FIC: AS WE GO FORWARD, (Giles gen, FRT) Part 5/8
Title: As We Go Forward
Author: Kelly B - kaymickbee
Rating: FRT
Pairing: Giles gen, some B/G subtext
Timeline: End of season seven. Spoilers for entire run of series as well as season 4 of Angel
Disclaimer: Joss/Fox/ME own it; According to Joss, all the best fans write fanfic.
SUMMARY:This is an epilogue of “Chosen,” which follows the new Slayers out ofSunnydale through Giles’ eyes. This portrait focuses on the immediateaftermath for Giles, Buffy, and the Scoobies as they regroup in L.A.Feasibly serves as a prequel to my story “Something Else,” which I may actually finish someday.
FEEDBACK: is lovely. This is my first fic in a very long time.
Distribution: This is for the 2007 summer_of_giles. Distribution is open if proper credit is given.
A/N: This assumes the characters’ knowledge that Angel Investigations has taken over Wolfram & Hart.
5.The Middle of the Night
Giles finished his tasks just before dawn, though sooner than he had thought he would. He had first checked on each of the rooms, which held three or four Slayers each, made sure they’d eaten, answered questions, offered some counsel on what they should tell their parents or others they called, and suggested each of them have a cup of tea and turn in.
Their responses had been, well, sweet. For the first time in several years, Giles truly felt like a Watcher, like a person who commanded a wealth of knowledge and earned the trust of his compatriots. Lately, he’d felt more like an ostracized Cro-Magnon who couldn’t be trusted to know his arse from his armpit. But now, many of the Slayers thanked him and asked if he would be their new Watcher. Several of them asked if he was all right and whether he would be staying with the group or going to England to rebuild “things.” And Choa Ann insisted through pantomime that he wait while she ran down the hall, and he laughed himself into tears when she returned with a soggy ice cream sandwich from a vending machine.
His meeting with Wesley was not quite as satisfying, but it was informative, and it was always beneficial to spend time with someone who understood the mystical, the paradoxical, and the ups and downs of working with Slayers. Wesley was no longer a schmuck, and Giles had grown to not only respect him, but even to enjoy his company a bit.
Wonders would never cease about the Wolfram and Hart deal, but Wesley insisted that Angel had not “turned evil.” He also filled Giles in about what had happened to Cordelia, what had transpired surrounding the great and terrible Jasmine, and what Wesley’s duties were now that he was essentially second in command of the largest supernatural organization in existence.
As he’d expected, Wesley, without being asked, talked about the need he could fill by returning to the Council. He seemingly entertained the idea briefly, but then conceded that there was “too much holding him to the work in Los Angeles.” Giles guessed that part of that hold was named Winifred; he recognized a look of adulation in Wesley each of the many times he spoke her name.
It must feel fulfilling, Giles mused as he walked down the hall toward his room, to have a sense of purpose that ran deeper than the current crisis, a sense of dedication and loyalty that hadn’t yet been breeched by blame and deceit and discord. He used to feel those same things about being a Watcher, about being Buffy’s Watcher, but for the last few years, he’d only switched from being worried about her to afraid of her to disgusted with her. He longed for the simpler bond they used to share, the one that used to annoy him with its teenage dramas, but used to warm him for its teenage gratification.
He opened the door quietly and sighed, knowing that in a few hours a phone would ring or a knock would crash against the door. Kicking off his clumsy boots, he hurried to the bed.
And he found Buffy in it.
He rubbed his eyes against the darkness, but she was still there, sleeping like apple-lipped Snow White in a Disney fairy tale. Taking further inventory, he saw that Willow was sleeping next to Xander, and Dawn was doing the same on the room’s sole lounge chair.
Sighing again, he thought of sweet-16 Buffy, in her mini-skirts and ridiculous shoes, sucking a lollipop and even with nightly blood on her hands, innocent, energetic, somehow holding to a spark of joy.
