hobgoblinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hobgoblinn) wrote2006-12-09 09:56 am
hobgoblinn) wrote2006-12-09 09:56 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Summer 4/9 - The Business of Living
Chapter Title has changed, if not for the better, at least also not for the worse. Previous parts are Here:
Summer 1 - Where Do We Go from Here?
Summer 2 - Preparations and Farewells
Summer 3 - Muddling Through
And no, Yahoo does not get another chance. Links only from here on.
Summer
Part 4/9 - The Business of Living
DISCLAIMER: See full disclaimer on Part 1 - Short version is, I own Nothing in the Buffyverse. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I mean no harm and intend no copyright infringement. Still want to sue me? Knock yourself out.
***
Xander stood on the back porch of the Summers residence after supper, enjoying a breath of fresh air, and more, a brief respite from the tension inside the house. Giles was going home tonight, though just now he was sitting the living room with Dawn discussing some “essay” he’d forced her to write. Xander wasn’t clear on the details of that, though he was sure Anya had probably explained at some length on the drive over. Dawn wasn’t happy Giles was leaving them, though she was trying, and failing miserably, to be a good sport about it. Tara was her usual serene and unflappable self, but Xander was getting the undercurrent of worry, about how Willow would react when she returned from LA to find Giles gone. And then there was Anya. Clearing the table with Tara, and shooting daggers at him with her eyes whenever she thought no one, especially Xander, was looking at her.
She was hurt, that he wanted to hold off on telling their friends he had proposed to her. And he knew she felt guilty and confused for feeling that way, when everyone around her was still in so much pain themselves. Guilt and confusion were not emotions Anya had ever dealt with well. And, when Xander was honest with himself, he knew that Anya was picking up his own doubts and fears about taking that final step into adulthood, and they were making her even more frightened and insecure.
For some reason he couldn’t figure out, it was different when they were alone. Then they could just hold each other, and grieve, and be there for each other, and everything felt right. But when they were with their friends, Anya began to get increasingly moody and irritable, and the more she tried not to show how she was feeling, the worse it got. Xander sighed, then noticed as he took another breath that the air was suddenly a little less fresh. Secondhand smoke, from the lungs of a creature who was Dead, for crying out loud. He shook his head to derail That particular train of thought, as the blond vampire emerged from behind his favorite lurking tree.
Spike flicked the cigarette away and grinned at Xander’s expression of disgust. “Missed you too, Luv.” Then he nodded in the direction of the house, his expression serious. “Everythin’ alright?”
Xander paused and glanced back over his shoulder for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah. Giles is going home tonight.”
Spike raised his eyebrows. “Bet Red loves that.” He cocked his head, listening. “I don’t hear her reading him the riot act, though.”
Xander grinned a little. “She’s still in LA.”
Spike nodded knowingly, and Xander found himself irritated, though he wasn’t sure whether it was because Spike had observed how Willow had become take charge girl of late, or because he found himself agreeing with the vampire’s unspoken attitude about it. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “You’re back early tonight.”
Spike crossed the yard and settled himself on the steps. “I usually start patrolling here, just to see the Niblet’s okay. So, Giles’ll be at his flat later? I suppose he’ll want me to report in there, instead?” He said it gruffly, like it was going to be such an inconvenience for him to walk the extra few blocks after patrolling. But Xander wasn’t fooled. Spike had been oddly moved when he and Willow had sought him out the afternoon after the funeral, and asked him to step in while they got the robot repaired, and the rest of them recovered enough to go out on slayage duty themselves.
And Xander had gone out patrolling with him a couple of nights since then. He knew how the violence energized the vampire, how he was able to pour out all his rage and grief on the unlucky demons who crossed their path. And afterwards, drinking in Willy’s Place and telling loud, outrageous lies for the benefit of the bar’s patrons, about how the Slayer had asked him, as a Personal Favor, to watch the streets of Sunnydale while she was out of town on “family business,” Xander had seen the desperation in his eyes. That maybe if he told the same lie often enough, it might become true, and Buffy would be back any night now, ready to kick some ass, just like old times.
