Holding On
Title: Holding On
Author: il_mio_capitano
Length: 4700 or so
Characters: Buffy, Giles
Summary: A different ending for Tabula Rasa
Rating: Teen. Slight language, violence - so teen stuff. No Sex (I can't write Sex and I'm sure nobody wants to read me try)
Background: I was challenged by littleotter73 to get off my backside and post something. There were specific directions though I fear I have ignored most of them. 8-)
Buffy felt sick and humiliated when her memories returned. Spike was calling after her, but she needed to put space between her and everyone. It was a lousy day and she felt dirty at having been tricked into preppy enthusiasm for Life by Willow. The day had started badly enough when Giles, oh hell Giles, she broke into a run, Giles was leaving and she’d wasted all this time when they should have been changing his mind. He had no business leaving her. He was paid not to leave her. It twisted her soul to think of the pacts made in the shadow of a burning warehouse. Her anger at Willow’s manipulation was nothing compared to the betrayal she felt with Giles. He knew, he knew where she’d been. He knew she needed him now more than ever. Was she so terrible that even Giles couldn’t bear to be with her? Where the hell did he get off with that attitude?
She’d barely noticed him at the shop when they’d all woken up. She’d felt she had a connection to Dawn; but Giles was just the shopkeeper, with the strange son, and the strange fiancé and in her case, strange customers. They meant nothing to each other. She could only remember him looking at her once, when she’d staked the first vampire out of pure instinct. The others had looked kind of scared, whereas Giles had looked what, impressed? But then he'd had his arms too full of Anya to notice much more. It was a horrible mess. Young Billy’s wacky world of nightmares come true had nothing on this day. Lucky Nineteen’s problems didn’t cover the half of it.
The lights were still on at the Magic Box, much to her relief. She realised she didn’t know what time his plane was leaving, because they hadn’t had the sort of conversation were you take interest in the details. They’d just focussed on the big honking, ‘I’m ripping your heart out and it’s for your own good’ section.
The bell jangled as she met Anya leaving, coat and purse in hand.
“Willow has a lot to answer for,” said Anya with narrowed eyes. Buffy wondered what she had to be angry about. “Oh. They’re all back at the house. Everyone is OK but Tara is moving out, everyone is upset about what’s happened and I need to see Xander.”
“Is Giles still here?”
Anya treated her to a short, mocking laugh. “He’s still here. Oh, of course he’s still here. I’ve totally ruined that.”
“Why? Anya, what happened?”
“He’s staying. We found his plane tickets, God it’s humiliating, and I begged him to stay. Just when he’s finally going and I can make money properly, and not have him getting in the way, I make him promise not to leave me.”
“He’s staying?”
“He is now and it’s all my fault” Anya said bitterly.
“How come?”
Anya suddenly seemed to find a seam of untapped reticence, “I really need to see Xander now. Giles is in the back room. Bye.”
Problem solved then. Quite right he was staying, this was his home. Buffy shrugged it off and walked into the back training room to see Giles packing some towels and stuff into his travelling bags. He heard her come in and turned a little guiltily.
“Hi Giles. It’s been a really weird day.”
“And we were unconscious for most of it,” he agreed a little sheepishly.
“Engagement is off I take it?” she asked brightly.
He gave her one of his mock suffering looks and resumed to messing with some stuff in his bags. “Xander Harris is the bravest man I know,” he said, “I have new found respect for him.”
She smiled and sat on their green couch as he fiddled with some documents. Buffy liked what Xander called the Danger Room. In the teeth of Anya’s objections, Giles’ stock area was crammed into the basement and this spacious room he’d cleared for Buffy. During that first year of Slayer training they’d explored every inch. She knew where the stone floor slabs were uneven and even the extent of the slight damp around the sink. She’d moved the fall mats a thousand times and still smiled at the sight of the straw dummy in the blue shirt. The punch bags had been mended twice since they’d been hung; although they were more a Riley thing. Solo workouts used to bore her, but since her return that was the only equipment she’d really used.
“How come we haven’t trained together since you came back?” she asked suddenly. “Properly I mean, as equals.”
“I don’t know. There hasn’t been the time and you are self-sufficient now. There’s nothing more I can teach you.” He studied his shoes.
“I used to enjoy kicking your butt.” She jumped up decisively and went to the weapons locker, “How about it? For old times sake?”
Giles looked at his watch nervously, “What? Now?”
“It won’t take long.”
He tilted his head, “How encouraging.”
“Come on. We used to do this a lot. I miss it.” She knew he’d agree once she said that so she turned her attention to which weapons to choose. She wanted something they were both good at, something to use at arms’ length but not metal or sharp. The bokken were perfect; shaped like a Samurai sword yet made of hard unforgiving wood. She loved everything about these weapons; the links to the past, the versatility, the noise they struck when they clashed. Bokken were training weapons, but could be deadly in even inexperienced hands. Hit an opponent with one of these and they didn’t get up and leave in a hurry. Plus wood, so handy.
She closed the locker and turned with her choice. Giles’ eyebrows questioned the fact she’d not pulled any protective padding for them.
“Nah, I think we know what we’re doing after all these years.”
“This is a six hundred dollar suit,” he grumbled.
“So take it off,” she said and tossed the heavy bokken to him.
She expected a glare but instead he just removed his tie and then his jacket. The top shirt button was already undone. His passport fell out of his jacket when he put it down; he stuffed it back into a pocket hastily.
