Buffy is the Hero, Dammit! Ficathon
The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship?
by spikeNdru
Written for only_passenger , in ruuger's Buffy is the Hero, Dammit! Ficathon.
Characters: Giles and Buffy
Rating: PG, Gen
Length: 1996 words
Unbetaed, due to time constraints and the URI from Hell.
Story takes place in the Out of Africa verse, but is a stand-alone. It is not necessary to have read OoA.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Giles began to polish his glasses. “I will eventually return to my duties as head of the Council, but there are several things I wish to do first. I'm planning to take a brief vacation, and then I need to rectify an error I made, not once, but several times, if it's still possible. I'm going to Rome to humbly beg Buffy's forgiveness for all the times I've let her down in the past few years. She gave her all, and she deserved no less from me. I was a right prat, and I wouldn't blame her if she chooses not to forgive me, but I sincerely hope she will. I hope it's not to late. And I plan to ask her to return to England with me. She's been through a lot, and if she has any need of a friend, I'd like to be that for her.” He glanced at Dawn, Willow and Xander-all of whom looked very guilty. “This is something I need to do alone, so the rest of you needn't feel I'm casting any aspersions on your choices. If there are any reconciliations you wish to make with Buffy, you'll have to wait, because I called first dibs.”
Out of Africa
Giles made an heroic effort to drag himself back to full consciousness when he finally realized someone was speaking to him. He was immediately rewarded for his effort. The 'someone' was a flight attendant, and she was offering him something to drink from the bulky cart accompanying her.
Oh, yes, please, Giles thought, as he returned her smile. And let's make it a double, shall we?
The cart continued down the aisle, and he was once more left with his thoughts, but at least this time he was armed. Although, two minuscule bottles of single-malt left a lot to be desired in the weapons department. Eschewing the ice in the plastic cup, Giles rolled the small bottle between his palms, warming it. He twisted the cap until the seal broke with a satisfactory snick. He passed the glass bottle beneath his nose as he breathed in the heady, oaky aroma, and then brought the miniature drink to his lips. The bottle was emptied with two swallows, but the warmth of the whiskey loosened the tightness in his chest and left a satisfying sense of well-being.
How the hell did I let things go this far? he wondered, as he meditated on the slippery slope of good intentions.
She was just so bloody young when he first met her. So young, and so vibrantly alive. If he'd ever bought into the Council's claptrap about who was in charge and who was dispensable in this war they were waging, he was swiftly disabused of that notion. From the moment he met her, he had been unable to see her as a disposable 'weapon', and he found it appalling that some members of the Council could view the Slayer in that way. How far removed from the nightly battles did one have to be in order to completely objectify a young woman like that?
Giles shuddered and tossed back the second minuscule bottle of Scotch. But was his way of relating to her much better?
He grew to care for her as the child of his heart, but he continued to treat her as a child, long after she had grown to womanhood. And he'd enjoyed the benefits of surrogate parenthood, with none of the responsibilities. He'd encouraged her to deceive her actual parent, because that's how it was done, and felt a tiny bit superior to Joyce because he was in the know and she wasn't.
But he'd also taken the liberty of backing away whenever he felt uncomfortable, telling himself he was her Watcher, not her father. He'd allowed Buffy to take complete responsibility for planning Joyce's funeral, knowing she had no one else-although he could have helped with that burden-and then expected her to put her grief aside because they had a god to fight. He'd forced her to parent Dawn, and deal single-handedly with Dawn's grief, although she hadn't had the opportunity to deal with her own. And then he bloody well told her to kill her sister, because she wasn't real, after all. Although he hated with every fiber of his being to even contemplate the fact that Spike may have been right, her leap from the tower now seemed less like an altruistic sacrifice to save the world and more like a choice to no longer have to deal with that world which brought her only pain and loss.
Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wished desperately for a normal-sized bottle of Scotch. Because that particular coping mechanism had worked so well in the past!
Whenever things got emotionally dicey, he'd retreat into a good single-malt and let Buffy cope on her own. Oh, and he'd be sure to express his disappointment if the decisions she made weren't the ones he thought she should have chosen.
