hobgoblinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hobgoblinn) wrote2006-12-09 09:03 am
hobgoblinn) wrote2006-12-09 09:03 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Summer 3/9 - Muddling Through
Here's a new version of part 3, also getting ready to go up on ODD/ GRB and Tweedybookguy. I'm going to give Yahoo one more shot, and if it doesn't format readably, I'll post links to here only for the other parts.
Previous parts here:
Summer 1 - Where Do We Go from Here?
Summer 2 - Preparations and Farewells
Summer
Part 3/9 - Muddling Through
A/N: I have deliberately avoided reading fics dealing with this time frame, so as not to have them accidentally influence my own work. But I must give credit where it’s due–I’m almost positive this scene owes a lot to the Virtual Lunatics and their masterful 8th Season of BtVS. Their domestic scenes, and the affection shared by the characters, and just the amazingly good writing and characterization–well, when I grow up, I want to write like that, too. So, thanks, Lunatics, and remember that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I don’t think I’ve crossed into plagiarism, but if I have, I’m really sorry.
(Anyone who hasn’t visited www.virtunalunatics.com should do so at your earliest convenience. And now, on with the Summer….)
****
One week later, Giles sat motionless at the counter in the Summers kitchen, watching the first light of morning peeking through the trees outside the window. He stirred as he heard the tea kettle begin to whistle, and he prepared himself a cup mechanically, much as he had been doing everything for the past 7 days. While he was around the others, he made an effort to behave normally, to engage himself in conversation and shared tasks–household chores, planning ways to keep Dawn’s situation from her father and the authorities, even helping Willow with the thrice-accursed robot, though he felt vaguely ill every time he saw it. But when he was alone, he himself was more robot than man, going through the motions of living.
Willow had left the previous afternoon for Los Angeles. She thought someone should tell Angel in person, especially since they had not been able to reach anyone by phone, and he had agreed that Buffy would have wanted that. He was actually glad she had gone, because she had been quite opposed to his returning home, and he had not had the energy to argue with her. Today, however, he intended to go out to the shop for the day, and sleep in his own bed tonight. He glanced up as Tara joined him in the kitchen.
“Hey, Mr. Giles. You’re up early.” He nodded and took another sip of his tea.
“Good morning, Tara,” he replied. He watched her pulling out the ingredients for pancakes and observed, “You’re doing a wonderful job, here, you know. You and Willow both.”
Tara blushed and ducked her head a little at the praise, but he was pleased on some level to see, not as much as she might have even six months ago. Her growing self confidence was not just a result of her relationship with Willow, but also of her increasing security in the family which had gathered itself together here, and a distant part of him was glad. “Well, you know, j-just trying to keep things as normal as possible, for Dawn,” she replied, with almost no hint of her old stutter. She began measuring the flour into a bowl. “Um, funny shapes or rounds?”
Giles smiled a little at the question, which had become something of a ritual over the past week. “Let Dawn decide,” he suggested, having no preference himself. He watched her pause in her mixing to fill a glass of water and take a pill from the bottle on the counter. “How are your headaches?” he asked gently.
She looked up, her expression guilty and haunted. Growing up in the MacLay family, she was still sometimes uncomfortable when anyone noticed her. And she didn’t want her friends to worry. But Giles’ expression deserved the truth, so she replied, “Better, but still not gone.”
“And the dreams?”
They had all had dreams, but hers had included the dark place in her own mind where Glory’s spell had trapped her. He was not surprised, now that he thought of it, to see her up so much earlier than usual–Willow’s presence had sometimes not been enough to comfort her when she had the dreams. Just a couple of days ago, it had taken all three of them-- Willow, Dawn, and himself to bring her out of it and back to herself. Having Willow gone last night must have been difficult.
Tara shrugged. “The same.” She turned back to her pancake batter, and Giles took another sip of his tea. They lapsed into companionable silence for a few moments.
Tara spoke up. “W-Willow and I were talking before she left. We need to find a way to get the school to accept Dawn’s absences this past couple of weeks, let her make up her work and take her exams, you know? Any ideas?”
Giles sighed. He wished Principal Snyder were still alive, and he could just go bully the stupid git into doing the right thing. He considered for a time.
