry about that," she murmurs, too low for the fourteen-year-old to hear.

These glasses are going to be so clean.

"About which—?" he mutters over the faint squeak of cloth on glass.

"Giving that kid whatever impression made her look at us like that."

"Polite of you."

The glasses are clean enough to have lost their use as a coping mechanism. He puts them back on.

The kid emerges with a book, sits down at the table ten feet away, puts in earbuds, and starts reading while listening to Enya.

"I, unlike your organization, have certain standards of conduct."

...he blinks at her in genuine bafflement.

"Oh don't fucking play innocent with me, I'm the last slayer, the Cruciamentum was on purpose even if fucking up badly enough that the vampire got out and killed everyone I ever loved before I even woke up from those drugs wasn't."

"The what—?!" he says, sufficiently shocked that he forgets to keep his voice down. The kid half-turns to glance at them, then goes back to her book. He continues, quieter but still visibly upset. "That practice was supposed to have been discontinued in 1791! I'm so sorry for your loss—what were they thinking, bringing back that—horrific, wasteful, appalling—"

"It was, apparently, something every Slayer who lived to eighteen has gone through."

For a moment he looks like he is considering murdering the entire Watcher's Council.

Then he takes a deep breath and a fortifying sip of tea and says, "Well, it seems you've solved that problem. What are you planning to do next?"

"--Well, I've been finishing the job, but I suppose if they lied to you I've no reason to kill you in particular. I wonder why they lied, though."

"I doubt I was the only one they lied to. If they've kept doing it all this time and I only just now found out, they would've had to redact the diaries, deceive or recruit the archivists... they might've restricted the information to full Council members, or even senior Council members, and only informed the rest of us as it, ah, came up."

"That seems...somewhat inconsistent with the attitude my Watcher had."

"Oh, Parrish was related to half the senior councilmen, I wouldn't be surprised if he knew ahead of time."

"It wasn't just that, it was--when I confronted him, after, he was willing to take his lumps like a grown-up about messing up the dosage of the knockout drugs, but he acted like I was being unreasonable for objecting to the test itself."

"Yes, well, it was Parrish."

"I suppose."

She sighs.

"I hope I haven't killed too many innocent men and women."

"I would be very surprised if the number was zero. So, again: what are you planning to do next?"

"I was hoping to put off that question as long as possible! I'm a vampire, now, that's why there's a new Slayer--also why it took years after my family died for me to extend my revenge beyond Parrish--and losing my soul lifted the crippling grief but it also made everything boring, it's awful."

"And I suppose you're in no hurry to put it back."

"Oh fuck no. You didn't meet me while I had both a soul and a dead twin, it was--it was bad. It was really really bad."

"Well," he says. "Would you like to meet the new Slayer?"

"Depends. Is she going to try to Slay me?"

"No."

"Then certainly."

"Shouldn't be long." He takes another sip of tea.

"...Given the information I now have, I am sorry I tried to kill you."

"Well, thank you for that."

"You're welcome. Give whatever witch did your protections my compliments, please, those were very nicely done."

"I expect you'll get the chance to tell her yourself."

"Ah. I was going to avoid trying to find out who it was, on the grounds that this might have seemed like a first step towards a very hostile attempt to neutralize them."

"I suppose. But somehow I'm not very worried for her."

He checks his watch.

Right on cue, another teenager walks in. This one is older and more observant; she glances between the librarian, the stranger, and the bystander, pauses a moment, then comes up to the desk.

"Hi," she says to Emily.

"Good afternoon, Eliza. I've just been having a delightfully nonviolent conversation with the former Slayer."

"Hi, I'm a vampire now, please don't Slay me. He said you wouldn't but you know, cards on the table."

"I have no intention of Slaying you. What happened?"

"So there's this thing called the Cruciamentum that apparently the Watcher's Council does to Slayers when they turn eighteen that involves drugging a Slayer to lose consciousness and also her powers, locking her up with a vampire in restraints timed to come off when she wakes up, and see if she manages to kill it.

This would have been an unpleasant enough surprise if it weren't the case that my Watcher fucked up the dose of knockout drugs, and when I woke up the vampire had gotten out and managed to kill my parents and twin sister. I waited until the power-suppressing drugs wore off, tracked him down, ripped his head off, and confronted my Watcher. He was appropriately penitent for the misdosage but very indignant with me for objecting to the test. I killed him a lot more slowly than the vampire, and then obsessively Slayed my way across the continent for the next two years before running into a vampire I couldn't handle, who decided to turn me.

On waking up without a heartbeat, I was freed from the crippling grief of the last two years, but still incredibly pissed off, so I hunted down the Gem of Amara--I wouldn't normally be admitting this to the Slayer but, uh, walking around in broad daylight, bit obvious--took a plane to England, slaughtered the Council, and began hunting down stray Watchers. When I found him," she gestures to Giles, "I discovered that he had excellent protections, which prevented me from killing him long enough for it to be established that he thought the Cruciamentum was abolished centuries ago, so I had no reason to."

"It really says something that one of the least baffling and upsetting things I've ever heard about the Watcher's Council is that they were all suddenly massacred by unknown forces," she remarks.

"Well, if that weren't true, they wouldn't have been suddenly massacred by certain no-longer-unknown forces."

"Yeah. Well. Welcome to Sunnydale. You can thank my aunt Chris for the wards."

"They're very impressive wards, she has my compliments."

"She'll be so flattered!"

"She deserves it."

"Well, yes."

"She a wards specialist or is everything she does this impessive?"

"Wards are definitely her strong suit, but lots of things about her are impressive."

"Nice."

"She's handy to have around!"

"Sounds like it."

The Slayer looks thoughtful.

Shrug. "My sister was studying witchcraft."

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

...Giles is looking at Eliza with a mild, inquisitive suspicion.

"I don't really...miss her. Not since I got turned. But thanks."

"Chris should be here in ten or twenty minutes," she mentions, ignoring Giles's look.

"Does she usually pick you up from school or is she coming for the Watcher in light of there being Watcher-killing forces about?"

"Second thing. Which is also the reason he lives at our house now."

Oh would you look at that it's glasses-cleaning o'clock.

She looks between the two of them and giggles. "So does that mean he's going to move out, forces having been dissuaded from Watcher-killing, oooor?"

"I think that's up to him!"

"It was intended as a temporary measure—I've been missing my books, if I moved them all into your house there'd be no room left for the rest of us—"

"We could convert the guest room to a library."

"Oooh," she trills suggestively.

He mutters an unintelligible but good-natured complaint and cleans his glasses again.

Eliza giggles.

"Are they dating or will-they-won't-they-ing?" Emily asks Eliza.

"I'd describe it as more of a yes-they-clearly-will, but not quite to the actual dating stage yet?"

"Hmm. Alright."

Not so much as a speck of dust will remain.

"Do you have preferred activities other than killing Watchers?"

"I did before my sister died, but my soul seems to have taken most of my ability to enjoy things with it. I still like reading, I guess."

"Well, we've got plenty of books."

"That's good."