He settled into the bed next to the 22 year old version of Buffy, hardened, haggard, and he feared, hopeless.
Author: Kelly B - kaymickbee
Rating: FRT
Pairing: Giles gen, some B/G subtext
Timeline: End of season seven. Spoilers for entire run of series as well as season 4 of Angel
Disclaimer: Joss/Fox/ME own it; According to Joss, all the best fans write fanfic.
SUMMARY:This is an epilogue of “Chosen,” which follows the new Slayers out ofSunnydale through Giles’ eyes. This portrait focuses on the immediateaftermath for Giles, Buffy, and the Scoobies as they regroup in L.A.Feasibly serves as a prequel to my story “Something Else,” which I may actually finish someday.
FEEDBACK: is lovely. This is my first fic in a very long time.
Distribution: This is for the 2007 summer_of_giles. Distribution is open if proper credit is given.
A/N: This assumes the characters’ knowledge that Angel Investigations has taken over Wolfram & Hart.
5.The Middle of the Night
Giles finished his tasks just before dawn, though sooner than he had thought he would. He had first checked on each of the rooms, which held three or four Slayers each, made sure they’d eaten, answered questions, offered some counsel on what they should tell their parents or others they called, and suggested each of them have a cup of tea and turn in.
Their responses had been, well, sweet. For the first time in several years, Giles truly felt like a Watcher, like a person who commanded a wealth of knowledge and earned the trust of his compatriots. Lately, he’d felt more like an ostracized Cro-Magnon who couldn’t be trusted to know his arse from his armpit. But now, many of the Slayers thanked him and asked if he would be their new Watcher. Several of them asked if he was all right and whether he would be staying with the group or going to England to rebuild “things.” And Choa Ann insisted through pantomime that he wait while she ran down the hall, and he laughed himself into tears when she returned with a soggy ice cream sandwich from a vending machine.
His meeting with Wesley was not quite as satisfying, but it was informative, and it was always beneficial to spend time with someone who understood the mystical, the paradoxical, and the ups and downs of working with Slayers. Wesley was no longer a schmuck, and Giles had grown to not only respect him, but even to enjoy his company a bit.
Wonders would never cease about the Wolfram and Hart deal, but Wesley insisted that Angel had not “turned evil.” He also filled Giles in about what had happened to Cordelia, what had transpired surrounding the great and terrible Jasmine, and what Wesley’s duties were now that he was essentially second in command of the largest supernatural organization in existence.
As he’d expected, Wesley, without being asked, talked about the need he could fill by returning to the Council. He seemingly entertained the idea briefly, but then conceded that there was “too much holding him to the work in Los Angeles.” Giles guessed that part of that hold was named Winifred; he recognized a look of adulation in Wesley each of the many times he spoke her name.
It must feel fulfilling, Giles mused as he walked down the hall toward his room, to have a sense of purpose that ran deeper than the current crisis, a sense of dedication and loyalty that hadn’t yet been breeched by blame and deceit and discord. He used to feel those same things about being a Watcher, about being Buffy’s Watcher, but for the last few years, he’d only switched from being worried about her to afraid of her to disgusted with her. He longed for the simpler bond they used to share, the one that used to annoy him with its teenage dramas, but used to warm him for its teenage gratification.
He opened the door quietly and sighed, knowing that in a few hours a phone would ring or a knock would crash against the door. Kicking off his clumsy boots, he hurried to the bed.
And he found Buffy in it.
He rubbed his eyes against the darkness, but she was still there, sleeping like apple-lipped Snow White in a Disney fairy tale. Taking further inventory, he saw that Willow was sleeping next to Xander, and Dawn was doing the same on the room’s sole lounge chair.
Sighing again, he thought of sweet-16 Buffy, in her mini-skirts and ridiculous shoes, sucking a lollipop and even with nightly blood on her hands, innocent, energetic, somehow holding to a spark of joy.
He settled into the bed next to the 22 year old version of Buffy, hardened, haggard, and he feared, hopeless.