“Well, we could send a letter from LA, purportedly from ah, from Buffy, stating that a family emergency had arisen and she had forgotten to call the school before departing. We can ask that the school give her assignments to one of us, and upon Dawn’s return we can make arrangements for her to turn in her work and take her exams, perhaps a few weeks into the summer term.”
Tara gave a relieved smile. “I told Willow you would think of something. That would give us time to tutor her, and get her caught up a little. She wasn’t focusing very well even before… before her mom….”
Giles felt a pang, remembering the other loss they had endured so recently. To Tara he said, “Once we see what her assignments look like, we should be able to come up with a study plan for her. We certainly don’t want to be sending her back to school just yet, after all that’s happened.” A new thought struck him. “We also don’t want her spending time with any of her schoolmates, nor being seen by any of them while she’s supposedly away.”
Tara nodded. “I’ll be sure to mention it to Willow when she gets back. And Dawn, when she gets up, though I don’t think she’s in the mood for socializing with her friends just yet.”
“Got that right,” Dawn chimed in from the doorway. She came in and gave Giles a hug as she crossed behind him to open the refrigerator and pour herself a glass of juice.
Tara smiled at her. “Funny shapes or rounds?”
Dawn shrugged. “Surprise me.” She turned to Giles. “What dark plan are you guys hatching today?”
Giles took another sip of his tea before replying. “We’ve decided we need to do something to make things right with your school before they begin to get suspicious over your absence. Not to mention,” he added, with a ghost of a grin playing at his lips, “you really should get an education, or what passes for one in this country.”
Dawn groaned. “It’s almost the end of school anyway. Can’t I just start fresh next year?”
Tara flipped a pancake expertly and said, “If we don’t take care of this now, there might not be a next year. Plus, you’ll be all behind. And possibly taken away from us.”
Dawn looked scared for a minute, then nodded. “Ok, I’m feeling really scholastically motivated all of a sudden.”
Giles beamed at her. “Excellent. That’s settled then.” He lapsed back into silence, and his eyes took on that far away expression they had been noticing more and more of late. Dawn watched him for a moment, frowning, then turned her attention to Tara.
“So I guess going to the mall’s out, too, huh?” Tara smiled fondly at her and handed her a plate of pancakes, but didn’t dignify the weak jest with a reply, only the slightly raised eyebrow that reminded Dawn, for just a moment, of her mom. Giles didn’t act as if he had even heard, though he stirred a little when Tara placed a plate in front of him. He murmured his thanks and began to eat, his eyes still a million miles away.
Dawn nudged him with her elbow until he looked at her. “Um, you want syrup on those?” she asked, handing the bottle to him.
He looked down. “Ah yes. Quite.” He took the bottle and poured. Tara brought her own plate over and joined them, smiling when he offered the bottle to her.
Dawn looked at him, traded a glance with Tara, then asked, “So what’s everybody else doing today?”
When Giles didn’t reply, Tara said, “I’m going to see what I can do about my school situation, and Willow’s. I got a medical leave, so all I really will need is a doctor’s letter, and I should be able to make up my work and take my exams late, kind of like we’re hoping you will. I’m not sure what we’re going to do about Willow.” She paused. “What about you, Giles?”
“What?” He looked up, with the familiar deer in the headlights expression that always made Dawn smile. Giles finished replaying the last question in his mind, then responded, “Oh, I think I’ll go in to the shop today for a few hours. And then home.” He turned his attention back to his breakfast, avoiding the disappointment in Dawn’s eyes, and missing the thoughtful acceptance in Tara’s.
Tara spoke before Dawn could issue a protest. “I think that’s a good idea. That couch can’t be comfortable. And some space might be really good for you.” Giles looked up, surprised, but relieved. Tara continued, “But you still better be over here for dinner. A lot.”
“Yeah,” Dawn added. “You’re teaching me how to cook, remember? You promised.”
Giles smiled ruefully. “Of course. I just need, as you say, some space.”
“Can I come with you?” Dawn asked. “Just to the shop. I kind of could use some space, too,” she confided. Giles nodded, and she favored him with a smile so like her sister’s that it pierced his heart. He turned his eyes back to his plate quickly, before either of his companions could notice the sudden tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
****
Dawn was quiet on the drive over to the shop. Giles parked in his usual spot, but he did not go through the back door, choosing instead to walk through the alley and around the block to the shop’s front door. Dawn followed thoughtfully, and, truth be told, a little relieved that they had not gone through the training room. Buffy’s space. Her bedroom at home stayed closed, too, and Giles had flatly refused her bed the first time he had tried to convince Willow to let him go home, using the uncomfortable couch as his excuse. He was too tall for that bed, Dawn knew. But she also knew it was more than that, and she understood.