They started with some basic moves each, warming up like tennis players. Loosening muscles, perfecting reach and aim. They followed their familiar pattern and then begin to improvise - offense and defence. The heavy wooden swords tolled like bells when they made contact. She’d tried this with Riley but he’d not understood the poetry of the exchange. Riley had wanted to win, she couldn’t really blame him, it was what he’d been raised to expect. She never really let herself go with Riley, she loved his smile when he thought he’d gained an advantage. With Angel, everything physical quickly became laden with sexual subtext. That or the memory of the battle of Acathla created a different kind of tension. No, whilst Angel and Riley had sparred with her, they’d always seen it too much like foreplay. With Giles it was purely two people testing each other. He had always been tuned to how she wanted to train. They never discussed it, but sometimes he would lead on the attack, other times he defended as she worked on combination of moves.
They’d trainer harder in the back room than they ever did in the library. Giles usually changed into sweats rather than simply rolling up his sleeves. It was no longer an after-hours school activity like chess. She had genuinely wanted to understand what being a Slayer meant, to understand her power and her boundaries. Over the years, she had gained a pretty good idea of Giles’ range too. She had learnt to read him when they trained. She knew when he’d had a bad day or was tired. She knew when he was happy and pleased with himself. He would still catch her out occasionally, but only because he was far better at distracting her than any vampire. Like announcing he was leaving, that was a killer blow she hadn’t seen coming, but generally they knew each other’s fighting skills so well leaving them both secure yet vulnerable to the other. She took a short improvised slug at his kidneys, but he parried and grinned at the move. Some things were understood and never spoken of.
Slaying was her life and fighting the only time she felt alive. It wasn’t just the violence, oddly satisfying though that was, it wasn’t just the primitive adrenalin surge at winning, it was the connection to her opponent. Giles had taught her to search for weaknesses, to spar, feign, trap and ensnare. Dracula said she needed the hunt but Buffy found she enjoyed the beautiful dance of death as well. Giles was enjoying it too, she could tell. He’d seemed rather guilty when she first arrived, Anya’s perfume hung in the air, but now his eyes were sparkling. They really needed to connect like this more often. She ran the back of her hand over her forehead to sweep the sweat away. She’d forgotten how good it felt to push herself against another person. This was a contest of cunning as well as physical abilities.
Damn, it was always good with Giles. He understood who she was and he respected that. She was pleased he’d given up that silly idea of leaving. He always backed down in the end if she pushed him. Giles was smiling and sweating too. His natural scent broke free of the insidious laundry starch that pervaded his clothes ever since he’d moved into that stupid hotel. She swung an attack against his left shoulder, idly planning to back him into the far wall. Giles surprised her by nimbly avoiding it and clearing sideways rather than in reverse. He still had some new tricks then.
They broke for water and sat on opposite arms of the couch. Giles towelled the sweat from his face before replacing his glasses and checking his wristwatch again.
“We should do this more often,” she said happily.
Giles frowned, “You do remember that I’m leaving later tonight?”
Buffy’s contentment quickly evaporated, “But Anya said you were staying.”
“No. That was the spell.” He was embarrassed at the misunderstanding, “Nothing has changed.”
“Why?” If she was pouting she didn’t care, he couldn’t do this to her again…
“It’s for the best, Buffy. We’ve been through this.”
She rose and picked up her weapon. “Once more then, so I get my money’s worth.” She took up her start position with the bokken, challenging him to join her.
Giles stood warily, “You don’t need me, you haven’t for some time. I’m a habit you need to kick.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said icily. She began to put forward teasing, controlled strikes. Giles could have stopped it, he could have put down his weapon but Buffy knew he’d leave then and it would be over. This contact was her last connection to him. She took a more defensive stance to encourage him. Eventually instead of merely parrying, he returned a blow and the contest resumed.
“Why would Anya say you were staying?” she challenged.
“This isn’t about Anya. You need to be strong.”
“Then you have to stay. The Council are paying you to be here, you can’t just leave. They put you up in that fancy hotel. Are the Council behind this? I don’t want another Watcher,” she could hear the panic in her own voice, “Tell them I don’t want another Watcher.”
“They won’t send anyone else.”
“Watchers only disappoint,” she wanted to be spiteful, she couldn’t believe he was doing this to her again.
He conceded some ground to her, “You’re dropping your shoulder too much.”
But Buffy had had a thought and wasn’t to be distracted, “Why are you staying in that hotel?”
He shuffled a little and nearly missed a block, “I could hardly stay on your couch.”
“No but the Council could’ve taken a lease on a place like last time,” she reasoned. “My god. They didn’t think I’d last this long.” She made a rash and angry swipe but he’d seen it coming and blocked, “I’m not worth their investment.”
Giles looked surprised, “No, honestly,” he pleaded, “It’s not the Council’s doing. I, I don’t even work for them anymore.”
“Since when? And what? So this was you deciding I wouldn’t last?” He’d walked into that. The wood didn’t ring as true as he parried. “Third times a charm eh, Giles?”
“No.” He advanced some short aggressive moves but he was angry, and he never fought well with her when he was angry.
“Yes, Giles. You’d moved on. There were double-decker buses in your life again, I get that. I’m sorry if I have inconvenienced you by staying alive. It wasn’t my idea,” she finished grandly.
“Don’t say that.” He’d been backing away against her easy blows, but now he stood his ground, “Don’t ever say that.”
“I heard you shouting at Willow that night. You were angry I was back. I’m not your responsibility anymore.”
“I was angry at Willow, yes, but not with you. I needed you to be alright.”
“Alright? I was ripped out of Heaven, How ‘alright’ could you possibly expect me to be?”
