Prompt: Coast-to-Ghost (AU)
Prompt: Coast to Ghost
Setting: "Lovers Walk" AU following Part Six
Rating: R
Words: 720
A/N1: Part 7 of 8 (so far)
A/N2: The individual parts of this story are not always Spuffy-centric, but the overall story is. So I hope that's okay...
A/N3: This is going darker than I expected. Read with caution.
Giles marks the page with the locator spell, then closes his book and looks up at the clock. It’s barely past dark, and they’ve only just left - Xander to find something of Faith’s, and Willow to purchase the spell components - but it’s been almost six hours since Spike took Faith. Each minute that passes is another minute closer to her death. Assuming Spike hasn’t already killed her.
By sheer force of will, what little remains to him, he curbs his longing for the Glenfiddich. He’d locked away the half-empty bottle in his bottom drawer earlier today, and has been fighting the urge to retrieve it ever since. Giles isn’t sure how much longer he can hold out - he’s already strung past his breaking point - but his self-pity and self-indulgence are what led to this disaster in the first place. If he’d done his duty by Faith, she would have been better prepared to deal with a vampire of Spike’s caliber.
And, perhaps if he’d done his duty by Buffy - been more of a Watcher and less of a father - she wouldn’t have abandoned her post. Perhaps he wouldn’t have Mrs. Summers’ death on his conscience, or Cordelia’s, or any other number of Sunnydale’s residents.
With a deep, bone-weary sigh, Giles removes his glasses and massages his temples. Wishing for a better world, one wherein he’d made the right choices, is another form of useless self-indulgence. It’s time he faced up to his failures.
Right after a drink. What’s one more, at this point?
Giles fists his knuckles into his temples in a desperate attempt to stop the shaking of his hands. He can hold out. He must hold out. Faith is depending on him. He breathes slowly, counting out the beat, much the same way he used to teach Buffy to control her breath. It actually works, to his surprise. As he slowly centers himself, he becomes aware of... a prickling sensation. On the back of his neck. As if he’s being watched.
He whirls, but the doorway to his office is empty. Frowning, he steps out into the library proper, and sees the door to the hallway just swinging shut. “Who’s there?” He hurries through the door and into the hallway.
At the far end, he sees a flash of a whipcord thin-girl with a blonde ponytail, a grey tank top, and utilitarian cargo pants round the corner. For a moment, his heart skips a beat, and then he’s running down the hallway. When he rounds the corner himself, there is nothing. Nobody.
“Buffy?” he calls.
Silence.
It couldn’t have been - she was so thin - if it was her, why now? Has he somehow wished her home? Is such a thing even possible?
“Buffy?”
Still nothing. Maybe he’d imagined her - imagined everything. Giles rubs his eyes, and heads slowly back to the library. His hands are shaking again, and he wants a drink more than ever, but even he knows hallucinations are not a good sign.
Willow and Xander return together, just as he sits back down. Just in time to prevent him from unlocking his drawer. He brings her the spellbook, and together they set up the locator spell. Giles finds himself glancing at the doors while Willow performs the spell, hoping for a glimpse of a familiar face in the porthole windows.
“Oh,” Willow says when the dust settles. “Spike’s got Faith at the factory.”
“I guess we should’ve figured that one out ourselves,” Xander says. “But better to be sure than wandering around aimlessly after dark. Let’s arm up.”
“Not yet,” Giles says. “Try a locator spell on Buffy first.”
Xander looks up at him, startled. So does Willow. “But Giles,” she says. “There’s no point, you said so yourself.”
“Just do it.”
They flinch at his vehemence, and guilt washes over him. They’ve put up with so much, risked so much, suffered just as much as he. More, to be honest. And he’s failed them repeatedly. Apologies are in order, but Giles has no time for that now.
“Please,” he says, curbing both his impatience and his longing for the Glenfiddich. “Please.”
Willow does, with pinched expression and shaky hands. When the dust clears, they all stare in stunned silence at the small, bright glow only a block away from the abandoned warehouse district.
