Goodbye, Mr. Giles

[aamah]

Three new betas to replace myfeetshowit.  Three fabulous new friends.  I am the luckiest fanfic writer in the world.  Life seems to have slowed down just a bit.  The show is over...it was a hit.  My daughter has gone home and is settling in her new home.  My other daughter is settling in her new home.  My oldest daughter is off to a conference and the show she was directing was a hit too.  My son is almost finished remodeling the bathroom in their apartment upstairs in our home and hubby and I were alone long enough to have sex this week.  (*blush*)  Life is good.






Title:  Goodbye, Mr. Giles
Author: Aamah
Pairing:  S/B
Rating by chapter: Chapter 30 ~ PG 13
Genre: Post NFA ~ General
Warning by chapter: Chapter 30 ~ PG 13 ~ Language

Many thanks to my betas: The amazing nightshift, from Elysian Fields, the brilliant Cloviss, and the marvelous janet1867

Based on characters created by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.  No copyright infringement intended. Original characters are mine.

Chapter 30 ~ Crimes of the Heart

Detective Inspector David Arthur stood at the window in his shirtsleeves, with his hands in his pockets, looking out from the office the school had made available for use as his temporary headquarters.  Those who didn’t know him often made the mistake of assuming his personality was as nondescript as his appearance.  He was actually quite a handsome man, looking younger than his forty-eight years.  His complexion was pale and his eyes gray under a pate of thin brown hair.  He was of average height and carried no extra weight.  About the only remarkable thing about him was that his dress was always impeccable.  He was never without a gleaming white shirt, French cuffs, matching tie clasp and cuff links, a knife-sharp crease in his trousers, and leather braces.

As he enjoyed the late afternoon sun on the expanse of lawn that separated Tudor Hall and the Administration Building, his thoughts turned again to Rupert Giles.  The man was an enigma.  When word of the crime first got out, his office was flooded with calls from people in high places…very high places, cautioning the inspector to tread lightly.  Mr. Giles was an important man.

Investigation into Giles’ background revealed that he had, in the course of a rather sordid youth, thoroughly embarrassed his family, a family which had included several Members of Parliament.  Evidently breeding will out, and when he was in his early twenties he had returned to his roots and entered into serious study with the Watcher’s Council.  No amount of investigation revealed any information about what it was the Watcher's Council watched.  Perhaps the most startling fact, among many other interesting facts regarding the Council, was that its original headquarters had been the target of a terrorist bombing several years earlier.  The entire staff on duty at the time was killed, leaving the organization in the hands of the few that had been on assignment elsewhere.  The organization had huge land holdings in Britain and throughout the world, but how they came into them remained a mystery.  All of these dead ends led Arthur to believe he was right in being suspicious of the headmaster.

As the shadows lengthened, DI Arthur turned and studied the dry erase board showing the carefully outlined timeline, a simplified version of the spreadsheet.  The crime scene photographs were posted on a corkboard next to it.  The details of Chastity Baker’s horrible death were laid out for them, lest they forget.  The investigators must never become complacent or matter of fact.  He was sorry they didn’t have a better picture of her in life.  They had her official school photo.  It was very formal and she wasn’t smiling.  Pictures of victims happy and alive, in contrast to the crime scene photos, create a powerful incentive for his team to get the job done!

The school itself had him puzzled.  He thought he knew about exclusive girls’ schools.  They were either academically superior, with outstanding reputations for guaranteeing their students went on to the finest worldwide universities, or they were incredibly expensive baby sitters for incorrigible daughters of wealthy and privileged families.  He and Carruthers went through each student’s file and learned the latter was more likely to be the situation here.  Some of the girls struggled to keep pace even at lower levels.

There were some from distinguished families, but only a few.  As Arthur’s team compared notes, they found that there were some common denominators.  Each girl had a troubled history, and had been under the care of professional or school psychologists.  Those records were not available, protected by rules regarding doctor/patient confidentiality.  Of course, with probable cause they could get a court order to gain access, but only on an individual basis.  Another similarity lay in physical prowess.  While interesting, neither man thought this information important.  Private schools were full of troubled youth.  Sports and exercise were tools commonly used to channel aggression.

Taking a deep breath, leaning back in his chair, stretching both arms out wide and finally folding them behind his head, Arthur said to Carruthers, “Well, any ideas?”

Jack Carruthers looked up to meet his boss’s gaze with what could only be described as an utterly vacant expression.  The Inspector knew his Sergeant to be a dedicated police officer, married to his job.  His mind was always on the job, even if he wasn’t, or so DI Arthur thought, until this moment.  “Jack…Are you with me?”