They entered the front door of the shop, the bell above the door announcing them to Anya, who was counting the money in the register in preparation for the day’s business. She looked tired, but she smiled to see them both. “Dawn! Giles! Thank the gods. I could really use the help today. It’s been crazy in here….”
As Anya continued to wax poetic on the subject of the effects of dimensional portals opening in downtown Sunnydale on their occult business, Giles walked slowly to the large round table in the middle of the shop. The last time he had seen it, it had been piled high with open books and scraps of parchment, a half-eaten box of donuts, scattered pens and pencils, and various pads of paper with scribbled notes on them. It was now cleared off, and looked as if it had been not only washed, but actually polished. He ran a finger over its smooth surface absently. Anya paused in her recitations of capitalist victories, as she noted the far off look in his eyes. She and Dawn traded a look, and Dawn moved to give her a hug. “Let’s go bring some stuff up from the store-room,” the teenager suggested quietly. Giles did not even notice when they left him alone.
He replayed that awful night in his mind as he rested his hand on the back of a chair. How he had lost his temper with his Slayer, rising from this chair to demand that she consider killing her own sister to save the world. The same sister who had kept him going these past days with her unconditional acceptance and love, who had at times lost her own temper and forced Willow to back off when she got too demanding trying to pull him from his grief back into the world, or when she pushed too hard for information he was unwilling to talk about. Like spells, or speculating on exactly where Buffy had ended up. Like her sister before her so many times, Dawn had risen to this crisis. Giles had enough experience with teenagers from Buffy and her friends, to know that it couldn’t last. And in fact, he didn’t want it to. She was a child, and she shouldn’t be trying to take on adult responsibilities, trying to take care of everyone else around her. But he had to admit he appreciated her efforts, and they only made him feel all the more guilty, when he remembered how ready he had been to take her life for the greater good. And when he admitted, in his innermost heart, how much he wished it had been her death that had stopped the latest apocalypse.
But Buffy had made her choice, and at the moment, he could honor it, and her, by taking care of the only family she had left. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a moment, then replaced them as Anya and Dawn came back into the shop from the basement, carrying a box of chicken feet and other assorted ingredients for the talismans that seemed, from Anya’s incessant commentary, to be in high demand in the wake of the events of that night a week ago. He tuned in and began listening as she was winding down her narrative of the various strange creatures and events their customers had confided they had seen.
When Anya paused and looked expectantly at him, he cleared his throat and gave a tight smile. “Yes, well. Perhaps if you get a little time, today, Anya, you could write down some of this and I could research it….” He realized, from her expression, that research was not going to come remotely close to taking care of what she had been describing. He continued, “…a- and, of course, I’ll call the Council today and see what resources we can get to clean some of this up.” He himself remembered a dragon flying away into the night, just as the portal had closed.
Anya looked slightly mollified. Dawn frowned, and Giles knew she read in his eyes, how little he was looking forward to that phone call, how in fact he had mentioned it several times over the past week but had yet to work up the courage to make it. What would he say? ** Yes, my Slayer’s dead, and unless a new one’s been called, we’re going to have a bloody mess on our hands here at the Hellmouth…** But it had to be done, and now was as good a time as any. He left them to their shelf stocking, while he went over to his desk and began to dial, before he lost his nerve, praying he wouldn’t have to talk to Quentin Travers, his old nemesis and superior, directly.
Of course, Quentin had left strict orders for calls from the Hellmouth to be put through, to his home, if necessary, so calling early only meant that he had a few minutes to wait in silence while the duty officer forwarded the call to Travers. Though he’d sounded a bit bleary at first, when he did hear the news, Giles had been surprised, and touched, that the condolences the older Watcher offered him sounded quite genuine.