Xander sank down on the step next to Spike and answered his question. “Yep. If it’s Giles you want to see, you’d kinda have to go where he is.” He paused, then added more seriously, “Might be good if someone kept an eye on him, too.”
Spike snorted. “I’m not no damn babysittin’ service,” he growled. Then he continued, more quietly, “You ask me, Red needs to back off; give a fellow some space.” Xander’s eyes flashed up to meet his, irritated again, but Spike only gave him an impish grin, and Xander knew the vampire might not keep an eye on the Watcher because they had asked him to, but that he would do it for whatever reasons amused him at the time. It was enough.
They sat in silence watching the fireflies in the yard, until Anya called shrilly for Xander from inside the house. Spike grinned as they both rose. “Want to come patrollin’ tonight, Mate?” he asked, grinning a little more at the tempted look in the young man’s eyes.
Xander smiled ruefully. “Nah. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.” He took a deep, steadying breath and squared his shoulders, before calling back, “Be right there, Honey.” He went back into the house, avoiding the open mockery in the vampire’s eyes.
Spike stood there a moment more, then shrugged and sauntered off, searching through his pockets for another cigarette, and scanning the darkened sidewalks for something he could kill.
***
Rupert Giles approached his own door later that night with a feeling of relief. Until he saw that it was standing slightly ajar, light from his kitchen spilling out around it. He heard his microwave beeping, and peered around the door to see a familiar, if not beloved, face turning from removing a mug of something he did not want to think about from the appliance. “Spike,” he sighed in weary exasperation.
Spike blew into his mug and took a careful sip. “Thought you’d be back sooner, Rupert,” the vampire greeted him mildly. “Trouble getting away?”
Actually, there had been. Willow had called a few minutes before he left, with a timing he still found slightly uncanny, and their conversation had been strained. But Giles had held his ground, and the fact that he had only to contend with Willow’s voice, and neither her eyes nor her resolve face, had made it easier for him to tell her firmly that he was on his way home and would see her when she returned. He had also spoken briefly to Wesley and Cordelia, assured them both he was fine, and let Wesley know to expect some of their old colleagues from the Council in the coming days.
But Giles did not share any of this with Spike. Not that he needed to. It frequently annoyed him, how easily the vampire read–and manipulated-- them all. He shut the door behind him, tossed his bag into the corner under his coat rack, then flicked on the light over his desk and began sorting through his mail. Spike watched him in silence for a few moments, then ventured, “Um… Rupert? Cup of tea?”
Giles tossed the mail back on his desk and turned around abruptly to fix a furious glare on the vampire. “Did Willow put you up to this?”
If Spike had any redeeming quality at all, it was that, when confronted unexpectedly, his long practice at lying didn’t hide that smallest flicker of truth in his eyes. But in this case, there was no need. The vampire met his gaze calmly and replied, “I’m sure she will, when she gets back. And by then, I’ll probably tell her to bugger off. I got better things to do with my nights.” He took another nonchalant sip from his steaming mug, all the while maintaining defiant eye contact with the Watcher.
They stood a moment more, each taking the measure of the other with his eyes. Giles turned away first, sighing and loosening his tie. “Anything of interest on your patrol tonight?” he asked over his shoulder. He removed the tie and draped it over the back of a chair, then leaned against the chair a little too heavily.
Spike noted the weakness without surprise or comment. “Nothin’ that won’t keep ‘til morning. Get some rest, Mate.”
Giles nodded, gathering his strength before pushing off from the chair and making his way to the stairs. “Well, then. I trust you can let yourself out?”
Spike came out of the kitchen to lean against the door jamb into the living area. “I–uh–I’ve been sleeping on your couch. While you’ve been away.” Giles paused halfway to the landing and turned to glare at the vampire, who simply gazed back, unrepentant. Shrugging, he continued, “Broken bones ache in the damp and cold, and my crypt’s both. Few more days and I’ll be gone, I promise.”
They both knew Giles was in no condition to throw him out. And considering some of the things Spike had been finding on his patrols over the past week, perhaps he didn’t want to. Giles gave a tired nod and continued up the stairs. As he reached the top, though, he paused again.