Setting: "Lovers Walk" AU following Part Six
Rating: R
Words: 720
A/N1: Part 7 of 8 (so far)
A/N2: The individual parts of this story are not always Spuffy-centric, but the overall story is. So I hope that's okay...
A/N3: This is going darker than I expected. Read with caution.
Giles marks the page with the locator spell, then closes his book and looks up at the clock. It’s barely past dark, and they’ve only just left - Xander to find something of Faith’s, and Willow to purchase the spell components - but it’s been almost six hours since Spike took Faith. Each minute that passes is another minute closer to her death. Assuming Spike hasn’t already killed her.
By sheer force of will, what little remains to him, he curbs his longing for the Glenfiddich. He’d locked away the half-empty bottle in his bottom drawer earlier today, and has been fighting the urge to retrieve it ever since. Giles isn’t sure how much longer he can hold out - he’s already strung past his breaking point - but his self-pity and self-indulgence are what led to this disaster in the first place. If he’d done his duty by Faith, she would have been better prepared to deal with a vampire of Spike’s caliber.
And, perhaps if he’d done his duty by Buffy - been more of a Watcher and less of a father - she wouldn’t have abandoned her post. Perhaps he wouldn’t have Mrs. Summers’ death on his conscience, or Cordelia’s, or any other number of Sunnydale’s residents.
With a deep, bone-weary sigh, Giles removes his glasses and massages his temples. Wishing for a better world, one wherein he’d made the right choices, is another form of useless self-indulgence. It’s time he faced up to his failures.
Right after a drink. What’s one more, at this point?
Giles fists his knuckles into his temples in a desperate attempt to stop the shaking of his hands. He can hold out. He must hold out. Faith is depending on him. He breathes slowly, counting out the beat, much the same way he used to teach Buffy to control her breath. It actually works, to his surprise. As he slowly centers himself, he becomes aware of... a prickling sensation. On the back of his neck. As if he’s being watched.
He whirls, but the doorway to his office is empty. Frowning, he steps out into the library proper, and sees the door to the hallway just swinging shut. “Who’s there?” He hurries through the door and into the hallway.
At the far end, he sees a flash of a whipcord thin-girl with a blonde ponytail, a grey tank top, and utilitarian cargo pants round the corner. For a moment, his heart skips a beat, and then he’s running down the hallway. When he rounds the corner himself, there is nothing. Nobody.
“Buffy?” he calls.
Silence.
It couldn’t have been - she was so thin - if it was her, why now? Has he somehow wished her home? Is such a thing even possible?
“Buffy?”
Still nothing. Maybe he’d imagined her - imagined everything. Giles rubs his eyes, and heads slowly back to the library. His hands are shaking again, and he wants a drink more than ever, but even he knows hallucinations are not a good sign.
Willow and Xander return together, just as he sits back down. Just in time to prevent him from unlocking his drawer. He brings her the spellbook, and together they set up the locator spell. Giles finds himself glancing at the doors while Willow performs the spell, hoping for a glimpse of a familiar face in the porthole windows.
“Oh,” Willow says when the dust settles. “Spike’s got Faith at the factory.”
“I guess we should’ve figured that one out ourselves,” Xander says. “But better to be sure than wandering around aimlessly after dark. Let’s arm up.”
“Not yet,” Giles says. “Try a locator spell on Buffy first.”
Xander looks up at him, startled. So does Willow. “But Giles,” she says. “There’s no point, you said so yourself.”
“Just do it.”
They flinch at his vehemence, and guilt washes over him. They’ve put up with so much, risked so much, suffered just as much as he. More, to be honest. And he’s failed them repeatedly. Apologies are in order, but Giles has no time for that now.
“Please,” he says, curbing both his impatience and his longing for the Glenfiddich. “Please.”
Willow does, with pinched expression and shaky hands. When the dust clears, they all stare in stunned silence at the small, bright glow only a block away from the abandoned warehouse district.