Outside, by LJS

[ljs]

rahirah is holding a "Nertz to You, Joss Whedon" ficathon -- See relevant information here.
Anyway, I took the challenge.

TITLE: Outside
AUTHOR: LJS
PAIRING: Giles/Anya
RATING: Teen
LENGTH: 2900 words
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Mr George Michael, Joss Whedon and Co (to whom we say Nertz)
ALSO POSTED: Here at AO3.
SUMMARY: AU, post-Chosen.

Let's go outside, in the sunshine -- "Outside," George Michael

A year after "Chosen," Buffy and Willow are worried about Giles, so they arrive at his home unannounced. They're not entirely prepared for what they find.


Music poured out of the open upstairs windows in the old grey country house. It was bright, thumpy pop music that Buffy herself liked, but she sure didn't expect to hear it from Giles' home.

She clutched Willow's hand and said, “Oh my God, it's worse than we thought.”

“Maybe it's not him. Maybe it's a guest or something,” Willow said, trying to be reasonable. Buffy could see that it was an effort, though, because first, Willow was still stressed because she'd been the one to drive on the wrong side of the road all the way from Manchester to here in the green spring countryside, wherever here-in-the-green-spring-countryside was, and second, Willow only knew about this place because of the time after the whole crazed-Dark-Goddess thing which was not quite two years ago and so still a barely scabbed wound, and third, there was no good reason Giles or a guest of his would be listening to George Michael. Ever.

“Willow, he's gone crazy.” Buffy sat down on the hood of the rental car, which Willow had parked in a sort of hidden space by the driveway (was it a driveway in England? Like, a long winding driveway, gates on one end, trees overhanging the road, and it was kind of reminding her of those old paperbacks her mom read, with girls in white nightgowns fleeing creepy-hot guardians who lived in dark castles. Oh no, did that mean Giles was a creepy-hot guardian? No, surely not.)

“Because he has a guest?”

“No, because this is all so strange and, and weird!” Buffy dropped Willow's hand and stared more at the house. The upstairs curtains rippled in the wind, which shouldn't have been alarming but totally was, with the ghost factor added to the creepy-hot guardian factor. “I think there's something totally wrong.”

Willow sighed. “Which is why we came here from Cleveland and all, yes, and the fact that Giles has all these wards up which is new and shiny-scary--”

“Although you broke them easily enough,” Buffy said. “And anyway, we've known that he wasn't okay for a while.”

He'd seemed all right for a few months after the loss of Sunnydale (loss of more than that, although Buffy didn't like to list everything gone, didn't much like to think about it). He'd helped them connect to the remaining Watchers in hiding and begin a new Council. More, he and Buffy had had a long, not always nice talk where she'd yelled at him about stuff she'd been hiding for a couple of years, and he'd yelled back in a way that seemed like he'd eaten like a case of that old cursed band candy until he'd gentled into her smart, kind Watcher again, and after the yelling, he'd asked her what skills she thought she brought to the Slayer-game. That led to her confessing that she thought being the supreme leader-thing was maybe not her deal. “I'm the hand, not the mind or heart or spirit, you know?” she'd said, and he'd smiled and said she was all those things, but perhaps history had taught them that she needed an actual working group rather than minions to direct. Which, ouch, but yes.

But maybe he hadn't really been all right; he'd been grey and tired and quietly sad underneath, Buffy now thought. And then it had all gone Splat! Pow! He'd come to her one night, bags over his shoulder, and said that he had something he had to do. “A gig of my own,” he'd said, with a ghost of a smile, and when she said something about ghosts, he'd gone silent and then hugged her and left.

They hadn't heard from him for a couple of months, and then she'd called him because of the miracle-weirdness-miracle of Spike coming back. Giles had flown to Cleveland when he heard, and although he didn't look grey or tired or sad anywhere at all, that okayness was strange. He'd hugged everybody, and smiled, and listened while they'd talked about various Watchery things and asked his opinion about three old grimoires that Xander had just bought from Ethan Rayne in Istanbul (long story, but it was fine and they weren't overly cursed), then he'd had a private talk with Spike.

It was Spike who, after Giles had left the next day, said it best. “Old man didn't seem surprised I was back. In fact, the old man didn't even try to kill me,” he'd said, frowning down at his hands, twisting the new skull-ring Buffy had given him. “Was perfectly pleasant. Not like Rupes at all.”

Willow had ruled out a Toth-y replacement deal - she said Giles' aura was glowing fine and whole -but she'd been worried too. Faith and Dawn had told Buffy and Willow to go find out already before the two of them went fucking insane (Faith's words). And so here they were--

“Car's coming,” Willow said, and yanked Buffy into a little green thicket-place.

“What are you, we, you doing?” Buffy whispered.

“I'm a little weirded out, with the wards and all, and...we're not prepared! What are we going to say to him, Buffy?”

“Shouldn't we have figured that out before now?”

The engine noises and gravel-crunching and whipping branches got very loud all of a sudden, and then a big muddy Range Rover went by them. Buffy saw Giles at the wheel for a flash, and then the Range Rover slid to a stop in front of the house.