That time was past. If he had any hopes of developing an on-going relationship with Buffy, it would have to be one completely divorced from the past. A relationship based on mentor/student or father/daughter, in which he was the wise, all-knowing half of the partnership, and her only options were to either obey or rebel was no longer appropriate-if it had ever been. The only possible relationship for the future-and present-was an an adult friendship, between equals.
A brief smile ghosted across his lips at the thought. They weren't equals-would never be equals. She was a much better person than he'd ever be. She was a hero, dammit. He'd told himself that he'd made the hard decisions-the ones she couldn't, or shouldn't be required to make. What he'd failed to consider was that she did make those decisions every day; they were just different from the ones he'd made. And frequently, better, he added honestly.
He suddenly realized he'd never actually had an adult friendship based on equality, respect and complete trust. He hoped it wasn't too late. He hoped Buffy would still find him worthy of friendship.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Giles! What are you doing here?” Buffy asked in surprise. A small furrow formed between her brows as she considered the implications of an unannounced visit from Giles.
“Buffy!” he exclaimed as he reached for her hands.
The furrow deepened and she took a half-step backwards.
Giles let his arms drop to his sides. He would not blame her for his failure to properly express himself. Not this time. He'd like to be able to say 'not ever again', but he was, after all, a realist and he knew himself rather well. But not this time, at least.
And all of the well-thought-out, prepared speeches he had practiced on the plane and in the taxi that led up to this moment suddenly sounded pretentious, presumptuous, and just plain wrong. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind of all the extraneous thoughts and assumptions that clung like cobwebs, in an attempt to arrive at the heart of the matter.
His hands remained loose and relaxed at his sides. He looked unflinchingly into her hazel eyes that still bore a trace of suspicion whenever she looked at him. He regretted the necessity for that suspicion.
“I'm sorry,” he said simply. “For everything. For all the times I failed to trust you, and all the times I proved you couldn't trust me. For treating you as less than you were, while still expecting you to be more than you were. For continuing to see you as a Slayer who needed to be trained and molded, long after that time had passed, rather than as a person with her own needs and life experiences that led to her own unique, highly developed skills. I don't expect immediate forgiveness, and god knows I don't deserve it, but I do harbor hopes that eventually we'll be able to move past the . . . erm . . . past, and forge a friendship for the future. But I'll quite understand if you don't share those hopes, and have no interest in any kind of relationship. Although I don't deserve it, I've come to apologize and ask for your forgiveness.”
Buffy tilted her head and studied him silently. She searched his eyes, hoping for sincerity, fearing she would see deceit of some kind. Finally, she smiled.
“You told me once that forgiveness is an act of compassion. It's not done because people deserve it-it's done because they need it. And I think we both need it.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Pleasantly replete, Giles pushed aside his plate. He was unaware that his fingers continuously ran up and down the stem of his wine glass, in a combination of nervousness and excitement, whilst they waited for the waiter to clear and bring coffee and tiramisu.
“You want me to what?” Buffy asked as she stared at him in amazement.
“I want you to come back to England with me as Co-director of the new Watchers' Council.”
“But, Giles, me and the Council? Sort of un-mixy things, remember?”
“Yes, I do remember. And that's exactly why I need you now. As a Slayer, you have always been superb. But there are now many girls who can . . . well, perhaps not take your place, but who can function adequately in the position. You are in the unique position of having experienced life as a Slayer under the previous Council and have the knowledge and skills to ensure that their mistakes are not carried forward unto a new generation. I've trained under the previous Council, and although I believe I am capable of recognizing the mistakes that have been made-the bloody Cruciamentum, for one-still . . . I am, first and foremost, a product of the Watchers, and my initial reactions most probably will continue to be those of a Watcher. But you . . . you can bring the perspective of a Slayer to the new Council, and ensure that past inequities are not inadvertently repeated. And, Buffy? I can't think of anyone with whom I'd rather work to build an organization that actually does what it is supposed to do-provide whatever support is needed by a Slayer to do the job and live to grow old.”