“Spike.” The voice drifting down from the darkness above was so quiet, only Spike’s demon-heightened senses could have caught it. “The children don’t need to know about my dreams.”
Spike froze in the act of unfolding a blanket on the couch. He heard the footsteps continue up and across the loft, and the sound of Giles undressing and then collapsing heavily into his bed. Spike sat down on the couch and drained the blood from the mug in his hand, but he no longer tasted it.
He’d forgotten, how bad the dreams used to be. Back when he had been Giles’ erstwhile flatmate, right after that sodding chip had been shoved into his brain. At the time, he had taken a perverse pleasure in the moans, the words spoken in the Watcher’s sleep. He had deduced that they mostly came from experiences at the hands of Angelus and of his own dark beauty, Drusilla. But he knew, too, that many of the dreams revolved around his Slayer, and his fear that he would fail her, or lose her. And now that the nightmare had come true, for both of them, he felt a strange kinship with his countryman. He hated it, but there it was.
They’d never spoken of it, and strangely, Spike had never exploited that particular weakness in his dealings with the Watcher. There were so many others that had been easier, more amusing at the time, and much less likely to get him staked. Now, though, Spike was oddly touched that Rupert would trust-- if that was even the right word-- him enough to speak of his dreams aloud. As he pulled the blanket up over him he froze, as it occurred to him that he would be trusting the Watcher with his own dreams, tonight, as well, if he stayed.
“Bugger that,” he growled under his breath as he sat up again. Another hour or two of patrol, and perhaps a nap on the Summers’ porch swing, would be preferable to taking that chance. Besides, he would be there for Glinda and the Nibblet, when their own nightmares woke them. His demon and the humanity he carried only as memories joined in mocking his cowardice, but he pulled his black duster back on and quietly let himself out. He didn’t return until nearly dawn. And he didn’t sleep until he had given Giles his report and watched him close the front door behind him, on his way out to the shop for the day.
***
Willow returned late the next afternoon. She said nothing when Giles did not appear for dinner, but when it was over and Dawn was well on her way to bed, she had turned her eyes to Tara’s, only to be stopped by a gentle touch on her cheek, a sad smile, and a simple word: “Go.” Tara knew, perhaps better than her beloved, how much Willow and Giles needed to mend the growing rift between them.
Willow stood outside his door for a long while. When she finally worked up her courage, Giles opened it at her knock and gazed quietly down on her. After an awkward silence, Willow gave her goofy, somewhat anxious grin. “Um, can I…?” She motioned toward the doorway.
Giles blinked, then colored slightly. “Oh, ….” He moved aside to let her enter. “Um… I just put the kettle on. Would you care for some tea?” Without waiting for the answer, he turned to busy himself in the kitchen, and Willow noted as she leaned on the counter, that his movements were more fluid, less hampered by the injuries and over-exertions of the past month. “How was Angel?” he continued with distant courtesy, as he emerged from the kitchen carrying the laden tea tray and setting it on the coffee table. Willow followed and caught his hand as he straightened and turned to her. His startled gaze met hers.
“I’m not here to talk about Angel, Giles.”
He looked at her in astonishment, but didn’t reply, and after a moment he found a spot on the floor on which to fix his embarrassed gaze. Willow sighed, but she wasn’t surprised that he was not making this easy. After another deep breath to gather her thoughts, she decided to start by answering his question after all.
“He hurts. Like we all do.” She let him disengage his hand from hers to begin cleaning his immaculate glasses, still refusing to look directly at her. She continued, “I came to say I’m sorry, Giles.” He did look up at that, but before he could reply or protest with his too-British gallantry, she plunged ahead. “No, I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard about staying. I just….” She faltered. “ I remember what you were like… that summer, after….”
Willow didn’t need to tell him which summer. She could see in his eyes, Giles remembered as well as she, that other summer when Buffy had disappeared without a word, none of them knowing where she was, or whether she was alive or dead. Sadly, this time, they were painfully aware of both.