Giles got out, slammed the door, and looked around. Buffy suddenly felt a lurch of panic, which must have been why Willow had pulled them into hiding.

He looked different. Not grey, not tired, not sad, check. He looked tanned and fit, dressed like a gentleman farmer or something in a big sweater and jeans and dirty boots. He looked... happy.

Well, okay, he seemed a little puzzled too. “Christ, I was sure I'd left up the wards,” he said to himself, and shrugged. Then he looked up at the window (still rippling curtains, still George Michael), and an expression Buffy had never seen on his face appeared. It was ease, and irritation, and joy, and....

“For fuck's sake, what is that horrible noise?” he shouted up at the window. The music got louder.

Inside the house, a dog began to bark, deep and cheerful.

Grinning, Giles jogged up the deep front steps and opened the front door and disappeared into dimness.

“Okay,” Willow whispered, “what do we do now?”

“Um, we brush off the stupid leaves and twigs that are all over us, and then we go knock on the front door?”

“And say, 'Hey, Giles, we missed you and were in the neighbourhood'?” Willow said.

They looked at each other. Buffy's giggle bubbled up out of old friendship, old pain, and she hugged her best friend until there was a Willow-squeak, but it came out of laughter too. “That's exactly what we'll say.”

Gravel crunched under their feet as they walked. The music had stopped, the curtain closed. Buffy pushed away one last thought of creepy-hot guardians in paperback novels and rapped sharply on the front door.

The dog barked again, less cheerfully. Willow took Buffy's hand. Footsteps inside now, sharp as any knock, and then the door swung open --

And Giles blinked at them, opened his mouth to say something, and then went pale. Which wasn't very encouraging, but Buffy was distracted by a big, lean dog trying to squeeze through Giles's legs. Giles said, “Down, Bowie,” pushed the dog back, and then rushed outside and pulled the door shut. This was even less encouraging.

But then he just grabbed them both in a big Gilesian hug and drew them in, and Buffy sighed and burrowed into warmth.

“Buffy,” he said, and then, “Willow,” and the world full of demons was ordered and safe, just for a moment.

Then he kissed them both on the forehead, squeezed their shoulders, and said, “Er, right. I'm very happy to see you, girls, but, um... Willow, do you remember the picnic tree in the back garden?”

“Yes, but--”

“Right. Um, could you take Buffy there, and I'll be right out after, er, I....” He trailed off, smiling. “I really should have listened when-- Anyway. This is... shall we say, welcome vengeance, but... I 'll be right out.”

Buffy wanted to protest, but somehow he'd already pushed them toward the side of the house, and when she looked back, he was already disappearing inside the house again. “What is going on?” she said, mostly to herself.

Willow looked achingly sad, an expression that wafted across her face and then dissolved in the light west wind, and then she smiled. It was moments like that which reminded Buffy of how much they'd lived through, how much they'd grown. “The picnic tree is a lovely spot, Buffy. We'll find out what's going on soon enough.”

The path around the house was gravel, like the driveway, and beside it, flowers and herbs made flags of colour and green, green and colour, that waved as they went by. Buffy thought of Giles' apartment in Sunnydale, and part of the hurt that she still carried from his desertion all those years ago dissolved like Willow's sadness. For years he'd stayed away from this beautiful place for her, to Watch and care for her. But all along he must have wanted to come back home.

Willow squeezed her hand. “Hey, Buffy, come back,” she said quietly. “You were all thinky and gone.”

“I'm right here, right now,” Buffy said, and meant it.

The picnic tree was a huge, spreading thing, already greened with new leaves. Underneath it was a table and two chairs. Two chairs... “He must really have a guest,” Buffy said.

“Great deduction, Slayer-friend,” Willow said, but sweetly. She was smiling like someone had turned on a light inside. Then, “The table's new. Must be a nice enough spring to sit outside a lot.”

The cool wind was tossing the leaves overhead, so that there was sun and shade and sun, and the air was soft. “Must be,” Buffy said, and took a chair.

When she sat down, it was like a cloak of pain slipped off her shoulders. No wonder Willow had healed in this place.

The back door opened, and Giles came out with two more chairs. He brought them to the table, set them down, and murmured something about one more minute before going back inside.

The dog - Bowie, right - passed him in the doorway and bounded up to them. His grey coat matched the house, his smile was wide and doggy and just a bit drooly. But he had surprisingly good manners: he planted himself between the two empty chairs, where Buffy could only hear his cheerful panting.

Then Giles reappeared, this time carrying a tray full of food and drink. The door shut behind him, as if pulled by --

“The guest we haven't seen,” Willow said, finishing Buffy's thought. “But there's a chair ready.”

They smiled at each other, a little uneasily now, and then at Giles. He looked again like the man who'd gotten out of the car - tanned, fit. Happy.

“Well done, Bowie,” he said to the unseen dog, and then put the tray on the table. He had a familiar half-smile, the kind that was amused at his own private thoughts. “Er, tea and cookies, girls?”