He made to take advantage of her poor positioning, but she anticipated. Her blow clipped him on the arm and he retreated. He was breathing a little heavier, but she’d fallen for that one before. Never show concern: he’d taught her that. She advanced two steps swinging left then right, Giles blocked and backed round back into the open space.
He was as bad as the rest of them. Dad, Angel, Riley. All those bastards had left her in the end. Giles was supposed to be her constant. They had a pact: they had understandings she shared with no-one else. Things she’d never told Willow or Xander. She loved Angel but she needed Giles. What he was doing was wrong.
He was talking and she hadn’t been listening. “…Willow said you were ok but I needed to know for myself.”
Willow wanted everything back how it was, but everything had changed too much for that. “I’ve decided I want you to go, Giles. In fact I never want to see you again. You broke your word.”
There was too much anger on both sides now, they both stood with their weapons by their sides. “I did? You jumped off that bloody tower,” he snapped, “You left me. All I got was bits of your broken body to pick up.”
Buffy glared back, “I saved the World. Shouldn’t you be proud? Why did you even bother to come back to Sunnydale?”
“I told you, I had to see if you were OK.”
“Really not, Giles. Really not.”
“But you will be once I’m gone,” he said softly.
Soft words cut nothing. They all left her. Only Spike would remain. Willow had excluded him also from her late night resurrection special. Spike loved her no matter what. Giles could go to hell.
“In what way? You wanted to see if I was OK in what way? Because you knew Willow’s spell could have gone wrong. Everyone thinks I came back wrong.”
“You didn’t.”
She had a horrible idea - an idea that was suffocating her. “But that’s what you were expecting to find wasn’t it? You said I was damaged. You came to clear up her mess,” she accused, “You came to kill the thing she resurrected.”
He didn’t answer, and when he couldn’t look her in the eye, she knew she was right. “You sonofabitch,” she yelled and attacked with no thought to form or consequences. Some blows hit him and she didn’t care. Spike cared for her more than Giles did. Spike had more humanity than Giles. He thought he could kill her? He wasn’t in her league.
She launched an attack of pure fury. Everything, Willow, her mom, Angel. Everything that ever hurt came crashing out. Giles defended wildly as the blows rained at him from all directions. There was fear in his eyes and she didn’t care. Instinct drove her on. Self control had gone, and he was the thing, the threat, the root cause of everything. She could make it all go away. This was what she did. This was all she was. She breached his defences and caught him on the hip. He yelped but it wasn’t enough to stop her.
“You don’t understand…” he started to protest she knocked him off his balance and pressed her advantage. “Buffy please…”, but her assault was rapid and driven by pain and hurt. He blocked and defended, moving sideways rather than be backed up against a wall. He was genuinely tiring now, just trying to ride out her rage. Part of her admired his instincts for survival, he was a better fighter than she remembered. It really had been a while since they had been this close. He was frightened, as he damn well should be. How could he leave her? When an opportunity to finish it presented itself, she took it without thinking. Her arm was already on the follow through when she realised with a sickening foreboding that he was going to be too slow to react. It was a blow that she’d used to decapitate vampires before now. All she could do was watch the outcome with horrible fascination. Giles to his credit, managed a partial block and deflected the violence partly. But he was only human and Buffy’s heavy wooden sword struck him with a bone crunching crack on the side of his head, his glasses shattered and there was blood streaming across his face from the broken lenses and violence of her assault.
Giles dropped to all fours on the floor, gasping, whimpering. Small rivulets of blood were hitting the stone floor. The cuts were mostly from glass, but there was the beginning of swelling on the side of his head. She couldn’t see his eyes, wasn’t sure how much damage she’d done. Buffy couldn’t move, she’d winded him before in training, knocked him on his ass plenty of times, deliberately made him look stupid, but this was serious. Her anger had died but the heat had transformed itself to guilt. She really had tried to hurt him, and suddenly she felt very alone. Giles knew her better than anyone. Jenny Calendar’s death had sealed an understanding that even Angel’s return and the stupid Council test didn’t destroy. She’d really hurt Giles, really injured him and she’d meant to do it. The sight of his blood running to the floor turned her to stone. She really was a Thing if she could do that.
He rose very shakily. There were tears of pain in his eyes. Still she stood there and watched as Giles picked up his jacket and pushed it on untidily. His blood was rolling onto his shirt quite freely now. He gathered his bags and tossed her a bunch of keys. She made no attempt to catch them and they jangled to the cold floor, partially in his blood.
“Lock up and give those to Anya,” he said, scooping his travelling documents.
“Giles, I’m so…”
“I’m not your mother. I’m not your doormat. And I’m not your bloody punching bag.”
The door slammed behind him and she heard the jaunty bell of the main entrance seconds later. She stood with weapon in hand and looked at the broken frames that used to be his glasses. Everything was shattered.
She went to the Bronze because there didn’t seem like anywhere else to go. Home meant Willow and she didn’t feel safe around Willow, so she sat at the bar and waited for either her numbness to go away or an apocalypse to overtake them all.
He had a responsibility to her. Not to leave, not to abandon her. She’d made him promise. When they were both vulnerable and hurting in front of a burning warehouse. She’d punched him to the ground, and hung on to him for dear life, and made him promise not to leave her. She’d never felt as close to another human being as she had in that moment.
They’d broken apart when they’d heard the sirens. Giles had been pretty raw still, but Buffy pulled it together and slipped them away before the authorities blundered about for easy suspects. She’d taken him by the hand and walked silently around the perimeter wire, gradually shifting further and further away from the noise and the lights. Eventually they came out at the docks and were alone near the pier. Giles sat on a bench with his hands in his pockets and looked at the dark water for a long time. Buffy perched on the top rail. Neither of them wanted to go home. The smoke had got into her throat. They’d both cried so much she didn’t think she had anything left in her. Giles still looked like he wanted to make a hole in the river.