“She was the finest Slayer, and woman, I have ever had the honor of knowing, Rupert. I am truly sorry for your loss. And ours.” Travers had agreed to send a few teams from the Council, to clean up the various creatures that had come through the dimensional rifts before Buffy’s death had sealed them up again. He listened with interest as Giles described the robot, and their plans to use it to keep up the pretense that the Slayer was still alive, until the new one could be located and sent. They left unsaid, the fear that a new one would Not be called, knowing that Buffy’s previous death, no matter how short a time before she had been revived, had already called first Kendra, and upon that Slayer’s death, the unstable Faith, now serving what was effectively a life term for murder in a maximum security women’s penitentiary near Los Angeles.
They agreed that they would adopt a wait and see attitude–if a new Slayer had not been activated upon Buffy’s death (and as yet, it seemed this was in fact the case), they would wait until a serious situation developed before getting Faith released to deal with it. Travers said he would send some of his people to evaluate her again, noting that she had shown marked improvement since the last time they had seen her, and that she seemed serious about making amends for her actions. Neither of them had to say, that if Faith had wanted to leave prison, she could, of course, have done so at any time. Giles was surprised to hear in Quentin’s voice, a grudging respect for Faith’s decision to go to prison rather than back to the Council, even as it irked him not to have her under his direct control.
Just before they said their goodbyes, Quentin surprised Giles again. “Um, Rupert…” he began. Giles waited silently, a bemused expression on his face. “I know this must be terribly difficult for you. But we need you to stay there, at least until we get the situation under control again. I imagine it is very painful for you to remain. But once we get things secured, if you would like to come back here for a while, get away from all the memories…. Well. We would be honored to have you.”
Giles knew that as the Watcher of the longest lived and most successful Slayer in recent memory, Quentin’s offer was on one level simply his trying to take advantage of a bad situation. But the man’s tone as he said it still brought a lump to Giles’ throat. Travers was undeniably a pompous ass. And he would just as soon stab Giles in the back as look at him, should he return to London and the Council. But he was also, at heart, a Watcher. And Giles had no doubt Travers understood, on an instinctive level, a level he kept at further than arm’s length most of the time, that the bond between Slayer and Watcher was a profound one. He might only dimly guess what it was Rupert had lost, but even that sounded almost more than the old man could bear.
Giles swallowed hard. “Thank you, Quentin. That’s very considerate of you.” He paused a moment, then said simply, “I should go. Please let me know when your people are due to arrive.” They exchanged goodbyes and Giles replaced the receiver slowly in its cradle. He stared at it a moment, then turned and busied himself helping Anya and Dawn arrange the shelves in preparation for the store’s opening.
A few hours, and a couple dozen or so customers later, after Giles (or Anya) had removed several particularly dangerous items or books from Dawn’s hands as she amused herself while they were occupied elsewhere, Giles firmly steered her to the empty research table. He fixed his eyes, now a watery grey in this light, on the sullen teen. “Dawn,” he began seriously. “I have an important job for you.”
She brightened considerably. ‘Oh, can I do research? Because you know, I am So ready for that….” She wilted a little as Giles gently shook his head.
“More important than even that, I’m afraid,” he replied, and Dawn eyed him warily, reading the hint of amusement behind his expressive eyes.
“Liar,” she pouted, and Giles had to smile, even though the tone, and the facial expression, were so like her sister’s that it took his breath away.
He continued mildly, “More important to me, anyway.” He pulled out a notepad and a pen from behind the counter and placed them before the girl, who now had her arms crossed rebelliously across her chest as she slouched lower in her chair. He reached out and touched her chin, tilting her head until she was forced to look into his eyes. “I need you to do this for me. Will you?”
She rolled her eyes, but she could no more deny him when he asked like that, than her sister had been able to. “Okay, already. What?”
Giles repressed another grin. “I want you to write up for me what classes you were taking at school–not only who taught them, but what you were learning, what you found difficult, what you liked about each one. And where you were when… well, when your life began to become… complicated. So we can see what we need to do to help get you back on track.” He paused, then added, with an appropriately stern expression, “And this is an essay test, not short answer. I really want to know everything you can think of.” His expression softened a little at her scowl, which he could tell was only half serious. She was inwardly thrilled that someone was actually interested enough to ask her to do this. She brightened even more when he added his final statement. “Please.” Her sister had seldom been able to resist it, and he could tell Dawn had the same weakness.
Muttering under her breath, she uncapped the pen and began. He clapped a hand on her shoulder for a moment, then went back to assist Anya with an overweight and quite unpleasant professional woman who wanted something to banish bad dreams. If only he had anything that could really help, he thought. He’d try it himself. He pasted on a pleasant expression and intercepted his associate before Anya could say something tactless. And, so far as they knew, the remainder of the day passed without notable incident.