“I needed you not to go away again. We all need you, Giles. I should have given you more space, to grieve in your own way. But I’m so scared sometimes. Everyone’s looking to me for answers, and….” Tears began to leak from her eyes then, and she felt strong arms around her, hugging her with all the love and acceptance her own father had never given her.
“I’m sorry, too, Willow,” he said quietly, as her sobs eased and he pulled back to look into her eyes. “I can’t lie to you. I don’t know how long I can continue to stay here, after… everything. But I promise you, I won’t leave here immediately. And not until I’m sure you will all be safe, and able to carry on.” He smiled slightly as he brushed a tear from her pale cheek. “And you will be. You are all so terribly strong, resilient, brave. I am so proud of all of you. You don’t need an old man like me to watch over you.”
“Maybe not,” Willow said softly. “But we do need our friend.”
Giles pulled her back into his embrace. “I shall always be that,” he replied.
Willow chuckled soggily. “So, you coming to dinner tomorrow night? It’s Tara’s turn to cook.”
Giles’ warm answering chuckle rumbled against her cheek as she rested it against his chest. Tara was the only one of them, besides Giles himself, who could cook even passably. “Count on it,” he said, placing a kiss on top of her head before releasing her.
“Now, where’s that tea?” Willow grinned up at him, wiping at her eyes and taking his proffered handkerchief gratefully. “There’s these funny yellow demons camped out in the woods behind the elementary school, and I can’t figure out what they are. Should we be looking in the Demon Compendium or ….” They continued for some time in companionable research mode, Giles suggesting possible sources she might check to identify some of the more interesting things Spike had been seeing on his nightly rounds. Finally, hesitantly, Willow broached the other subject that had been troubling her.
“Giles,” she began. He looked up, pausing in the act of reaching for another book to cross check a fact. Willow went on, “I know you want to, you know, get away from everything, but…. I think you’re wrong. We’re going to be trying to take on the Hellmouth–by ourselves, with no superpowers or anything. The more I think about it, the more I wonder how we’re going to be able to do that–without you. I think we need a Watcher, for Us.” Her elfin face was troubled, and Giles sighed, searching for words that would help her understand.
“Willow, what you must have faith in is the fact that while each of you alone may be merely human….”
“Except, you know, Spike,” Willow corrected. He blinked at the interruption, then continued with the stutter she had once found so adorable.
“Y-Yes, well, of course. The point is, Together you are all quite resourceful and capable enough to handle anything that may arise. And I….” He sighed. “I’m not, you see. I fear my presence would make you weaker in the long run, not stronger.”
“Giles, that’s not…” Willow began, but Giles shook his head, cutting off her protest gently.
“Willow, other than providing a new location for our research parties this year, my contributions to the team have been fairly minimal. The Council only turned over its information after Buffy called their bluff–a position she should never have been forced into in the first place. The only thing I did there was let my bloody green card act as hostage while they toyed with her. And,” he continued, warming to his subject with a bitterness Willow had never seen in him before, “let us not forget that I sold Glory the spell ingredients that would have allowed her to locate Dawn, a fiasco only prevented by Buffy’s quick intuition and fighting skills.”
Willow moistened her suddenly dry lips. “But, you, you know, trained her and all….”
Giles’ eyes flashed as he shot back, “I gave her nothing she didn’t already posses from birth. Even if she did develop those gifts a little more from our training together, the fact remains that, ultimately, it wasn’t enough.” Giles looked down at his hands, unable to bear the compassion in his young friend’s eyes. Willow struggled to find something to say, but nothing came.
Finally, Giles cleared his throat and spoke. “Willow,” he said bleakly, “I failed her. And if I stayed, I would eventually fail you all. I… I don’t believe I could bear that.”
Willow absorbed his words quietly. Finally she said, “So, what are ya gonna do?”
Giles glanced down at his watch and gave a shaky chuckle. “Just now, probably go to bed,” he replied, standing up and stretching a bit as he did so. “As to the other,” he continued, “I’ll be going back to England, as soon as I get my affairs in order here. It will be terribly difficult, of course, but,” he nodded slowly, as if trying to convince himself, “I honestly believe it will be for the best.”