After he served them both, he poured himself a cup of tea and sat down himself. “Er, right. Did you two have a good trip? And, um, a reason for popping by?”

“You're the reason, Giles,” Willow said.

“Because we're not going to let you disappear again,” Buffy added, emphatically. “We didn't like it the first time, and it turned out all dark.”

“Yeah,” Willow said, and didn't say anything else. She didn't have to.

He leaned back in his chair, that private smile gone a bit crooked. “Yes. Yes, I told myself I would do better, and then--” He shook his head, laughing at himself. “Old habits in a new world.”

Buffy couldn't help it. She just burst out, “What is going on, Giles?”

“Right.” He put his cup of tea down. “First, um, how is Xander?”

Buffy and Willow exchanged glances, then, “He's fine,” Buffy said, and “He's great. Just got back to Cleveland with his Slayer,” Willow said, and “He'd better take it slow with Dawn, though, 'cause my fist is mighty,” Buffy said, and Willow grinned.

“Ah.” Giles grinned, too, but it seemed different - as if a weight was gone. The feeling remained even after the grin passed. “All right, then. Um...girls...you remember the, er, aftermath of Sunnydale.”

“Yes,” Buffy said.

He didn't say anything for a minute - long enough for Buffy to eat a butter-rich cookie, to sip tea she didn't want. Long enough for her to notice that an upstairs window on this side was open, too. White curtains, rippling in the breeze....

“I don't think anyone noticed. Well, I tried to hide it... Er, that was a dark time for me. I was--” He took a sharp breath. “I was grieving.”

“We all were,” Willow said, and put her hand over Buffy's. Buffy couldn't say anything at all.

“Yes. But I don't believe that you all....” He seemed lost in old times for a moment, then focused. “I'd tried to hide it, but... Anya and I had become, er, good friends in those last few years. And it hurt me very much to think of a world without her. Of her alone at the end.”

Buffy remembered an old grave and earnest Anya, saying that she couldn't let Giles be alone if he was dying, and suddenly puzzle-moments fit together to make a picture she hadn't seen before.

“So, er, I was grieving, even as I watched Xander begin to heal. And then I decided I would.... Well, I rang Ethan Rayne. He owed me for getting him out of that government hell, and, um, I asked for repayment. He gave me the name of a seer in Bangkok.”

“What for?” Buffy said, and Willow said under her breath, “Oh, no.”

He looked up at that. “No, indeed, Willow, not that. Not to call on Osiris or anything like that, just to... know.” He half-smiled. “You know how I like to know things.”

The wind tossed the leaves above them, sun and shade and sun.

“So I left, and went to Bangkok. Wasn't there a song about that bloody place... Anyway, right, I found the seer. After a minor test or two, I managed to gain his trust, and he told me a rather amazing thing.” That smile was coming back, that happy release. “In the wreckage, two souls - one held by a demon, one not - had been saved by the Powers for reasons the seer couldn't discern. The demon was not my concern, the Seer told me, but the other...”

“Giles,” Willow said.

“It's all right, Willow. I am not an amateur.” When she huffed at that, his smile went deep. “Armed with an incantation, I went to Sjornjost. Er, in Sweden? And I called on the Powers, and, well...” He flushed. “That's not important - nothing you need to know. Although I suppose I should write it up for the Council records at some point. Anyway...”

Buffy said numbly, through shortbread crumbs that tasted for a moment like grave-dirt, “You brought someone back from the dead?”

“No. She was already alive, already safe. I just, er, brought her memory back.” He looked up at the sky for a moment, as if... no, Buffy didn't know why. She felt as if she'd never known him at all outside his tea and his tweed and his books, outside his funny stammers and hesitations. When had she forgotten that first shock of discovering his past, the Eyghon-stuff, the sense of his interior life so different from his outside? But he'd always shut the door tightly so she would forget.

He seemed so much bigger now, sitting there in the sun and shade and sun.

“And when I brought her memory back, other secrets came out, and, er....” He stopped.

Then the back door opened, and a female figure in a long, rippling dress, one as flowing as those curtains in an open window, came outside. A familiar voice: “Rupert, have you told them yet? Because you're taking an incredibly long time about it.”

He laughed, and it was free and happy, it was amazing. “Yes, darling. You know that I'm terribly slow.” He sent a look at Buffy and Willow and said apologetically, “Well, right. I should have told you, but I've been rather busy since she came back, what with the... er, well...”

“Love,” Anya said, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “That's the word you're looking for.”

“Yes.” Giles' hand went to hers, even as he smiled at Willow and Buffy. “That's the right word.”

Buffy sat there for a moment, testing the idea, testing the weirdness that was her life. Then Anya sat down in the empty chair and beamed at them. "Hi!"

“Hi, Anya,” Willow said, as if she didn't trust her voice.

“Yes. Hi, Anya,” Buffy said, and then she started to laugh, because here they all were, right now, right here. Outside, in the spring, in the sun.