Buffy was silent as the dinner plates were cleared and dessert and coffee was served. She stirred sugar and cream into her coffee while she thought about what he had said, and then met Giles' eyes.
“Do you mean it? You really want to work together as equal partners?”
“I do.”
“And I'll have a real say into Council policies?”
“Your ideas will be every bit as valid-and in some cases, more so-than my own.”
“I've had some ideas. . . .” Buffy took a sip of coffee and pushed the tiramisu around on her plate as she talked. Her confidence grew with each suggestion. “I'd like to see a stipend set up for any and all Slayers who need it. Battling demons and saving the world is a full-time job, and no Slayer should have to flip burgers or depend on the 'generosity' of the council to keep a roof over her head.”
Guilt washed over Giles and he felt very uncomfortable, but he nodded. “I completely concur.”
Buffy smiled. “And I'd like to set up scholarships for any Slayer that wants to go to college. And Day Care for any Slayer-like Nikki Wood-that either has a child, or wants to have one. And the option to become a Watcher if, and when, they chose to retire from active slaying.”
“All excellent suggestions.”
Buffy reached across the table and covered Giles' hand with her own.
“Louis,” she said, quoting Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Finis
The request:
Buffy is the Hero, Dammit Ficathon
Due: November 11
You're writing for: only_passenger
Characters: Buffy, Giles. Anyone else is fine, but not required.
What you'd like to see: A post-series relationship between Buffy and Giles. It doesn't have to be shippy, but if the author feels that shippiness is in the cards, that would be fine. I'd mostly like to see them working side-by-side, with a deep love and respect for each other. Buffy should be all grown up, and Giles should trust her the way he couldn't quite in S7. This could easily be a shorter piece, as long as it has glimpses of both angst and hope, and demonstrates a developed intimacy between Buffy and her watcher.
What you don't like to see: No huge sex scene. If Buffy and Giles are lovers, I'd prefer it to communicated in subtle hints.
Preferred rating: Gen-R
Comics canon, yay or nay? No.
by spikeNdru
Written for only_passenger , in ruuger's Buffy is the Hero, Dammit! Ficathon.
Characters: Giles and Buffy
Rating: PG, Gen
Length: 1996 words
Unbetaed, due to time constraints and the URI from Hell.
Story takes place in the Out of Africa verse, but is a stand-alone. It is not necessary to have read OoA.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Giles began to polish his glasses. “I will eventually return to my duties as head of the Council, but there are several things I wish to do first. I'm planning to take a brief vacation, and then I need to rectify an error I made, not once, but several times, if it's still possible. I'm going to Rome to humbly beg Buffy's forgiveness for all the times I've let her down in the past few years. She gave her all, and she deserved no less from me. I was a right prat, and I wouldn't blame her if she chooses not to forgive me, but I sincerely hope she will. I hope it's not to late. And I plan to ask her to return to England with me. She's been through a lot, and if she has any need of a friend, I'd like to be that for her.” He glanced at Dawn, Willow and Xander-all of whom looked very guilty. “This is something I need to do alone, so the rest of you needn't feel I'm casting any aspersions on your choices. If there are any reconciliations you wish to make with Buffy, you'll have to wait, because I called first dibs.”
Out of Africa
Giles made an heroic effort to drag himself back to full consciousness when he finally realized someone was speaking to him. He was immediately rewarded for his effort. The 'someone' was a flight attendant, and she was offering him something to drink from the bulky cart accompanying her.
Oh, yes, please, Giles thought, as he returned her smile. And let's make it a double, shall we?
The cart continued down the aisle, and he was once more left with his thoughts, but at least this time he was armed. Although, two minuscule bottles of single-malt left a lot to be desired in the weapons department. Eschewing the ice in the plastic cup, Giles rolled the small bottle between his palms, warming it. He twisted the cap until the seal broke with a satisfactory snick. He passed the glass bottle beneath his nose as he breathed in the heady, oaky aroma, and then brought the miniature drink to his lips. The bottle was emptied with two swallows, but the warmth of the whiskey loosened the tightness in his chest and left a satisfying sense of well-being.