Summer 5 - Growing Up
Summer 1 - Where Do We Go from Here?
Summer 2 - Preparations and Farewells
Summer 3 - Muddling Through
And no, Yahoo does not get another chance. Links only from here on.
Summer
Part 4/9 - The Business of Living
DISCLAIMER: See full disclaimer on Part 1 - Short version is, I own Nothing in the Buffyverse. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I mean no harm and intend no copyright infringement. Still want to sue me? Knock yourself out.
***
Xander stood on the back porch of the Summers residence after supper, enjoying a breath of fresh air, and more, a brief respite from the tension inside the house. Giles was going home tonight, though just now he was sitting the living room with Dawn discussing some “essay” he’d forced her to write. Xander wasn’t clear on the details of that, though he was sure Anya had probably explained at some length on the drive over. Dawn wasn’t happy Giles was leaving them, though she was trying, and failing miserably, to be a good sport about it. Tara was her usual serene and unflappable self, but Xander was getting the undercurrent of worry, about how Willow would react when she returned from LA to find Giles gone. And then there was Anya. Clearing the table with Tara, and shooting daggers at him with her eyes whenever she thought no one, especially Xander, was looking at her.
She was hurt, that he wanted to hold off on telling their friends he had proposed to her. And he knew she felt guilty and confused for feeling that way, when everyone around her was still in so much pain themselves. Guilt and confusion were not emotions Anya had ever dealt with well. And, when Xander was honest with himself, he knew that Anya was picking up his own doubts and fears about taking that final step into adulthood, and they were making her even more frightened and insecure.
For some reason he couldn’t figure out, it was different when they were alone. Then they could just hold each other, and grieve, and be there for each other, and everything felt right. But when they were with their friends, Anya began to get increasingly moody and irritable, and the more she tried not to show how she was feeling, the worse it got. Xander sighed, then noticed as he took another breath that the air was suddenly a little less fresh. Secondhand smoke, from the lungs of a creature who was Dead, for crying out loud. He shook his head to derail That particular train of thought, as the blond vampire emerged from behind his favorite lurking tree.
Spike flicked the cigarette away and grinned at Xander’s expression of disgust. “Missed you too, Luv.” Then he nodded in the direction of the house, his expression serious. “Everythin’ alright?”
Xander paused and glanced back over his shoulder for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah. Giles is going home tonight.”
Spike raised his eyebrows. “Bet Red loves that.” He cocked his head, listening. “I don’t hear her reading him the riot act, though.”
Xander grinned a little. “She’s still in LA.”
Spike nodded knowingly, and Xander found himself irritated, though he wasn’t sure whether it was because Spike had observed how Willow had become take charge girl of late, or because he found himself agreeing with the vampire’s unspoken attitude about it. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “You’re back early tonight.”
Spike crossed the yard and settled himself on the steps. “I usually start patrolling here, just to see the Niblet’s okay. So, Giles’ll be at his flat later? I suppose he’ll want me to report in there, instead?” He said it gruffly, like it was going to be such an inconvenience for him to walk the extra few blocks after patrolling. But Xander wasn’t fooled. Spike had been oddly moved when he and Willow had sought him out the afternoon after the funeral, and asked him to step in while they got the robot repaired, and the rest of them recovered enough to go out on slayage duty themselves.
And Xander had gone out patrolling with him a couple of nights since then. He knew how the violence energized the vampire, how he was able to pour out all his rage and grief on the unlucky demons who crossed their path. And afterwards, drinking in Willy’s Place and telling loud, outrageous lies for the benefit of the bar’s patrons, about how the Slayer had asked him, as a Personal Favor, to watch the streets of Sunnydale while she was out of town on “family business,” Xander had seen the desperation in his eyes. That maybe if he told the same lie often enough, it might become true, and Buffy would be back any night now, ready to kick some ass, just like old times.
Xander sank down on the step next to Spike and answered his question. “Yep. If it’s Giles you want to see, you’d kinda have to go where he is.” He paused, then added more seriously, “Might be good if someone kept an eye on him, too.”
