Buffy; Anya/Giles; Our Second Chance is a Memory. [1/??]
Title: Our Second Chance is a Memory. [1/??]
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairings: Anya/Giles
Rating: G
Words: 1832
Summary: For the first time in four years he saw her. Giles is in Salem for business and finds someone he thought was lost to him. But is she still the same?
Acknowledgments: Buffy the Vampire Slayer does not belong to me.
Author's Note: My first BtVS fic! Please comment with any characterization pointers if you feel I have any gaping errors :D, same goes for any information about Salem or other stuff, I researched this on the internet and took some liberties. Comment if you like it to ;D This should be between 8 and 10 chapters long.
Just before we start I would like to dedicate this to ljs who continues to amaze and amuse me with her Giles and Anya fanfiction, I don't know what I would do with out it.
Giles pulled his light jacket closer as he walked. The wind whipped around him, disturbing the fallen leaves that scattered the streets. In Salem, during Halloween, on business to collect an old occult text. What could be more cliché? He sighed. It was nice to be away from the new Council though, even if it did mean he had to put up with the frenzied enthusiasm that the people of Salem experienced on and during All Hallows Eve. For the whole bloody month even! The situation may be annoying but the text in question, a 12th century Italian one, lost across time and oceans, was definitely worth it. The current owner, an elderly lady, had discovered it in the attic of her eighteenth century house, been in her family for generations she had said.
“Originally,” she had told him, “I contacted an antique’s dealer, very well respected man- got his number from a friend who does well with antique’s in New York, then I gave him a description of the book, all the gold gilding, the hand inscriptions, of course I speak no Italian but I tried. He had sounded very interested.” She had smiled and offered him another biscuit from a china plate. “And then, only hours later, your people contacted me Mr. Giles! SO quickly! I never expected it to be anything really.” More smiling. “And now you are here! I hope it is everything you expected.”
“Yes well, it is just what I was looking for really. It will be an excellent addition to my collection.” He had said, accepting a fourth biscuit from the plate as it was offered again.
“And what it is that you do Mr. Giles, collecting all these old books, you can read them I suppose?”
“I too can only try my best to read them, Mrs. Winston,” He told her, trying to put off further questions regarding the books contents, “as for what I do, I am a librarian of sorts, my company has a collection of books likes this one back in London.”
Giles cleared his throat, “From what I can tell it is some kind of instruction manual, I am not sure really for what. I shall leave that task to my researchers.” He had left out the parts about the book being an almost mythical witch text regarding the craft in pre-Christian Italy and that his researcher’s included an incredibly powerful witch and what many would probably call the most annoying man-child to ever walk the earth. Some things were best left unsaid.
Shortly after that conversation Giles had made his goodbyes, had paid Mrs. Winston a substantial amount of money and had left with what he had come for. He was more than happy with the book, since the fall of the previous Watcher’s Council and of Sunnydale, he had taken great pleasure in beginning again the great collection of books that had been lost in the war. It was his solace. There is nothing quite like discovering the feel of the pages of an old book and uncovering what those pages have to offer.
If he was honest it was the only thing he enjoyed in his new work. His current relationship with Buffy was tense at best, she had wanted him to have the position, ‘Head Watcher Guy’, but now takes every opportunity to undermine him and disagree with him. The council itself is a bore to run; yes he may have a love of old books and tea (and he may have a large collection of tweed suits) but contrary to the opinion of some he himself was not interested in all that is deemed boring. The day-to-day paperwork alone involved in running an organization like the council was enough to drive many a man to the bottle (it had him on some occasions). He was out of the action, behind a desk and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was finally the thing that would be the end of him. He still worked closely with Willow, one of his only constant ties to his Sunnydale years, her presence was nice but she would come and go often, off across the world; protecting, discovering, expanding. He envied her that. He also had Andrew, a reminder he would like to forget. The boy worked closely with him at the headquarters and, if pushed, Giles would say he wasn’t that bad, he was smart and very eager to learn. Much to Giles dismay, at first, he had even become sort of a right hand man to the council leader. Apart from those two there were few other people he held close left in his life and even fewer pleasures he had to enjoy.