“If Angel,” he’d begun quietly, “If Angel, or any vampire, kills and turns me, you mustn’t hesitate.”
“You can’t ask me that. I can’t.”
“You have to. I know too much about you. We’ve shared too much. Promise me.”
“Stop talking about me losing you.”
“Please. I don’t want to ever hurt you Buffy.”
She’d wiped her nose roughly on the back of her sleeve. She smelt like a barbeque.
“Only if you promise too.”
“Are you OK there?”
The bartender was asking a question, she scowled. She was alone and miserable in a club full of happy people and that was the way she wanted to keep it. “Can I get you some ice for that?” he continued with genuine concern. She focussed at him in puzzlement to see he hadn’t been talking to her. The bar stool next to her had become occupied. She’d zoned so far she hadn’t even realised it was Giles who’d sat next to her. He’d showered someplace and changed into jeans and a casual jacket and tee. She recognised them as the clothes he’d worn to fly into Sunnydale; his travelling clothes.
Giles declined the ice and the bartender drifted away. Slayer and Watcher sat side by side in silence for a while as the guest band played on the main stage.
“I was angry with Willow,” he began, “she should have let you stay at peace, but she didn’t make any mistakes with the spell. You haven’t come back wrong.”
“Spike thinks I did.”
“Spike would.”
He’d cleaned enough of the dried blood from his face to avoid being questioned by the airport police, and found some butterfly stitches but he still looked a mess, the bruising taunted her.
“Does that hurt?” She hated herself for such a childish question.
“Quite a bit actually, but Dawn patched me up and we raided the medicine cabinet for horse pills. I may yet win the Kentucky Derby.”
He hadn’t checked back into the hotel to change then. He could still be leaving. He’d gone to the house, maybe looking for her, maybe looking for Willow, or Dawn. Of course he was still leaving. Just because he was there and sitting six inches from her, it still meant nothing, it might as well have been an ocean. She had to try and explain it to him. She needed him to understand, but for that she needed the right words. She couldn’t tell him how she didn’t want to dress, or shower or get up or even wake up in a morning. That life seemed so black and white and she was hugging the darker shadows. She was pathetic. He was going to leave her and tell her she needed to ‘get over it’ because she couldn’t explain what she needed from him properly. The more she wanted to tell him, the more likely it was he’d despise her and go.
The band finished a song and announced a short break. “I came back because I needed to see you for myself. I’m your Watcher and I have a responsibility to you, even beyond death.”
He started to tear a paper cup, probably because he couldn’t fidget with his glasses. “I didn’t know what I’d find when I came back. I was afraid. Willow kept the secret of the spell from me because she knew I’d do everything I could to prevent her. But I think she also knew I wouldn’t permit any creature of darkness, however Buffy-shaped to survive and make a mockery of your life.
“I love you Buffy. I couldn’t let you become something evil born of dark magic. I would have killed ‘it’, not you, but yes,” he took a big breath and admitted, “I would have killed it.”
And she knew he meant it, and it was beautiful. She could feel the smoke in her eyes again.
“You’ve never said ‘you love me’ before.”
“We’re having a big day of firsts,” he said ruefully, “It’s not a surprise I hope?”
“Not really.” How could he still love her? She was darkness and pain. “I just hurt you,” was the only thing she could think to say.
“You’re forgiven. Occupational hazard really.”
“Not really. Not like that. And not even occupational now they’ve fired you again.”
He sniffed. “The terms of my severance are somewhat unclear,” he started to destroy a second cup, this time with more force. “Travers offered his condolences. I offered his teeth down the back of his throat.”
She smiled. There was probably a longer story but Giles had a knack of giving out the abridged version.
She had a weak confidence in her own now. She sighed and began, “Do you remember Billy’s whacky nightmare world? Lucky nineteen and all that?”
“Vividly. You were a vampire. But we knew that was temporary…” he added hastily.
“I know. I was a vampire, but that isn’t my point. Do you remember how I clawed my way out of my grave?” She could see that he had forgotten and she watched as the nasty shock of realisation hit him.
“Oh god.”
“Not something I thought I’d have to do a second time,” she added
“Oh god, Buffy. I’m so sorry.”
“But the first time I knew I wasn’t alone.” She desperately needed him to understand, “I wasn’t alone then, I heard voices, I grabbed your hand and you pulled me out of the darkness.”
“That’s a romantic view. I think I panicked and was just trying to get away.”
She ignored his self-deprecating humour. “You weren’t there this time. I know that wasn’t your fault, Giles, but I looked for you. I still do. Not to do everything for me, but sometimes, just to take my hand again. I’m slipping back and I can’t do this on my own.”
He stopped adding to his little pile of destruction. Everything seemed to have stopped.
“How can you love me?” she whispered, “I’m not Buffy. I don’t feel like Buffy. It’s like she died and I’m here instead.”
He stood rather decisively and she shrank back slightly away from him. This was it. She’d said too much. This was the end. Muttering “Stupid”, Giles swept the debris of his paper cups into one hand and not seeing a trash can, stuffed the bits into his jacket pocket.
“Where are you going?” she asked, conscious her voice was barely audible.
His warm eyes shined into hers, “It’s late and I was well brought up. I think I need to take you home now.”
He had the gentlest voice when he chose to use it. She rose but was still afraid.
“I don’t know where home is anymore,” she confessed.
“It’s OK, I do.” And he held out his hand to her.