Obviously startled back to the moment, Carruthers said, “I’ve been thinking about that Constable Granger and no.”

“No what?” the Inspector said furrowing his brow.

“No, I don’t have any ideas, exactly….except that I’ve been thinking about Granger.”

“Hmmm,” was all Arthur said as he studied Carruthers' dark, carefully parted military hair cut.  He must use some sort of gel in it, he thought; it always looked wet.  Why he was noticing these things now, one could not say.  It occurred to him that the man never, ever loosened his tie or shirt collar.  Being a portly fellow with a naturally red face, he looked the sort who would breathe better with his collar loosened.  At least, Arthur thought with some satisfaction, I’ve finally convinced him that when we’re in the office and not in the public eye, it’s all right to remove our jackets.  Even suggested he would be remiss if he didn’t.  Need to keep suit jackets fresh and all that.  He finally answered, “You don’t seriously suspect him of being involved?”

Carruthers turned to him, “Well, for one thing, the amount of time from the discovery of the body until the local authorities were called was overly long, in my opinion.”  He rose to fix himself a cup of tea.  “Seems to me that a man who identifies himself as a retired copper knows that you don’t wait to call in a crime.”  He gestured with his spoon as he spoke, “Could it be that he was protecting someone?  Your favorite suspect maybe?”  As he poured his milk he went on, “Although I must admit when I spoke with him, I never had any sense that he and this Giles fellow had anything but an employer/employee relationship.”

Arthur sat up and shuffled folders; “I’m looking for the folder with the interview with the Constable, Jack.  You don’t have it, do you?”

“No sir, but it might be on Nan’s desk.  She’s been transcribing all our notes and getting the facts into the spreadsheets for us.  Hold on, I’ll go look.  She’s never bitten my head off for looking around her stuff.”  He went to a cubicle on the other side of the room.  Arthur heard some drawers opening and closing and more paper shuffling and then a hand waving a manila folder shot in the air, “Got it!  I’ll just leave her a sticky to tell her I took it and gave it to you.”

DI Arthur stood up and reached for his jacket, straightened his collar and tie and gathered the folder, “I think I’m going to call it a night, Jack.  We have some interesting days ahead.  I spoke with Mrs. Reed.  She tells me that another friend from America is arriving tonight and will be staying here at the school.”

“Mrs. Reed has a friend from America?”

That stopped Arthur short.  He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again deciding to hold his tongue.  After a moment he said, “Mr. Giles has a friend coming from America.  Evidently, he, and his American friends will be celebrating Thanksgiving, so he won’t be working on Thursday.”

“We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in England, sir.”

“Yes, Jack.  I know that, but it seems Mr. Giles does.  It strikes me that if he is in a holiday mood, he may lower his guard a bit.  It might make for a good time for an interview.  It’s still a workday for us.  I’m taking the Granger folder with me to look over this evening.  Barring unexpected events, I’ll see you in the morning.  Good night.”

“I don’t understand having a holiday on Thursday, sir.”

“Nor do I, Jack.  Nor do I.”

~~~
Giles unlocked his cottage door.  It was the first time he’d been alone with some time to sit in peace in his own place in what felt like an eternity.  The silence was blissful.  The cottage was unkempt, but he didn’t care.  He was not going to spoil this respite by scurrying around tidying up.

He hung his jacket on the coat tree by the door and put his briefcase next to it.  He did not intend to work on school matters tonight.  He smiled as he considered the dinner he planned for himself.  He could have gone to the dining hall and had a well-balanced meal, but he knew that meant being social.  No, he knew there was a loaf of fresh bread in the bin.  He was looking forward to thick slices of toasted bread slathered with butter and jam, with a steaming hot cup of tea.

Once the meal was ready, he opened his briefcase and took out the newspaper.  It would keep him company during his meal.  He flipped the paper over.  When he has time to enjoy a leisurely perusal of the paper, he likes to start from the back.  The habit began in childhood, when he would always read the funnies first.  Giles still enjoys the funnies, but now he reads the adverts  too.  Once, when Xander made fun of the quirk, Giles   countered that a community often reveals a lot about itself in ads.  At the time, they were very new to the area and they needed all the help they could get.  About halfway through, Giles started coming to the continuations of stories from the front page when a smaller headline caught his eye:

Continued from page 2, Gruesome Murders

“Good Lord, it’s over a week.  Isn’t it bad enough that we endure a constant police presence?  What now?”  he queried aloud to the newspaper in front of him, as he flipped to the front page.  Giles' mouth fell open.

Slaughter in Bishops Cleeve

'The bodies of seven people, four women and three men, were found in St. Paul’s car park in the early hours of the morning.  The victims have not yet been identified.  The church sexton, Timothy O’ Meara, alerted the Vicar, John Buckingham, to the tragedy and the police were subsequently notified.  Both men declined comment to the press.  The police have secured the scene and will not release any further information at this time.  Story continues on page 15.  Gruesome Murders.'

The picture under the headline showed a small church surrounded by crime scene tape.
Giles turned to page 15.  The story offered no further useful information.  “So it’s new murders, not our murder.”  Giles dropped his head in his hands.  “I should have seen this coming.  It was probably foretold.  This sort of massacre doesn’t happen randomly.  I haven’t even been looking at a calendar.”  He drank down the last of his tea as he pondered whether to call Willow or Leah first.