There was a time, just before the fall, when he thought he was fighting his last battle. That after they destroyed the First’s army and prevented the opening of the Hellmouth (again) he would have the opportunity to relax, go back to England, maybe do some gardening. He felt he hadn’t truly experienced the ‘Gentleman of Leisure’ state of mind the first time round. He had also hoped that he would be able to share his post-Sunnydale life with someone, there had been a particular someone in had in mind. All blunt edges and secret softness, Anya had truly bewitched him.
The feelings, which when the began he did not like to admit, started swirling in the months after Buffy’s second death, she had been there for him during the quiet moments in the shop, a shoulder, a hand, an embrace, listening to his grief. It was a strange experience grieving with someone who did not really know how to grieve but it worked for them. After Buffy’s and his own return to Sunnydale a new, solid bond had formed between them, a real friendship. Anya had loved to tell him he was her friend and to discuss all the things they should do now they had founded their new relationship. She had confided in him one night, during darkness and research, that it was special to her because he was hers and not Xander’s. He had nodded understandingly. If only she was his and not Xander’s too. He had kissed her not long after that, while neither of them was themselves but were still more themselves than they ever had been before.
After his long absence things had changed for her, he had wished he had been there to shield her heart. To take her in his hands and protect everything that was good inside of her from the world. But he hadn’t been. Another apocalypse another brush with death, there-there are things I wanna tell you, things had gotten in the way once again. When he returned once more, potentials in tow, everything had change, it was like the world had been reassembled. The moments they had together during those weeks were few and far between but he had still hoped, there had been a difference in their interaction, maybe she felt for him the way he did for her? But she had been taken, swallowed into the earth. And he was left behind.
He looked at his watched, two o’clock, what to do now? His flight back to London wasn’t until November 1st, which gave him three more days of the sugar fueled supernatural mania. Perhaps he should just give in and enjoy it. First he would get some lunch, he’d noticed a nice looking little coffee shop just across from his Hotel, the Hawthorne, he picked up his pace the lunch crowd should be dying down now, he could get a nice table outside on the street.
Giles turned the corner and spotted the coffee shop, The Apple Café, across the street. When he entered the café it was fairly busy, late luncher’s and tourists he presumed. He sat down at a table for two that was just by the door and put his brief case that contained the new book in the chair opposite. The waitress took his order, just an Earl Grey and an egg and cress sandwich, should tide him over until dinner, and he began to idly study the menu while he waited.
His waitress returned with the pot of tea and a tea cup (plus a small jug of milk which he tried to ignore, milk with Earl Grey? Americans.) He shook his head and lifted the lid on the pot to check, replacing it quickly; it needed more time to steep.
That’s when Giles heard it. Watching a pot of tea brew he heard a noise that he thought he would never here again. A laugh; so familiar and warm, it stirred emotions within him that had long been dormant. The laugh was thick, and loud, and real. Longing swelled in his chest and broke hard against his heart, settling heavily upon him. He glanced around desperately. Left, right, back, front. He scanned the faces of the other diners to catch a glimpse of the face that would feed all the hope and desire that now swirled in his stomach. She laughed again and Giles snapped his head around to her direction.
For the first time in four years he saw her. Sat at a small metal table eating with a friend easily, as if nothing bad had ever happened to her. No heart break, no demons sword, no thousand years of blood. She looked the same as he always remembered her; shiny pink lips, deep dark eyes and her hair was honey coloured again, falling just past her shoulders in loose curls.
He stood, heading towards her table, part of him resisted; ‘don’t ruin this for her’ it whispered but he ignored it. He needed this. He stopped a couple of feet from her table.
“Anya?” It was a question he knew the answer to but she made no reply. “Anya?” He raised his voice a little to get her attention. Still nothing. “Anya?”
She looked round at him, her forehead creased in confusion. It was her, relief washed over him, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
Moments passed without her speaking a word to him, panic set in. He had no opportunity to truly think through her reaction but he’d imagine she would be happy to see him. There were friends once, he had hoped they could have been more; he had grieved at her funeral and cursed his own life. He would have thought she would respond to seeing him after four years with more than a confused, and slightly annoyed, expression.
“Anya.” He said again, softer. This time it was not a question, just a statement of fact, an expression of his hope in one word.