The End
Author: il_mio_capitano
Length: 4700 or so
Characters: Buffy, Giles
Summary: A different ending for Tabula Rasa
Rating: Teen. Slight language, violence - so teen stuff. No Sex (I can't write Sex and I'm sure nobody wants to read me try)
Background: I was challenged by littleotter73 to get off my backside and post something. There were specific directions though I fear I have ignored most of them. 8-)
Buffy felt sick and humiliated when her memories returned. Spike was calling after her, but she needed to put space between her and everyone. It was a lousy day and she felt dirty at having been tricked into preppy enthusiasm for Life by Willow. The day had started badly enough when Giles, oh hell Giles, she broke into a run, Giles was leaving and she’d wasted all this time when they should have been changing his mind. He had no business leaving her. He was paid not to leave her. It twisted her soul to think of the pacts made in the shadow of a burning warehouse. Her anger at Willow’s manipulation was nothing compared to the betrayal she felt with Giles. He knew, he knew where she’d been. He knew she needed him now more than ever. Was she so terrible that even Giles couldn’t bear to be with her? Where the hell did he get off with that attitude?
She’d barely noticed him at the shop when they’d all woken up. She’d felt she had a connection to Dawn; but Giles was just the shopkeeper, with the strange son, and the strange fiancé and in her case, strange customers. They meant nothing to each other. She could only remember him looking at her once, when she’d staked the first vampire out of pure instinct. The others had looked kind of scared, whereas Giles had looked what, impressed? But then he'd had his arms too full of Anya to notice much more. It was a horrible mess. Young Billy’s wacky world of nightmares come true had nothing on this day. Lucky Nineteen’s problems didn’t cover the half of it.
The lights were still on at the Magic Box, much to her relief. She realised she didn’t know what time his plane was leaving, because they hadn’t had the sort of conversation were you take interest in the details. They’d just focussed on the big honking, ‘I’m ripping your heart out and it’s for your own good’ section.
The bell jangled as she met Anya leaving, coat and purse in hand.
“Willow has a lot to answer for,” said Anya with narrowed eyes. Buffy wondered what she had to be angry about. “Oh. They’re all back at the house. Everyone is OK but Tara is moving out, everyone is upset about what’s happened and I need to see Xander.”
“Is Giles still here?”
Anya treated her to a short, mocking laugh. “He’s still here. Oh, of course he’s still here. I’ve totally ruined that.”
“Why? Anya, what happened?”
“He’s staying. We found his plane tickets, God it’s humiliating, and I begged him to stay. Just when he’s finally going and I can make money properly, and not have him getting in the way, I make him promise not to leave me.”
“He’s staying?”
“He is now and it’s all my fault” Anya said bitterly.
“How come?”
Anya suddenly seemed to find a seam of untapped reticence, “I really need to see Xander now. Giles is in the back room. Bye.”
Problem solved then. Quite right he was staying, this was his home. Buffy shrugged it off and walked into the back training room to see Giles packing some towels and stuff into his travelling bags. He heard her come in and turned a little guiltily.
“Hi Giles. It’s been a really weird day.”
“And we were unconscious for most of it,” he agreed a little sheepishly.
“Engagement is off I take it?” she asked brightly.
He gave her one of his mock suffering looks and resumed to messing with some stuff in his bags. “Xander Harris is the bravest man I know,” he said, “I have new found respect for him.”
She smiled and sat on their green couch as he fiddled with some documents. Buffy liked what Xander called the Danger Room. In the teeth of Anya’s objections, Giles’ stock area was crammed into the basement and this spacious room he’d cleared for Buffy. During that first year of Slayer training they’d explored every inch. She knew where the stone floor slabs were uneven and even the extent of the slight damp around the sink. She’d moved the fall mats a thousand times and still smiled at the sight of the straw dummy in the blue shirt. The punch bags had been mended twice since they’d been hung; although they were more a Riley thing. Solo workouts used to bore her, but since her return that was the only equipment she’d really used.
“How come we haven’t trained together since you came back?” she asked suddenly. “Properly I mean, as equals.”
“I don’t know. There hasn’t been the time and you are self-sufficient now. There’s nothing more I can teach you.” He studied his shoes.
“I used to enjoy kicking your butt.” She jumped up decisively and went to the weapons locker, “How about it? For old times sake?”
Giles looked at his watch nervously, “What? Now?”
“It won’t take long.”
He tilted his head, “How encouraging.”
“Come on. We used to do this a lot. I miss it.” She knew he’d agree once she said that so she turned her attention to which weapons to choose. She wanted something they were both good at, something to use at arms’ length but not metal or sharp. The bokken were perfect; shaped like a Samurai sword yet made of hard unforgiving wood. She loved everything about these weapons; the links to the past, the versatility, the noise they struck when they clashed. Bokken were training weapons, but could be deadly in even inexperienced hands. Hit an opponent with one of these and they didn’t get up and leave in a hurry. Plus wood, so handy.
She closed the locker and turned with her choice. Giles’ eyebrows questioned the fact she’d not pulled any protective padding for them.
“Nah, I think we know what we’re doing after all these years.”
“This is a six hundred dollar suit,” he grumbled.
“So take it off,” she said and tossed the heavy bokken to him.
She expected a glare but instead he just removed his tie and then his jacket. The top shirt button was already undone. His passport fell out of his jacket when he put it down; he stuffed it back into a pocket hastily.
