FIC: The Four Loves (4/4)
Title: The Four Loves (4/4)
Contact Information: skydragon@att.net
Characters: Rupert Giles, Faith Lehane, Jenny Calendar, Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris, Buffy Summers, Spike
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Various - including S8 Comics
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, its concepts, and its characters © Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy Productions
Warnings: Mild swearing, a little violence, discussion of a (canon) character death
Notes: I was skipping about on TVTropes the other day when I stumbled across this page, and it gave me this fic idea. It is a four-parter, though the four parts are more like vignettes than actual ficlets. Enjoy! This part takes place a few days after "The Gift." Some dialogue was lifted from 4x20 "The Yoko Factor."
Agape - Unconditional Love/Self-sacrifice
Giles felt like hell.
That was no surprise, though, honestly. His side still throbbed, regardless of the fresh stitches, and no amount of Scotch was going to numb the pain this time. Not when every ache on his body dulled in comparison to the agony he still felt, following the loss of his Slayer.
For the second bloody time.
He gritted his teeth, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t even fight the tears this time, but just let them flood out from beneath his closed lids. Giles quickly opened his eyes again, before he could allow the image of Buffy’s broken, lifeless body to seep into his mind. He was already seeing her in his dreams. He didn’t need to remember what her body looked like in his waking hours too.
They had buried her deep in the forest, where no one would think to look. It was a private, quiet ceremony. No one had spoken, not even to say a farewell. There were just no words left to say.
The words on the gravestone were permanently seared into Giles’ brain:
BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS
1881 - 2001
BELOVED SISTER
DEVOTED FRIEND
SHE SAVED THE WORLD
A LOT
Giles privately wished he had never come to the ceremony. Seeing the gravestone nearly made him feel sick. Somehow, it was much worse than seeing Buffy’s body - it was visible, tangible proof that his Slayer was well and truly gone, buried beneath the earth and beyond the reach of any of her friends.
Buffy was gone, and there was nothing that could fill the massive hole in all of their lives that she’d left behind.
A fierce pounding on the door shook Giles from the just-as-painful past. He cast a stray glance at the clock, noting that it was just after three in the bloody morning.
Buffy used to knock on his door this late. Sometimes later.
The thought hurt, so Giles disregarded it.
“Come in,” he growled. He honestly didn’t care who was at the door or who saw him like this. He didn’t even care if it was some vampire hoping to catch a civilian unawares.
“Rupert.”
Giles didn’t turn to face his visitor. He didn’t have to. He recognized that drawling sardonic accent, even without its usual scathing edge.
“Go away, Spike,” he ordered dully.
The vampire (much to Giles' chagrin, but not at all to his surprise) did quite the opposite, instead entering and throwing himself down onto the couch opposite Giles’ chair. He ignored the Watcher’s glower (did the bloodshot eyes make it look more intimidating, or less? Giles idly wondered) and instead took another long gulp from the bottle in his hand.
“Nothing special,” Spike muttered once he’d finished his drink. He indicated the bottle, shaking it so that its contents splashed wildly about. His voice was only slightly slurred, proving that he wasn’t drunk just yet. “Just hopin’ to numb things down some.”
Giles didn’t reply. He watched Spike light a cigarette, suck down another portion of whatever foul alcohol he had in that bottle, and lean back, closing his eyes.
“What ‘bout you?” the vampire asked, sliding one eye open. “Drunk enough yet?”
“No.”
“Me neither.” He took another pull from his cigarette and, after a moment’s consideration, offered it to the Watcher. Giles accepted after only a heartbeat’s hesitation. He’d forgotten how good it felt to lose himself in the taste of nicotine and hard liquor.
And it still wasn’t enough to drown the pain he felt.
“Going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, eh, Rupes?” Spike somehow managed a stilted smirk.
“It’s worth it if I can forget everything, even if it’s just for a moment,” Giles answered quietly.