She pressed her lips together and then said, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairings: Anya/Giles
Rating: G
Words: 1832
Summary: For the first time in four years he saw her. Giles is in Salem for business and finds someone he thought was lost to him. But is she still the same?
Acknowledgments: Buffy the Vampire Slayer does not belong to me.
Author's Note: My first BtVS fic! Please comment with any characterization pointers if you feel I have any gaping errors :D, same goes for any information about Salem or other stuff, I researched this on the internet and took some liberties. Comment if you like it to ;D This should be between 8 and 10 chapters long.
Just before we start I would like to dedicate this to ljs who continues to amaze and amuse me with her Giles and Anya fanfiction, I don't know what I would do with out it.
Giles pulled his light jacket closer as he walked. The wind whipped around him, disturbing the fallen leaves that scattered the streets. In Salem, during Halloween, on business to collect an old occult text. What could be more cliché? He sighed. It was nice to be away from the new Council though, even if it did mean he had to put up with the frenzied enthusiasm that the people of Salem experienced on and during All Hallows Eve. For the whole bloody month even! The situation may be annoying but the text in question, a 12th century Italian one, lost across time and oceans, was definitely worth it. The current owner, an elderly lady, had discovered it in the attic of her eighteenth century house, been in her family for generations she had said.
“Originally,” she had told him, “I contacted an antique’s dealer, very well respected man- got his number from a friend who does well with antique’s in New York, then I gave him a description of the book, all the gold gilding, the hand inscriptions, of course I speak no Italian but I tried. He had sounded very interested.” She had smiled and offered him another biscuit from a china plate. “And then, only hours later, your people contacted me Mr. Giles! SO quickly! I never expected it to be anything really.” More smiling. “And now you are here! I hope it is everything you expected.”
“Yes well, it is just what I was looking for really. It will be an excellent addition to my collection.” He had said, accepting a fourth biscuit from the plate as it was offered again.
“And what it is that you do Mr. Giles, collecting all these old books, you can read them I suppose?”
“I too can only try my best to read them, Mrs. Winston,” He told her, trying to put off further questions regarding the books contents, “as for what I do, I am a librarian of sorts, my company has a collection of books likes this one back in London.”
Giles cleared his throat, “From what I can tell it is some kind of instruction manual, I am not sure really for what. I shall leave that task to my researchers.” He had left out the parts about the book being an almost mythical witch text regarding the craft in pre-Christian Italy and that his researcher’s included an incredibly powerful witch and what many would probably call the most annoying man-child to ever walk the earth. Some things were best left unsaid.
Shortly after that conversation Giles had made his goodbyes, had paid Mrs. Winston a substantial amount of money and had left with what he had come for. He was more than happy with the book, since the fall of the previous Watcher’s Council and of Sunnydale, he had taken great pleasure in beginning again the great collection of books that had been lost in the war. It was his solace. There is nothing quite like discovering the feel of the pages of an old book and uncovering what those pages have to offer.
If he was honest it was the only thing he enjoyed in his new work. His current relationship with Buffy was tense at best, she had wanted him to have the position, ‘Head Watcher Guy’, but now takes every opportunity to undermine him and disagree with him. The council itself is a bore to run; yes he may have a love of old books and tea (and he may have a large collection of tweed suits) but contrary to the opinion of some he himself was not interested in all that is deemed boring. The day-to-day paperwork alone involved in running an organization like the council was enough to drive many a man to the bottle (it had him on some occasions). He was out of the action, behind a desk and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was finally the thing that would be the end of him. He still worked closely with Willow, one of his only constant ties to his Sunnydale years, her presence was nice but she would come and go often, off across the world; protecting, discovering, expanding. He envied her that. He also had Andrew, a reminder he would like to forget. The boy worked closely with him at the headquarters and, if pushed, Giles would say he wasn’t that bad, he was smart and very eager to learn. Much to Giles dismay, at first, he had even become sort of a right hand man to the council leader. Apart from those two there were few other people he held close left in his life and even fewer pleasures he had to enjoy.