How the hell did I let things go this far? he wondered, as he meditated on the slippery slope of good intentions.
She was just so bloody young when he first met her. So young, and so vibrantly alive. If he'd ever bought into the Council's claptrap about who was in charge and who was dispensable in this war they were waging, he was swiftly disabused of that notion. From the moment he met her, he had been unable to see her as a disposable 'weapon', and he found it appalling that some members of the Council could view the Slayer in that way. How far removed from the nightly battles did one have to be in order to completely objectify a young woman like that?
Giles shuddered and tossed back the second minuscule bottle of Scotch. But was his way of relating to her much better?
He grew to care for her as the child of his heart, but he continued to treat her as a child, long after she had grown to womanhood. And he'd enjoyed the benefits of surrogate parenthood, with none of the responsibilities. He'd encouraged her to deceive her actual parent, because that's how it was done, and felt a tiny bit superior to Joyce because he was in the know and she wasn't.
But he'd also taken the liberty of backing away whenever he felt uncomfortable, telling himself he was her Watcher, not her father. He'd allowed Buffy to take complete responsibility for planning Joyce's funeral, knowing she had no one else-although he could have helped with that burden-and then expected her to put her grief aside because they had a god to fight. He'd forced her to parent Dawn, and deal single-handedly with Dawn's grief, although she hadn't had the opportunity to deal with her own. And then he bloody well told her to kill her sister, because she wasn't real, after all. Although he hated with every fiber of his being to even contemplate the fact that Spike may have been right, her leap from the tower now seemed less like an altruistic sacrifice to save the world and more like a choice to no longer have to deal with that world which brought her only pain and loss.
Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wished desperately for a normal-sized bottle of Scotch. Because that particular coping mechanism had worked so well in the past!
Whenever things got emotionally dicey, he'd retreat into a good single-malt and let Buffy cope on her own. Oh, and he'd be sure to express his disappointment if the decisions she made weren't the ones he thought she should have chosen.
That time was past. If he had any hopes of developing an on-going relationship with Buffy, it would have to be one completely divorced from the past. A relationship based on mentor/student or father/daughter, in which he was the wise, all-knowing half of the partnership, and her only options were to either obey or rebel was no longer appropriate-if it had ever been. The only possible relationship for the future-and present-was an an adult friendship, between equals.
A brief smile ghosted across his lips at the thought. They weren't equals-would never be equals. She was a much better person than he'd ever be. She was a hero, dammit. He'd told himself that he'd made the hard decisions-the ones she couldn't, or shouldn't be required to make. What he'd failed to consider was that she did make those decisions every day; they were just different from the ones he'd made. And frequently, better, he added honestly.
He suddenly realized he'd never actually had an adult friendship based on equality, respect and complete trust. He hoped it wasn't too late. He hoped Buffy would still find him worthy of friendship.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Giles! What are you doing here?” Buffy asked in surprise. A small furrow formed between her brows as she considered the implications of an unannounced visit from Giles.
“Buffy!” he exclaimed as he reached for her hands.
The furrow deepened and she took a half-step backwards.
Giles let his arms drop to his sides. He would not blame her for his failure to properly express himself. Not this time. He'd like to be able to say 'not ever again', but he was, after all, a realist and he knew himself rather well. But not this time, at least.
And all of the well-thought-out, prepared speeches he had practiced on the plane and in the taxi that led up to this moment suddenly sounded pretentious, presumptuous, and just plain wrong. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind of all the extraneous thoughts and assumptions that clung like cobwebs, in an attempt to arrive at the heart of the matter.
His hands remained loose and relaxed at his sides. He looked unflinchingly into her hazel eyes that still bore a trace of suspicion whenever she looked at him. He regretted the necessity for that suspicion.