Spike nodded. Giles didn’t care if Spike had really loved Buffy or not - at this moment, it didn’t particularly matter. All that mattered was that they find a way to forget what had happened, forget all of it, so that when they sunk into an alcohol-saturated sleep, they could finally close their eyes without reliving the events of that night, without seeing Buffy fling herself off Glory’s tower and let her life slowly drain out of her.
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes, quite a bit actually.”
“Well, stop it!”
The memory was fleeting, but it was enough to drive Giles to snatch up Spike’s bottle and swallow a sizable amount of whatever was inside. It tasted absolutely revolting, nothing like Scotch or brandy, or even plain vodka, and it seared fiercely in his mouth and throat. The immense pain of swallowing was enough to temporarily displace those scattered memories of Buffy, and it was all worth it for a short second.
“Bloody hell, Watcher. Best be careful with that,” Spike droned. When Giles ignored the advice and took another swig, the vampire leaned toward him.
“How badly do you miss her?” Spike asked softly.
Giles nearly shook the coffee table as he slammed the bottle down and pushed it across, back to Spike.
“I can’t stop thinking about what I should have done,” the Watcher answered hoarsely. “I should have been there. I should have followed her. I should have been faster, quicker. I should have planned ahead I should have done something.”
“It’s not your fault, though.” Spike sounded confused. “If anything, it’s mine. I was up there. I should have stopped Doc from hurtin’ the little bit. If I’d done something, anything, to stop him, the Slayer wouldn’t have...” He seemed unable to finish it.
“Did you love her?” Giles didn’t bother keep the scornful note out of his voice.
“Didn’t you?” Spike snapped back. Giles’ gaze hardened.
“If it came down it, I would have thrown myself off that tower rather than watch her die.” The Watcher ground out each word with an emphatic harshness, never taking his unblinking glare from Spike’s face.
Spike just took another long, slow pull from his cigarette.
“Me too, Rupes. Me too.”
Giles shut his eyes again, allowing Buffy’s death to replay itself over and over behind his eyelids as a fresh wave of hot tears scalded his face.
Contact Information: skydragon@att.net
Characters: Rupert Giles, Faith Lehane, Jenny Calendar, Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris, Buffy Summers, Spike
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Various - including S8 Comics
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, its concepts, and its characters © Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy Productions
Warnings: Mild swearing, a little violence, discussion of a (canon) character death
Notes: I was skipping about on TVTropes the other day when I stumbled across this page, and it gave me this fic idea. It is a four-parter, though the four parts are more like vignettes than actual ficlets. Enjoy! This part takes place a few days after "The Gift." Some dialogue was lifted from 4x20 "The Yoko Factor."
Agape - Unconditional Love/Self-sacrifice
Giles felt like hell.
That was no surprise, though, honestly. His side still throbbed, regardless of the fresh stitches, and no amount of Scotch was going to numb the pain this time. Not when every ache on his body dulled in comparison to the agony he still felt, following the loss of his Slayer.
For the second bloody time.
He gritted his teeth, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t even fight the tears this time, but just let them flood out from beneath his closed lids. Giles quickly opened his eyes again, before he could allow the image of Buffy’s broken, lifeless body to seep into his mind. He was already seeing her in his dreams. He didn’t need to remember what her body looked like in his waking hours too.
They had buried her deep in the forest, where no one would think to look. It was a private, quiet ceremony. No one had spoken, not even to say a farewell. There were just no words left to say.
The words on the gravestone were permanently seared into Giles’ brain:
BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS
1881 - 2001
BELOVED SISTER
DEVOTED FRIEND
SHE SAVED THE WORLD
A LOT
Giles privately wished he had never come to the ceremony. Seeing the gravestone nearly made him feel sick. Somehow, it was much worse than seeing Buffy’s body - it was visible, tangible proof that his Slayer was well and truly gone, buried beneath the earth and beyond the reach of any of her friends.
Buffy was gone, and there was nothing that could fill the massive hole in all of their lives that she’d left behind.