Spike snorted. “I’m not no damn babysittin’ service,” he growled. Then he continued, more quietly, “You ask me, Red needs to back off; give a fellow some space.” Xander’s eyes flashed up to meet his, irritated again, but Spike only gave him an impish grin, and Xander knew the vampire might not keep an eye on the Watcher because they had asked him to, but that he would do it for whatever reasons amused him at the time. It was enough.
They sat in silence watching the fireflies in the yard, until Anya called shrilly for Xander from inside the house. Spike grinned as they both rose. “Want to come patrollin’ tonight, Mate?” he asked, grinning a little more at the tempted look in the young man’s eyes.
Xander smiled ruefully. “Nah. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.” He took a deep, steadying breath and squared his shoulders, before calling back, “Be right there, Honey.” He went back into the house, avoiding the open mockery in the vampire’s eyes.
Spike stood there a moment more, then shrugged and sauntered off, searching through his pockets for another cigarette, and scanning the darkened sidewalks for something he could kill.
***
Rupert Giles approached his own door later that night with a feeling of relief. Until he saw that it was standing slightly ajar, light from his kitchen spilling out around it. He heard his microwave beeping, and peered around the door to see a familiar, if not beloved, face turning from removing a mug of something he did not want to think about from the appliance. “Spike,” he sighed in weary exasperation.
Spike blew into his mug and took a careful sip. “Thought you’d be back sooner, Rupert,” the vampire greeted him mildly. “Trouble getting away?”
Actually, there had been. Willow had called a few minutes before he left, with a timing he still found slightly uncanny, and their conversation had been strained. But Giles had held his ground, and the fact that he had only to contend with Willow’s voice, and neither her eyes nor her resolve face, had made it easier for him to tell her firmly that he was on his way home and would see her when she returned. He had also spoken briefly to Wesley and Cordelia, assured them both he was fine, and let Wesley know to expect some of their old colleagues from the Council in the coming days.
But Giles did not share any of this with Spike. Not that he needed to. It frequently annoyed him, how easily the vampire read–and manipulated-- them all. He shut the door behind him, tossed his bag into the corner under his coat rack, then flicked on the light over his desk and began sorting through his mail. Spike watched him in silence for a few moments, then ventured, “Um… Rupert? Cup of tea?”
Giles tossed the mail back on his desk and turned around abruptly to fix a furious glare on the vampire. “Did Willow put you up to this?”
If Spike had any redeeming quality at all, it was that, when confronted unexpectedly, his long practice at lying didn’t hide that smallest flicker of truth in his eyes. But in this case, there was no need. The vampire met his gaze calmly and replied, “I’m sure she will, when she gets back. And by then, I’ll probably tell her to bugger off. I got better things to do with my nights.” He took another nonchalant sip from his steaming mug, all the while maintaining defiant eye contact with the Watcher.
They stood a moment more, each taking the measure of the other with his eyes. Giles turned away first, sighing and loosening his tie. “Anything of interest on your patrol tonight?” he asked over his shoulder. He removed the tie and draped it over the back of a chair, then leaned against the chair a little too heavily.
Spike noted the weakness without surprise or comment. “Nothin’ that won’t keep ‘til morning. Get some rest, Mate.”
Giles nodded, gathering his strength before pushing off from the chair and making his way to the stairs. “Well, then. I trust you can let yourself out?”
Spike came out of the kitchen to lean against the door jamb into the living area. “I–uh–I’ve been sleeping on your couch. While you’ve been away.” Giles paused halfway to the landing and turned to glare at the vampire, who simply gazed back, unrepentant. Shrugging, he continued, “Broken bones ache in the damp and cold, and my crypt’s both. Few more days and I’ll be gone, I promise.”
They both knew Giles was in no condition to throw him out. And considering some of the things Spike had been finding on his patrols over the past week, perhaps he didn’t want to. Giles gave a tired nod and continued up the stairs. As he reached the top, though, he paused again.
“Spike.” The voice drifting down from the darkness above was so quiet, only Spike’s demon-heightened senses could have caught it. “The children don’t need to know about my dreams.”