Summer 4 - The Business of Living
Previous parts here:
Summer 1 - Where Do We Go from Here?
Summer 2 - Preparations and Farewells
Summer
Part 3/9 - Muddling Through
A/N: I have deliberately avoided reading fics dealing with this time frame, so as not to have them accidentally influence my own work. But I must give credit where it’s due–I’m almost positive this scene owes a lot to the Virtual Lunatics and their masterful 8th Season of BtVS. Their domestic scenes, and the affection shared by the characters, and just the amazingly good writing and characterization–well, when I grow up, I want to write like that, too. So, thanks, Lunatics, and remember that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I don’t think I’ve crossed into plagiarism, but if I have, I’m really sorry.
(Anyone who hasn’t visited www.virtunalunatics.com should do so at your earliest convenience. And now, on with the Summer….)
****
One week later, Giles sat motionless at the counter in the Summers kitchen, watching the first light of morning peeking through the trees outside the window. He stirred as he heard the tea kettle begin to whistle, and he prepared himself a cup mechanically, much as he had been doing everything for the past 7 days. While he was around the others, he made an effort to behave normally, to engage himself in conversation and shared tasks–household chores, planning ways to keep Dawn’s situation from her father and the authorities, even helping Willow with the thrice-accursed robot, though he felt vaguely ill every time he saw it. But when he was alone, he himself was more robot than man, going through the motions of living.
Willow had left the previous afternoon for Los Angeles. She thought someone should tell Angel in person, especially since they had not been able to reach anyone by phone, and he had agreed that Buffy would have wanted that. He was actually glad she had gone, because she had been quite opposed to his returning home, and he had not had the energy to argue with her. Today, however, he intended to go out to the shop for the day, and sleep in his own bed tonight. He glanced up as Tara joined him in the kitchen.
“Hey, Mr. Giles. You’re up early.” He nodded and took another sip of his tea.
“Good morning, Tara,” he replied. He watched her pulling out the ingredients for pancakes and observed, “You’re doing a wonderful job, here, you know. You and Willow both.”
Tara blushed and ducked her head a little at the praise, but he was pleased on some level to see, not as much as she might have even six months ago. Her growing self confidence was not just a result of her relationship with Willow, but also of her increasing security in the family which had gathered itself together here, and a distant part of him was glad. “Well, you know, j-just trying to keep things as normal as possible, for Dawn,” she replied, with almost no hint of her old stutter. She began measuring the flour into a bowl. “Um, funny shapes or rounds?”
Giles smiled a little at the question, which had become something of a ritual over the past week. “Let Dawn decide,” he suggested, having no preference himself. He watched her pause in her mixing to fill a glass of water and take a pill from the bottle on the counter. “How are your headaches?” he asked gently.
She looked up, her expression guilty and haunted. Growing up in the MacLay family, she was still sometimes uncomfortable when anyone noticed her. And she didn’t want her friends to worry. But Giles’ expression deserved the truth, so she replied, “Better, but still not gone.”
“And the dreams?”
They had all had dreams, but hers had included the dark place in her own mind where Glory’s spell had trapped her. He was not surprised, now that he thought of it, to see her up so much earlier than usual–Willow’s presence had sometimes not been enough to comfort her when she had the dreams. Just a couple of days ago, it had taken all three of them-- Willow, Dawn, and himself to bring her out of it and back to herself. Having Willow gone last night must have been difficult.
Tara shrugged. “The same.” She turned back to her pancake batter, and Giles took another sip of his tea. They lapsed into companionable silence for a few moments.
Tara spoke up. “W-Willow and I were talking before she left. We need to find a way to get the school to accept Dawn’s absences this past couple of weeks, let her make up her work and take her exams, you know? Any ideas?”
Giles sighed. He wished Principal Snyder were still alive, and he could just go bully the stupid git into doing the right thing. He considered for a time.
“Well, we could send a letter from LA, purportedly from ah, from Buffy, stating that a family emergency had arisen and she had forgotten to call the school before departing. We can ask that the school give her assignments to one of us, and upon Dawn’s return we can make arrangements for her to turn in her work and take her exams, perhaps a few weeks into the summer term.”