There was a time, just before the fall, when he thought he was fighting his last battle. That after they destroyed the First’s army and prevented the opening of the Hellmouth (again) he would have the opportunity to relax, go back to England, maybe do some gardening. He felt he hadn’t truly experienced the ‘Gentleman of Leisure’ state of mind the first time round. He had also hoped that he would be able to share his post-Sunnydale life with someone, there had been a particular someone in had in mind. All blunt edges and secret softness, Anya had truly bewitched him.
The feelings, which when the began he did not like to admit, started swirling in the months after Buffy’s second death, she had been there for him during the quiet moments in the shop, a shoulder, a hand, an embrace, listening to his grief. It was a strange experience grieving with someone who did not really know how to grieve but it worked for them. After Buffy’s and his own return to Sunnydale a new, solid bond had formed between them, a real friendship. Anya had loved to tell him he was her friend and to discuss all the things they should do now they had founded their new relationship. She had confided in him one night, during darkness and research, that it was special to her because he was hers and not Xander’s. He had nodded understandingly. If only she was his and not Xander’s too. He had kissed her not long after that, while neither of them was themselves but were still more themselves than they ever had been before.
After his long absence things had changed for her, he had wished he had been there to shield her heart. To take her in his hands and protect everything that was good inside of her from the world. But he hadn’t been. Another apocalypse another brush with death, there-there are things I wanna tell you, things had gotten in the way once again. When he returned once more, potentials in tow, everything had change, it was like the world had been reassembled. The moments they had together during those weeks were few and far between but he had still hoped, there had been a difference in their interaction, maybe she felt for him the way he did for her? But she had been taken, swallowed into the earth. And he was left behind.
He looked at his watched, two o’clock, what to do now? His flight back to London wasn’t until November 1st, which gave him three more days of the sugar fueled supernatural mania. Perhaps he should just give in and enjoy it. First he would get some lunch, he’d noticed a nice looking little coffee shop just across from his Hotel, the Hawthorne, he picked up his pace the lunch crowd should be dying down now, he could get a nice table outside on the street.
Giles turned the corner and spotted the coffee shop, The Apple Café, across the street. When he entered the café it was fairly busy, late luncher’s and tourists he presumed. He sat down at a table for two that was just by the door and put his brief case that contained the new book in the chair opposite. The waitress took his order, just an Earl Grey and an egg and cress sandwich, should tide him over until dinner, and he began to idly study the menu while he waited.
His waitress returned with the pot of tea and a tea cup (plus a small jug of milk which he tried to ignore, milk with Earl Grey? Americans.) He shook his head and lifted the lid on the pot to check, replacing it quickly; it needed more time to steep.
That’s when Giles heard it. Watching a pot of tea brew he heard a noise that he thought he would never here again. A laugh; so familiar and warm, it stirred emotions within him that had long been dormant. The laugh was thick, and loud, and real. Longing swelled in his chest and broke hard against his heart, settling heavily upon him. He glanced around desperately. Left, right, back, front. He scanned the faces of the other diners to catch a glimpse of the face that would feed all the hope and desire that now swirled in his stomach. She laughed again and Giles snapped his head around to her direction.
For the first time in four years he saw her. Sat at a small metal table eating with a friend easily, as if nothing bad had ever happened to her. No heart break, no demons sword, no thousand years of blood. She looked the same as he always remembered her; shiny pink lips, deep dark eyes and her hair was honey coloured again, falling just past her shoulders in loose curls.
He stood, heading towards her table, part of him resisted; ‘don’t ruin this for her’ it whispered but he ignored it. He needed this. He stopped a couple of feet from her table.
“Anya?” It was a question he knew the answer to but she made no reply. “Anya?” He raised his voice a little to get her attention. Still nothing. “Anya?”
She looked round at him, her forehead creased in confusion. It was her, relief washed over him, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
Moments passed without her speaking a word to him, panic set in. He had no opportunity to truly think through her reaction but he’d imagine she would be happy to see him. There were friends once, he had hoped they could have been more; he had grieved at her funeral and cursed his own life. He would have thought she would respond to seeing him after four years with more than a confused, and slightly annoyed, expression.
“Anya.” He said again, softer. This time it was not a question, just a statement of fact, an expression of his hope in one word.
She pressed her lips together and then said, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”