Spike froze in the act of unfolding a blanket on the couch. He heard the footsteps continue up and across the loft, and the sound of Giles undressing and then collapsing heavily into his bed. Spike sat down on the couch and drained the blood from the mug in his hand, but he no longer tasted it.
He’d forgotten, how bad the dreams used to be. Back when he had been Giles’ erstwhile flatmate, right after that sodding chip had been shoved into his brain. At the time, he had taken a perverse pleasure in the moans, the words spoken in the Watcher’s sleep. He had deduced that they mostly came from experiences at the hands of Angelus and of his own dark beauty, Drusilla. But he knew, too, that many of the dreams revolved around his Slayer, and his fear that he would fail her, or lose her. And now that the nightmare had come true, for both of them, he felt a strange kinship with his countryman. He hated it, but there it was.
They’d never spoken of it, and strangely, Spike had never exploited that particular weakness in his dealings with the Watcher. There were so many others that had been easier, more amusing at the time, and much less likely to get him staked. Now, though, Spike was oddly touched that Rupert would trust-- if that was even the right word-- him enough to speak of his dreams aloud. As he pulled the blanket up over him he froze, as it occurred to him that he would be trusting the Watcher with his own dreams, tonight, as well, if he stayed.
“Bugger that,” he growled under his breath as he sat up again. Another hour or two of patrol, and perhaps a nap on the Summers’ porch swing, would be preferable to taking that chance. Besides, he would be there for Glinda and the Nibblet, when their own nightmares woke them. His demon and the humanity he carried only as memories joined in mocking his cowardice, but he pulled his black duster back on and quietly let himself out. He didn’t return until nearly dawn. And he didn’t sleep until he had given Giles his report and watched him close the front door behind him, on his way out to the shop for the day.
***
Willow returned late the next afternoon. She said nothing when Giles did not appear for dinner, but when it was over and Dawn was well on her way to bed, she had turned her eyes to Tara’s, only to be stopped by a gentle touch on her cheek, a sad smile, and a simple word: “Go.” Tara knew, perhaps better than her beloved, how much Willow and Giles needed to mend the growing rift between them.
Willow stood outside his door for a long while. When she finally worked up her courage, Giles opened it at her knock and gazed quietly down on her. After an awkward silence, Willow gave her goofy, somewhat anxious grin. “Um, can I…?” She motioned toward the doorway.
Giles blinked, then colored slightly. “Oh, ….” He moved aside to let her enter. “Um… I just put the kettle on. Would you care for some tea?” Without waiting for the answer, he turned to busy himself in the kitchen, and Willow noted as she leaned on the counter, that his movements were more fluid, less hampered by the injuries and over-exertions of the past month. “How was Angel?” he continued with distant courtesy, as he emerged from the kitchen carrying the laden tea tray and setting it on the coffee table. Willow followed and caught his hand as he straightened and turned to her. His startled gaze met hers.
“I’m not here to talk about Angel, Giles.”
He looked at her in astonishment, but didn’t reply, and after a moment he found a spot on the floor on which to fix his embarrassed gaze. Willow sighed, but she wasn’t surprised that he was not making this easy. After another deep breath to gather her thoughts, she decided to start by answering his question after all.
“He hurts. Like we all do.” She let him disengage his hand from hers to begin cleaning his immaculate glasses, still refusing to look directly at her. She continued, “I came to say I’m sorry, Giles.” He did look up at that, but before he could reply or protest with his too-British gallantry, she plunged ahead. “No, I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard about staying. I just….” She faltered. “ I remember what you were like… that summer, after….”
Willow didn’t need to tell him which summer. She could see in his eyes, Giles remembered as well as she, that other summer when Buffy had disappeared without a word, none of them knowing where she was, or whether she was alive or dead. Sadly, this time, they were painfully aware of both.
“I needed you not to go away again. We all need you, Giles. I should have given you more space, to grieve in your own way. But I’m so scared sometimes. Everyone’s looking to me for answers, and….” Tears began to leak from her eyes then, and she felt strong arms around her, hugging her with all the love and acceptance her own father had never given her.