Tara gave a relieved smile. “I told Willow you would think of something. That would give us time to tutor her, and get her caught up a little. She wasn’t focusing very well even before… before her mom….”
Giles felt a pang, remembering the other loss they had endured so recently. To Tara he said, “Once we see what her assignments look like, we should be able to come up with a study plan for her. We certainly don’t want to be sending her back to school just yet, after all that’s happened.” A new thought struck him. “We also don’t want her spending time with any of her schoolmates, nor being seen by any of them while she’s supposedly away.”
Tara nodded. “I’ll be sure to mention it to Willow when she gets back. And Dawn, when she gets up, though I don’t think she’s in the mood for socializing with her friends just yet.”
“Got that right,” Dawn chimed in from the doorway. She came in and gave Giles a hug as she crossed behind him to open the refrigerator and pour herself a glass of juice.
Tara smiled at her. “Funny shapes or rounds?”
Dawn shrugged. “Surprise me.” She turned to Giles. “What dark plan are you guys hatching today?”
Giles took another sip of his tea before replying. “We’ve decided we need to do something to make things right with your school before they begin to get suspicious over your absence. Not to mention,” he added, with a ghost of a grin playing at his lips, “you really should get an education, or what passes for one in this country.”
Dawn groaned. “It’s almost the end of school anyway. Can’t I just start fresh next year?”
Tara flipped a pancake expertly and said, “If we don’t take care of this now, there might not be a next year. Plus, you’ll be all behind. And possibly taken away from us.”
Dawn looked scared for a minute, then nodded. “Ok, I’m feeling really scholastically motivated all of a sudden.”
Giles beamed at her. “Excellent. That’s settled then.” He lapsed back into silence, and his eyes took on that far away expression they had been noticing more and more of late. Dawn watched him for a moment, frowning, then turned her attention to Tara.
“So I guess going to the mall’s out, too, huh?” Tara smiled fondly at her and handed her a plate of pancakes, but didn’t dignify the weak jest with a reply, only the slightly raised eyebrow that reminded Dawn, for just a moment, of her mom. Giles didn’t act as if he had even heard, though he stirred a little when Tara placed a plate in front of him. He murmured his thanks and began to eat, his eyes still a million miles away.
Dawn nudged him with her elbow until he looked at her. “Um, you want syrup on those?” she asked, handing the bottle to him.
He looked down. “Ah yes. Quite.” He took the bottle and poured. Tara brought her own plate over and joined them, smiling when he offered the bottle to her.
Dawn looked at him, traded a glance with Tara, then asked, “So what’s everybody else doing today?”
When Giles didn’t reply, Tara said, “I’m going to see what I can do about my school situation, and Willow’s. I got a medical leave, so all I really will need is a doctor’s letter, and I should be able to make up my work and take my exams late, kind of like we’re hoping you will. I’m not sure what we’re going to do about Willow.” She paused. “What about you, Giles?”
“What?” He looked up, with the familiar deer in the headlights expression that always made Dawn smile. Giles finished replaying the last question in his mind, then responded, “Oh, I think I’ll go in to the shop today for a few hours. And then home.” He turned his attention back to his breakfast, avoiding the disappointment in Dawn’s eyes, and missing the thoughtful acceptance in Tara’s.
Tara spoke before Dawn could issue a protest. “I think that’s a good idea. That couch can’t be comfortable. And some space might be really good for you.” Giles looked up, surprised, but relieved. Tara continued, “But you still better be over here for dinner. A lot.”
“Yeah,” Dawn added. “You’re teaching me how to cook, remember? You promised.”
Giles smiled ruefully. “Of course. I just need, as you say, some space.”
“Can I come with you?” Dawn asked. “Just to the shop. I kind of could use some space, too,” she confided. Giles nodded, and she favored him with a smile so like her sister’s that it pierced his heart. He turned his eyes back to his plate quickly, before either of his companions could notice the sudden tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
****
Dawn was quiet on the drive over to the shop. Giles parked in his usual spot, but he did not go through the back door, choosing instead to walk through the alley and around the block to the shop’s front door. Dawn followed thoughtfully, and, truth be told, a little relieved that they had not gone through the training room. Buffy’s space. Her bedroom at home stayed closed, too, and Giles had flatly refused her bed the first time he had tried to convince Willow to let him go home, using the uncomfortable couch as his excuse. He was too tall for that bed, Dawn knew. But she also knew it was more than that, and she understood.