They started with some basic moves each, warming up like tennis players. Loosening muscles, perfecting reach and aim. They followed their familiar pattern and then begin to improvise - offense and defence. The heavy wooden swords tolled like bells when they made contact. She’d tried this with Riley but he’d not understood the poetry of the exchange. Riley had wanted to win, she couldn’t really blame him, it was what he’d been raised to expect. She never really let herself go with Riley, she loved his smile when he thought he’d gained an advantage. With Angel, everything physical quickly became laden with sexual subtext. That or the memory of the battle of Acathla created a different kind of tension. No, whilst Angel and Riley had sparred with her, they’d always seen it too much like foreplay. With Giles it was purely two people testing each other. He had always been tuned to how she wanted to train. They never discussed it, but sometimes he would lead on the attack, other times he defended as she worked on combination of moves.
They’d trainer harder in the back room than they ever did in the library. Giles usually changed into sweats rather than simply rolling up his sleeves. It was no longer an after-hours school activity like chess. She had genuinely wanted to understand what being a Slayer meant, to understand her power and her boundaries. Over the years, she had gained a pretty good idea of Giles’ range too. She had learnt to read him when they trained. She knew when he’d had a bad day or was tired. She knew when he was happy and pleased with himself. He would still catch her out occasionally, but only because he was far better at distracting her than any vampire. Like announcing he was leaving, that was a killer blow she hadn’t seen coming, but generally they knew each other’s fighting skills so well leaving them both secure yet vulnerable to the other. She took a short improvised slug at his kidneys, but he parried and grinned at the move. Some things were understood and never spoken of.
Slaying was her life and fighting the only time she felt alive. It wasn’t just the violence, oddly satisfying though that was, it wasn’t just the primitive adrenalin surge at winning, it was the connection to her opponent. Giles had taught her to search for weaknesses, to spar, feign, trap and ensnare. Dracula said she needed the hunt but Buffy found she enjoyed the beautiful dance of death as well. Giles was enjoying it too, she could tell. He’d seemed rather guilty when she first arrived, Anya’s perfume hung in the air, but now his eyes were sparkling. They really needed to connect like this more often. She ran the back of her hand over her forehead to sweep the sweat away. She’d forgotten how good it felt to push herself against another person. This was a contest of cunning as well as physical abilities.
Damn, it was always good with Giles. He understood who she was and he respected that. She was pleased he’d given up that silly idea of leaving. He always backed down in the end if she pushed him. Giles was smiling and sweating too. His natural scent broke free of the insidious laundry starch that pervaded his clothes ever since he’d moved into that stupid hotel. She swung an attack against his left shoulder, idly planning to back him into the far wall. Giles surprised her by nimbly avoiding it and clearing sideways rather than in reverse. He still had some new tricks then.
They broke for water and sat on opposite arms of the couch. Giles towelled the sweat from his face before replacing his glasses and checking his wristwatch again.
“We should do this more often,” she said happily.
Giles frowned, “You do remember that I’m leaving later tonight?”
Buffy’s contentment quickly evaporated, “But Anya said you were staying.”
“No. That was the spell.” He was embarrassed at the misunderstanding, “Nothing has changed.”
“Why?” If she was pouting she didn’t care, he couldn’t do this to her again…
“It’s for the best, Buffy. We’ve been through this.”
She rose and picked up her weapon. “Once more then, so I get my money’s worth.” She took up her start position with the bokken, challenging him to join her.
Giles stood warily, “You don’t need me, you haven’t for some time. I’m a habit you need to kick.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said icily. She began to put forward teasing, controlled strikes. Giles could have stopped it, he could have put down his weapon but Buffy knew he’d leave then and it would be over. This contact was her last connection to him. She took a more defensive stance to encourage him. Eventually instead of merely parrying, he returned a blow and the contest resumed.
“Why would Anya say you were staying?” she challenged.
“This isn’t about Anya. You need to be strong.”
“Then you have to stay. The Council are paying you to be here, you can’t just leave. They put you up in that fancy hotel. Are the Council behind this? I don’t want another Watcher,” she could hear the panic in her own voice, “Tell them I don’t want another Watcher.”
“They won’t send anyone else.”
“Watchers only disappoint,” she wanted to be spiteful, she couldn’t believe he was doing this to her again.
He conceded some ground to her, “You’re dropping your shoulder too much.”
But Buffy had had a thought and wasn’t to be distracted, “Why are you staying in that hotel?”
He shuffled a little and nearly missed a block, “I could hardly stay on your couch.”
“No but the Council could’ve taken a lease on a place like last time,” she reasoned. “My god. They didn’t think I’d last this long.” She made a rash and angry swipe but he’d seen it coming and blocked, “I’m not worth their investment.”
Giles looked surprised, “No, honestly,” he pleaded, “It’s not the Council’s doing. I, I don’t even work for them anymore.”
“Since when? And what? So this was you deciding I wouldn’t last?” He’d walked into that. The wood didn’t ring as true as he parried. “Third times a charm eh, Giles?”
“No.” He advanced some short aggressive moves but he was angry, and he never fought well with her when he was angry.
“Yes, Giles. You’d moved on. There were double-decker buses in your life again, I get that. I’m sorry if I have inconvenienced you by staying alive. It wasn’t my idea,” she finished grandly.
“Don’t say that.” He’d been backing away against her easy blows, but now he stood his ground, “Don’t ever say that.”
“I heard you shouting at Willow that night. You were angry I was back. I’m not your responsibility anymore.”
“I was angry at Willow, yes, but not with you. I needed you to be alright.”
“Alright? I was ripped out of Heaven, How ‘alright’ could you possibly expect me to be?”