“I’m sorry, too, Willow,” he said quietly, as her sobs eased and he pulled back to look into her eyes. “I can’t lie to you. I don’t know how long I can continue to stay here, after… everything. But I promise you, I won’t leave here immediately. And not until I’m sure you will all be safe, and able to carry on.” He smiled slightly as he brushed a tear from her pale cheek. “And you will be. You are all so terribly strong, resilient, brave. I am so proud of all of you. You don’t need an old man like me to watch over you.”
“Maybe not,” Willow said softly. “But we do need our friend.”
Giles pulled her back into his embrace. “I shall always be that,” he replied.
Willow chuckled soggily. “So, you coming to dinner tomorrow night? It’s Tara’s turn to cook.”
Giles’ warm answering chuckle rumbled against her cheek as she rested it against his chest. Tara was the only one of them, besides Giles himself, who could cook even passably. “Count on it,” he said, placing a kiss on top of her head before releasing her.
“Now, where’s that tea?” Willow grinned up at him, wiping at her eyes and taking his proffered handkerchief gratefully. “There’s these funny yellow demons camped out in the woods behind the elementary school, and I can’t figure out what they are. Should we be looking in the Demon Compendium or ….” They continued for some time in companionable research mode, Giles suggesting possible sources she might check to identify some of the more interesting things Spike had been seeing on his nightly rounds. Finally, hesitantly, Willow broached the other subject that had been troubling her.
“Giles,” she began. He looked up, pausing in the act of reaching for another book to cross check a fact. Willow went on, “I know you want to, you know, get away from everything, but…. I think you’re wrong. We’re going to be trying to take on the Hellmouth–by ourselves, with no superpowers or anything. The more I think about it, the more I wonder how we’re going to be able to do that–without you. I think we need a Watcher, for Us.” Her elfin face was troubled, and Giles sighed, searching for words that would help her understand.
“Willow, what you must have faith in is the fact that while each of you alone may be merely human….”
“Except, you know, Spike,” Willow corrected. He blinked at the interruption, then continued with the stutter she had once found so adorable.
“Y-Yes, well, of course. The point is, Together you are all quite resourceful and capable enough to handle anything that may arise. And I….” He sighed. “I’m not, you see. I fear my presence would make you weaker in the long run, not stronger.”
“Giles, that’s not…” Willow began, but Giles shook his head, cutting off her protest gently.
“Willow, other than providing a new location for our research parties this year, my contributions to the team have been fairly minimal. The Council only turned over its information after Buffy called their bluff–a position she should never have been forced into in the first place. The only thing I did there was let my bloody green card act as hostage while they toyed with her. And,” he continued, warming to his subject with a bitterness Willow had never seen in him before, “let us not forget that I sold Glory the spell ingredients that would have allowed her to locate Dawn, a fiasco only prevented by Buffy’s quick intuition and fighting skills.”
Willow moistened her suddenly dry lips. “But, you, you know, trained her and all….”
Giles’ eyes flashed as he shot back, “I gave her nothing she didn’t already posses from birth. Even if she did develop those gifts a little more from our training together, the fact remains that, ultimately, it wasn’t enough.” Giles looked down at his hands, unable to bear the compassion in his young friend’s eyes. Willow struggled to find something to say, but nothing came.
Finally, Giles cleared his throat and spoke. “Willow,” he said bleakly, “I failed her. And if I stayed, I would eventually fail you all. I… I don’t believe I could bear that.”
Willow absorbed his words quietly. Finally she said, “So, what are ya gonna do?”
Giles glanced down at his watch and gave a shaky chuckle. “Just now, probably go to bed,” he replied, standing up and stretching a bit as he did so. “As to the other,” he continued, “I’ll be going back to England, as soon as I get my affairs in order here. It will be terribly difficult, of course, but,” he nodded slowly, as if trying to convince himself, “I honestly believe it will be for the best.”
Summer 5 - Growing Up
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Glad I sucked you in, as it were, and hope it takes your mind off your pain for a while.
Hob