They entered the front door of the shop, the bell above the door announcing them to Anya, who was counting the money in the register in preparation for the day’s business. She looked tired, but she smiled to see them both. “Dawn! Giles! Thank the gods. I could really use the help today. It’s been crazy in here….”
As Anya continued to wax poetic on the subject of the effects of dimensional portals opening in downtown Sunnydale on their occult business, Giles walked slowly to the large round table in the middle of the shop. The last time he had seen it, it had been piled high with open books and scraps of parchment, a half-eaten box of donuts, scattered pens and pencils, and various pads of paper with scribbled notes on them. It was now cleared off, and looked as if it had been not only washed, but actually polished. He ran a finger over its smooth surface absently. Anya paused in her recitations of capitalist victories, as she noted the far off look in his eyes. She and Dawn traded a look, and Dawn moved to give her a hug. “Let’s go bring some stuff up from the store-room,” the teenager suggested quietly. Giles did not even notice when they left him alone.
He replayed that awful night in his mind as he rested his hand on the back of a chair. How he had lost his temper with his Slayer, rising from this chair to demand that she consider killing her own sister to save the world. The same sister who had kept him going these past days with her unconditional acceptance and love, who had at times lost her own temper and forced Willow to back off when she got too demanding trying to pull him from his grief back into the world, or when she pushed too hard for information he was unwilling to talk about. Like spells, or speculating on exactly where Buffy had ended up. Like her sister before her so many times, Dawn had risen to this crisis. Giles had enough experience with teenagers from Buffy and her friends, to know that it couldn’t last. And in fact, he didn’t want it to. She was a child, and she shouldn’t be trying to take on adult responsibilities, trying to take care of everyone else around her. But he had to admit he appreciated her efforts, and they only made him feel all the more guilty, when he remembered how ready he had been to take her life for the greater good. And when he admitted, in his innermost heart, how much he wished it had been her death that had stopped the latest apocalypse.
But Buffy had made her choice, and at the moment, he could honor it, and her, by taking care of the only family she had left. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a moment, then replaced them as Anya and Dawn came back into the shop from the basement, carrying a box of chicken feet and other assorted ingredients for the talismans that seemed, from Anya’s incessant commentary, to be in high demand in the wake of the events of that night a week ago. He tuned in and began listening as she was winding down her narrative of the various strange creatures and events their customers had confided they had seen.
When Anya paused and looked expectantly at him, he cleared his throat and gave a tight smile. “Yes, well. Perhaps if you get a little time, today, Anya, you could write down some of this and I could research it….” He realized, from her expression, that research was not going to come remotely close to taking care of what she had been describing. He continued, “…a- and, of course, I’ll call the Council today and see what resources we can get to clean some of this up.” He himself remembered a dragon flying away into the night, just as the portal had closed.
Anya looked slightly mollified. Dawn frowned, and Giles knew she read in his eyes, how little he was looking forward to that phone call, how in fact he had mentioned it several times over the past week but had yet to work up the courage to make it. What would he say? ** Yes, my Slayer’s dead, and unless a new one’s been called, we’re going to have a bloody mess on our hands here at the Hellmouth…** But it had to be done, and now was as good a time as any. He left them to their shelf stocking, while he went over to his desk and began to dial, before he lost his nerve, praying he wouldn’t have to talk to Quentin Travers, his old nemesis and superior, directly.
Of course, Quentin had left strict orders for calls from the Hellmouth to be put through, to his home, if necessary, so calling early only meant that he had a few minutes to wait in silence while the duty officer forwarded the call to Travers. Though he’d sounded a bit bleary at first, when he did hear the news, Giles had been surprised, and touched, that the condolences the older Watcher offered him sounded quite genuine.
“She was the finest Slayer, and woman, I have ever had the honor of knowing, Rupert. I am truly sorry for your loss. And ours.” Travers had agreed to send a few teams from the Council, to clean up the various creatures that had come through the dimensional rifts before Buffy’s death had sealed them up again. He listened with interest as Giles described the robot, and their plans to use it to keep up the pretense that the Slayer was still alive, until the new one could be located and sent. They left unsaid, the fear that a new one would Not be called, knowing that Buffy’s previous death, no matter how short a time before she had been revived, had already called first Kendra, and upon that Slayer’s death, the unstable Faith, now serving what was effectively a life term for murder in a maximum security women’s penitentiary near Los Angeles.