He made to take advantage of her poor positioning, but she anticipated. Her blow clipped him on the arm and he retreated. He was breathing a little heavier, but she’d fallen for that one before. Never show concern: he’d taught her that. She advanced two steps swinging left then right, Giles blocked and backed round back into the open space.
He was as bad as the rest of them. Dad, Angel, Riley. All those bastards had left her in the end. Giles was supposed to be her constant. They had a pact: they had understandings she shared with no-one else. Things she’d never told Willow or Xander. She loved Angel but she needed Giles. What he was doing was wrong.
He was talking and she hadn’t been listening. “…Willow said you were ok but I needed to know for myself.”
Willow wanted everything back how it was, but everything had changed too much for that. “I’ve decided I want you to go, Giles. In fact I never want to see you again. You broke your word.”
There was too much anger on both sides now, they both stood with their weapons by their sides. “I did? You jumped off that bloody tower,” he snapped, “You left me. All I got was bits of your broken body to pick up.”
Buffy glared back, “I saved the World. Shouldn’t you be proud? Why did you even bother to come back to Sunnydale?”
“I told you, I had to see if you were OK.”
“Really not, Giles. Really not.”
“But you will be once I’m gone,” he said softly.
Soft words cut nothing. They all left her. Only Spike would remain. Willow had excluded him also from her late night resurrection special. Spike loved her no matter what. Giles could go to hell.
“In what way? You wanted to see if I was OK in what way? Because you knew Willow’s spell could have gone wrong. Everyone thinks I came back wrong.”
“You didn’t.”
She had a horrible idea - an idea that was suffocating her. “But that’s what you were expecting to find wasn’t it? You said I was damaged. You came to clear up her mess,” she accused, “You came to kill the thing she resurrected.”
He didn’t answer, and when he couldn’t look her in the eye, she knew she was right. “You sonofabitch,” she yelled and attacked with no thought to form or consequences. Some blows hit him and she didn’t care. Spike cared for her more than Giles did. Spike had more humanity than Giles. He thought he could kill her? He wasn’t in her league.
She launched an attack of pure fury. Everything, Willow, her mom, Angel. Everything that ever hurt came crashing out. Giles defended wildly as the blows rained at him from all directions. There was fear in his eyes and she didn’t care. Instinct drove her on. Self control had gone, and he was the thing, the threat, the root cause of everything. She could make it all go away. This was what she did. This was all she was. She breached his defences and caught him on the hip. He yelped but it wasn’t enough to stop her.
“You don’t understand…” he started to protest she knocked him off his balance and pressed her advantage. “Buffy please…”, but her assault was rapid and driven by pain and hurt. He blocked and defended, moving sideways rather than be backed up against a wall. He was genuinely tiring now, just trying to ride out her rage. Part of her admired his instincts for survival, he was a better fighter than she remembered. It really had been a while since they had been this close. He was frightened, as he damn well should be. How could he leave her? When an opportunity to finish it presented itself, she took it without thinking. Her arm was already on the follow through when she realised with a sickening foreboding that he was going to be too slow to react. It was a blow that she’d used to decapitate vampires before now. All she could do was watch the outcome with horrible fascination. Giles to his credit, managed a partial block and deflected the violence partly. But he was only human and Buffy’s heavy wooden sword struck him with a bone crunching crack on the side of his head, his glasses shattered and there was blood streaming across his face from the broken lenses and violence of her assault.
Giles dropped to all fours on the floor, gasping, whimpering. Small rivulets of blood were hitting the stone floor. The cuts were mostly from glass, but there was the beginning of swelling on the side of his head. She couldn’t see his eyes, wasn’t sure how much damage she’d done. Buffy couldn’t move, she’d winded him before in training, knocked him on his ass plenty of times, deliberately made him look stupid, but this was serious. Her anger had died but the heat had transformed itself to guilt. She really had tried to hurt him, and suddenly she felt very alone. Giles knew her better than anyone. Jenny Calendar’s death had sealed an understanding that even Angel’s return and the stupid Council test didn’t destroy. She’d really hurt Giles, really injured him and she’d meant to do it. The sight of his blood running to the floor turned her to stone. She really was a Thing if she could do that.
He rose very shakily. There were tears of pain in his eyes. Still she stood there and watched as Giles picked up his jacket and pushed it on untidily. His blood was rolling onto his shirt quite freely now. He gathered his bags and tossed her a bunch of keys. She made no attempt to catch them and they jangled to the cold floor, partially in his blood.
“Lock up and give those to Anya,” he said, scooping his travelling documents.
“Giles, I’m so…”
“I’m not your mother. I’m not your doormat. And I’m not your bloody punching bag.”
The door slammed behind him and she heard the jaunty bell of the main entrance seconds later. She stood with weapon in hand and looked at the broken frames that used to be his glasses. Everything was shattered.
She went to the Bronze because there didn’t seem like anywhere else to go. Home meant Willow and she didn’t feel safe around Willow, so she sat at the bar and waited for either her numbness to go away or an apocalypse to overtake them all.
He had a responsibility to her. Not to leave, not to abandon her. She’d made him promise. When they were both vulnerable and hurting in front of a burning warehouse. She’d punched him to the ground, and hung on to him for dear life, and made him promise not to leave her. She’d never felt as close to another human being as she had in that moment.
They’d broken apart when they’d heard the sirens. Giles had been pretty raw still, but Buffy pulled it together and slipped them away before the authorities blundered about for easy suspects. She’d taken him by the hand and walked silently around the perimeter wire, gradually shifting further and further away from the noise and the lights. Eventually they came out at the docks and were alone near the pier. Giles sat on a bench with his hands in his pockets and looked at the dark water for a long time. Buffy perched on the top rail. Neither of them wanted to go home. The smoke had got into her throat. They’d both cried so much she didn’t think she had anything left in her. Giles still looked like he wanted to make a hole in the river.