“I'm sorry,” he said simply. “For everything. For all the times I failed to trust you, and all the times I proved you couldn't trust me. For treating you as less than you were, while still expecting you to be more than you were. For continuing to see you as a Slayer who needed to be trained and molded, long after that time had passed, rather than as a person with her own needs and life experiences that led to her own unique, highly developed skills. I don't expect immediate forgiveness, and god knows I don't deserve it, but I do harbor hopes that eventually we'll be able to move past the . . . erm . . . past, and forge a friendship for the future. But I'll quite understand if you don't share those hopes, and have no interest in any kind of relationship. Although I don't deserve it, I've come to apologize and ask for your forgiveness.”
Buffy tilted her head and studied him silently. She searched his eyes, hoping for sincerity, fearing she would see deceit of some kind. Finally, she smiled.
“You told me once that forgiveness is an act of compassion. It's not done because people deserve it-it's done because they need it. And I think we both need it.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Pleasantly replete, Giles pushed aside his plate. He was unaware that his fingers continuously ran up and down the stem of his wine glass, in a combination of nervousness and excitement, whilst they waited for the waiter to clear and bring coffee and tiramisu.
“You want me to what?” Buffy asked as she stared at him in amazement.
“I want you to come back to England with me as Co-director of the new Watchers' Council.”
“But, Giles, me and the Council? Sort of un-mixy things, remember?”
“Yes, I do remember. And that's exactly why I need you now. As a Slayer, you have always been superb. But there are now many girls who can . . . well, perhaps not take your place, but who can function adequately in the position. You are in the unique position of having experienced life as a Slayer under the previous Council and have the knowledge and skills to ensure that their mistakes are not carried forward unto a new generation. I've trained under the previous Council, and although I believe I am capable of recognizing the mistakes that have been made-the bloody Cruciamentum, for one-still . . . I am, first and foremost, a product of the Watchers, and my initial reactions most probably will continue to be those of a Watcher. But you . . . you can bring the perspective of a Slayer to the new Council, and ensure that past inequities are not inadvertently repeated. And, Buffy? I can't think of anyone with whom I'd rather work to build an organization that actually does what it is supposed to do-provide whatever support is needed by a Slayer to do the job and live to grow old.”
Buffy was silent as the dinner plates were cleared and dessert and coffee was served. She stirred sugar and cream into her coffee while she thought about what he had said, and then met Giles' eyes.
“Do you mean it? You really want to work together as equal partners?”
“I do.”
“And I'll have a real say into Council policies?”
“Your ideas will be every bit as valid-and in some cases, more so-than my own.”
“I've had some ideas. . . .” Buffy took a sip of coffee and pushed the tiramisu around on her plate as she talked. Her confidence grew with each suggestion. “I'd like to see a stipend set up for any and all Slayers who need it. Battling demons and saving the world is a full-time job, and no Slayer should have to flip burgers or depend on the 'generosity' of the council to keep a roof over her head.”
Guilt washed over Giles and he felt very uncomfortable, but he nodded. “I completely concur.”
Buffy smiled. “And I'd like to set up scholarships for any Slayer that wants to go to college. And Day Care for any Slayer-like Nikki Wood-that either has a child, or wants to have one. And the option to become a Watcher if, and when, they chose to retire from active slaying.”
“All excellent suggestions.”
Buffy reached across the table and covered Giles' hand with her own.
“Louis,” she said, quoting Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Finis
The request:
Buffy is the Hero, Dammit Ficathon
Due: November 11
You're writing for: only_passenger
Characters: Buffy, Giles. Anyone else is fine, but not required.
What you'd like to see: A post-series relationship between Buffy and Giles. It doesn't have to be shippy, but if the author feels that shippiness is in the cards, that would be fine. I'd mostly like to see them working side-by-side, with a deep love and respect for each other. Buffy should be all grown up, and Giles should trust her the way he couldn't quite in S7. This could easily be a shorter piece, as long as it has glimpses of both angst and hope, and demonstrates a developed intimacy between Buffy and her watcher.
What you don't like to see: No huge sex scene. If Buffy and Giles are lovers, I'd prefer it to communicated in subtle hints.
Preferred rating: Gen-R
Comics canon, yay or nay? No.