They agreed that they would adopt a wait and see attitude–if a new Slayer had not been activated upon Buffy’s death (and as yet, it seemed this was in fact the case), they would wait until a serious situation developed before getting Faith released to deal with it. Travers said he would send some of his people to evaluate her again, noting that she had shown marked improvement since the last time they had seen her, and that she seemed serious about making amends for her actions. Neither of them had to say, that if Faith had wanted to leave prison, she could, of course, have done so at any time. Giles was surprised to hear in Quentin’s voice, a grudging respect for Faith’s decision to go to prison rather than back to the Council, even as it irked him not to have her under his direct control.
Just before they said their goodbyes, Quentin surprised Giles again. “Um, Rupert…” he began. Giles waited silently, a bemused expression on his face. “I know this must be terribly difficult for you. But we need you to stay there, at least until we get the situation under control again. I imagine it is very painful for you to remain. But once we get things secured, if you would like to come back here for a while, get away from all the memories…. Well. We would be honored to have you.”
Giles knew that as the Watcher of the longest lived and most successful Slayer in recent memory, Quentin’s offer was on one level simply his trying to take advantage of a bad situation. But the man’s tone as he said it still brought a lump to Giles’ throat. Travers was undeniably a pompous ass. And he would just as soon stab Giles in the back as look at him, should he return to London and the Council. But he was also, at heart, a Watcher. And Giles had no doubt Travers understood, on an instinctive level, a level he kept at further than arm’s length most of the time, that the bond between Slayer and Watcher was a profound one. He might only dimly guess what it was Rupert had lost, but even that sounded almost more than the old man could bear.
Giles swallowed hard. “Thank you, Quentin. That’s very considerate of you.” He paused a moment, then said simply, “I should go. Please let me know when your people are due to arrive.” They exchanged goodbyes and Giles replaced the receiver slowly in its cradle. He stared at it a moment, then turned and busied himself helping Anya and Dawn arrange the shelves in preparation for the store’s opening.
A few hours, and a couple dozen or so customers later, after Giles (or Anya) had removed several particularly dangerous items or books from Dawn’s hands as she amused herself while they were occupied elsewhere, Giles firmly steered her to the empty research table. He fixed his eyes, now a watery grey in this light, on the sullen teen. “Dawn,” he began seriously. “I have an important job for you.”
She brightened considerably. ‘Oh, can I do research? Because you know, I am So ready for that….” She wilted a little as Giles gently shook his head.
“More important than even that, I’m afraid,” he replied, and Dawn eyed him warily, reading the hint of amusement behind his expressive eyes.
“Liar,” she pouted, and Giles had to smile, even though the tone, and the facial expression, were so like her sister’s that it took his breath away.
He continued mildly, “More important to me, anyway.” He pulled out a notepad and a pen from behind the counter and placed them before the girl, who now had her arms crossed rebelliously across her chest as she slouched lower in her chair. He reached out and touched her chin, tilting her head until she was forced to look into his eyes. “I need you to do this for me. Will you?”
She rolled her eyes, but she could no more deny him when he asked like that, than her sister had been able to. “Okay, already. What?”
Giles repressed another grin. “I want you to write up for me what classes you were taking at school–not only who taught them, but what you were learning, what you found difficult, what you liked about each one. And where you were when… well, when your life began to become… complicated. So we can see what we need to do to help get you back on track.” He paused, then added, with an appropriately stern expression, “And this is an essay test, not short answer. I really want to know everything you can think of.” His expression softened a little at her scowl, which he could tell was only half serious. She was inwardly thrilled that someone was actually interested enough to ask her to do this. She brightened even more when he added his final statement. “Please.” Her sister had seldom been able to resist it, and he could tell Dawn had the same weakness.
Muttering under her breath, she uncapped the pen and began. He clapped a hand on her shoulder for a moment, then went back to assist Anya with an overweight and quite unpleasant professional woman who wanted something to banish bad dreams. If only he had anything that could really help, he thought. He’d try it himself. He pasted on a pleasant expression and intercepted his associate before Anya could say something tactless. And, so far as they knew, the remainder of the day passed without notable incident.
Summer 4 - The Business of Living