A fierce pounding on the door shook Giles from the just-as-painful past. He cast a stray glance at the clock, noting that it was just after three in the bloody morning.
Buffy used to knock on his door this late. Sometimes later.
The thought hurt, so Giles disregarded it.
“Come in,” he growled. He honestly didn’t care who was at the door or who saw him like this. He didn’t even care if it was some vampire hoping to catch a civilian unawares.
“Rupert.”
Giles didn’t turn to face his visitor. He didn’t have to. He recognized that drawling sardonic accent, even without its usual scathing edge.
“Go away, Spike,” he ordered dully.
The vampire (much to Giles' chagrin, but not at all to his surprise) did quite the opposite, instead entering and throwing himself down onto the couch opposite Giles’ chair. He ignored the Watcher’s glower (did the bloodshot eyes make it look more intimidating, or less? Giles idly wondered) and instead took another long gulp from the bottle in his hand.
“Nothing special,” Spike muttered once he’d finished his drink. He indicated the bottle, shaking it so that its contents splashed wildly about. His voice was only slightly slurred, proving that he wasn’t drunk just yet. “Just hopin’ to numb things down some.”
Giles didn’t reply. He watched Spike light a cigarette, suck down another portion of whatever foul alcohol he had in that bottle, and lean back, closing his eyes.
“What ‘bout you?” the vampire asked, sliding one eye open. “Drunk enough yet?”
“No.”
“Me neither.” He took another pull from his cigarette and, after a moment’s consideration, offered it to the Watcher. Giles accepted after only a heartbeat’s hesitation. He’d forgotten how good it felt to lose himself in the taste of nicotine and hard liquor.
And it still wasn’t enough to drown the pain he felt.
“Going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, eh, Rupes?” Spike somehow managed a stilted smirk.
“It’s worth it if I can forget everything, even if it’s just for a moment,” Giles answered quietly.
Spike nodded. Giles didn’t care if Spike had really loved Buffy or not - at this moment, it didn’t particularly matter. All that mattered was that they find a way to forget what had happened, forget all of it, so that when they sunk into an alcohol-saturated sleep, they could finally close their eyes without reliving the events of that night, without seeing Buffy fling herself off Glory’s tower and let her life slowly drain out of her.
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes, quite a bit actually.”
“Well, stop it!”
The memory was fleeting, but it was enough to drive Giles to snatch up Spike’s bottle and swallow a sizable amount of whatever was inside. It tasted absolutely revolting, nothing like Scotch or brandy, or even plain vodka, and it seared fiercely in his mouth and throat. The immense pain of swallowing was enough to temporarily displace those scattered memories of Buffy, and it was all worth it for a short second.
“Bloody hell, Watcher. Best be careful with that,” Spike droned. When Giles ignored the advice and took another swig, the vampire leaned toward him.
“How badly do you miss her?” Spike asked softly.
Giles nearly shook the coffee table as he slammed the bottle down and pushed it across, back to Spike.
“I can’t stop thinking about what I should have done,” the Watcher answered hoarsely. “I should have been there. I should have followed her. I should have been faster, quicker. I should have planned ahead I should have done something.”
“It’s not your fault, though.” Spike sounded confused. “If anything, it’s mine. I was up there. I should have stopped Doc from hurtin’ the little bit. If I’d done something, anything, to stop him, the Slayer wouldn’t have...” He seemed unable to finish it.
“Did you love her?” Giles didn’t bother keep the scornful note out of his voice.
“Didn’t you?” Spike snapped back. Giles’ gaze hardened.
“If it came down it, I would have thrown myself off that tower rather than watch her die.” The Watcher ground out each word with an emphatic harshness, never taking his unblinking glare from Spike’s face.
Spike just took another long, slow pull from his cigarette.
“Me too, Rupes. Me too.”
Giles shut his eyes again, allowing Buffy’s death to replay itself over and over behind his eyelids as a fresh wave of hot tears scalded his face.