“If Angel,” he’d begun quietly, “If Angel, or any vampire, kills and turns me, you mustn’t hesitate.”
“You can’t ask me that. I can’t.”
“You have to. I know too much about you. We’ve shared too much. Promise me.”
“Stop talking about me losing you.”
“Please. I don’t want to ever hurt you Buffy.”
She’d wiped her nose roughly on the back of her sleeve. She smelt like a barbeque.
“Only if you promise too.”
“Are you OK there?”
The bartender was asking a question, she scowled. She was alone and miserable in a club full of happy people and that was the way she wanted to keep it. “Can I get you some ice for that?” he continued with genuine concern. She focussed at him in puzzlement to see he hadn’t been talking to her. The bar stool next to her had become occupied. She’d zoned so far she hadn’t even realised it was Giles who’d sat next to her. He’d showered someplace and changed into jeans and a casual jacket and tee. She recognised them as the clothes he’d worn to fly into Sunnydale; his travelling clothes.
Giles declined the ice and the bartender drifted away. Slayer and Watcher sat side by side in silence for a while as the guest band played on the main stage.
“I was angry with Willow,” he began, “she should have let you stay at peace, but she didn’t make any mistakes with the spell. You haven’t come back wrong.”
“Spike thinks I did.”
“Spike would.”
He’d cleaned enough of the dried blood from his face to avoid being questioned by the airport police, and found some butterfly stitches but he still looked a mess, the bruising taunted her.
“Does that hurt?” She hated herself for such a childish question.
“Quite a bit actually, but Dawn patched me up and we raided the medicine cabinet for horse pills. I may yet win the Kentucky Derby.”
He hadn’t checked back into the hotel to change then. He could still be leaving. He’d gone to the house, maybe looking for her, maybe looking for Willow, or Dawn. Of course he was still leaving. Just because he was there and sitting six inches from her, it still meant nothing, it might as well have been an ocean. She had to try and explain it to him. She needed him to understand, but for that she needed the right words. She couldn’t tell him how she didn’t want to dress, or shower or get up or even wake up in a morning. That life seemed so black and white and she was hugging the darker shadows. She was pathetic. He was going to leave her and tell her she needed to ‘get over it’ because she couldn’t explain what she needed from him properly. The more she wanted to tell him, the more likely it was he’d despise her and go.
The band finished a song and announced a short break. “I came back because I needed to see you for myself. I’m your Watcher and I have a responsibility to you, even beyond death.”
He started to tear a paper cup, probably because he couldn’t fidget with his glasses. “I didn’t know what I’d find when I came back. I was afraid. Willow kept the secret of the spell from me because she knew I’d do everything I could to prevent her. But I think she also knew I wouldn’t permit any creature of darkness, however Buffy-shaped to survive and make a mockery of your life.
“I love you Buffy. I couldn’t let you become something evil born of dark magic. I would have killed ‘it’, not you, but yes,” he took a big breath and admitted, “I would have killed it.”
And she knew he meant it, and it was beautiful. She could feel the smoke in her eyes again.
“You’ve never said ‘you love me’ before.”
“We’re having a big day of firsts,” he said ruefully, “It’s not a surprise I hope?”
“Not really.” How could he still love her? She was darkness and pain. “I just hurt you,” was the only thing she could think to say.
“You’re forgiven. Occupational hazard really.”
“Not really. Not like that. And not even occupational now they’ve fired you again.”
He sniffed. “The terms of my severance are somewhat unclear,” he started to destroy a second cup, this time with more force. “Travers offered his condolences. I offered his teeth down the back of his throat.”
She smiled. There was probably a longer story but Giles had a knack of giving out the abridged version.
She had a weak confidence in her own now. She sighed and began, “Do you remember Billy’s whacky nightmare world? Lucky nineteen and all that?”
“Vividly. You were a vampire. But we knew that was temporary…” he added hastily.
“I know. I was a vampire, but that isn’t my point. Do you remember how I clawed my way out of my grave?” She could see that he had forgotten and she watched as the nasty shock of realisation hit him.
“Oh god.”
“Not something I thought I’d have to do a second time,” she added
“Oh god, Buffy. I’m so sorry.”
“But the first time I knew I wasn’t alone.” She desperately needed him to understand, “I wasn’t alone then, I heard voices, I grabbed your hand and you pulled me out of the darkness.”
“That’s a romantic view. I think I panicked and was just trying to get away.”
She ignored his self-deprecating humour. “You weren’t there this time. I know that wasn’t your fault, Giles, but I looked for you. I still do. Not to do everything for me, but sometimes, just to take my hand again. I’m slipping back and I can’t do this on my own.”
He stopped adding to his little pile of destruction. Everything seemed to have stopped.
“How can you love me?” she whispered, “I’m not Buffy. I don’t feel like Buffy. It’s like she died and I’m here instead.”
He stood rather decisively and she shrank back slightly away from him. This was it. She’d said too much. This was the end. Muttering “Stupid”, Giles swept the debris of his paper cups into one hand and not seeing a trash can, stuffed the bits into his jacket pocket.
“Where are you going?” she asked, conscious her voice was barely audible.
His warm eyes shined into hers, “It’s late and I was well brought up. I think I need to take you home now.”
He had the gentlest voice when he chose to use it. She rose but was still afraid.
“I don’t know where home is anymore,” she confessed.
“It’s OK, I do.” And he held out his hand to her.
The End