~~~
Binnemon was back at the winery lying on his cot.  His belly was full and he was smiling.  Chaos ruled.  Screams, blood, torn flesh.  He hadn’t been on a rampage like that since before Fiona.  Ooh, she wouldn’t have been happy with him.  He remembered the thrashings and smiled even broader and shrugged,  “Well, it’s all shite now.  Years of workin’ a plan and then makin’ it work…It shoulda worked…It woulda worked.”  He sat up on the edge of the cot and found he was still smiling.  “Ain’t nuthin’ like bustin’ and bashin.”

Binnemon stood and picked up his cigarettes and lighter, put one to his lips and took a deep drag.  As he leaned against the wall, he remembered the blood of those girls.  He knew there was no escaping it.  He would have to have it.  No more patience, no more takin’ care.  Tomorrow night he was going to let the beasties loose.  There’d be blood and bash like this place never seen.  He snubbed out the cigarette and lay down again.  He was tired.  It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep…with the smile still on his face.

~~~

They were going to be late.  Xander was worried that Dawn would be waiting at the airport, disappointed that no one came to meet her.  Pinthistle assured him that he’d met this flight many times and it was pointless to be there at the ETA and was proud that he knew the acronym meant Expected Time of Arrival.  It disappointed him that Xander knew too.  Pinthistle told him that Customs would detain her for a considerable amount of time.  It made sense, but Xander would rather be waiting at the airport than still driving to it.  He knew how lonely it felt when no one was there to meet you and he also knew the gratification in seeing a friend’s face light up when you came through the door.

It turned out that Pinthistle was right.  Xander had drifted off to sleep twice in the connected, color coordinated, ergonomically correct airport chairs.  Once, he awoke as a traveler dragged his luggage over his feet.  Admittedly, his feet stretched out into the aisle.  Still, the guy could have just tapped his foot instead of crushing it with the wheel of his American Tourister luggage.  The second time, a tiny, elderly woman gently shook him awake.  He had fallen asleep on her shoulder and she needed to get up.  They had called her flight.  Meantime, Pinthistle was asleep in the comfortable reclining car seat.  Xander decided it was one more thing he would have to add to the “Lessons Learned” column of his Life Notebook.

Xander watched the passengers as they came through the doors from Customs.  Several persons of the female persuasion caught his attention, but only one approached him.  He was appreciating her considerable attributes, never glancing above her neck, when he heard a familiar voice.

“Hello?  I’m up here,” Dawn said, smiling at the Xander she remembered so well.  She was afraid he’d grown up.  There was tweed, knit sweater and loafers, but the same old Xander.

Caught in the act, Xander twitched, and said, “Huh?  Oh my God, Dawn,” cleared his throat and continued, “You’ve grown up!”

Laughing, they threw their arms around each other, then backed away; both embarrassed by the display of affection when each of them had changed so much.

Still shuffling backward, Xander said, “Well then, let me get those bags for you.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“So when’d you get your hair cut?”  Xander said, leading the way to the car.  “You could have given me a clue, you know.  I was looking for a skinny kid with long hair,”

“I know what you were looking at,” Dawn replied.  “Gee, it’s been so long, I forgot I ever had long hair.  The first few inches were tough, and then I went wild and had it cut short….  Boy short.  This cut has been around for a few months now.  I think it’s the one.”  Her hair was chin length, still straight, but shaped.  Full and bouncy, like in hair commercials.  She knew Xander was no stranger to different hairdos.  Anya had been president of the Hairdo of the Week Club.  She decided not to bring that up.  “What about you?  When did you go all tweed?”

Xander stopped to switch shoulders.  Her bags were heavy.  “How long are you staying?”

“Shut up!  A girl needs a few essentials.  Just answer the question,” Dawn said, pushing him along.

“It’s cold here,” he said.

“No.  No changing the subject.”

Xander smiled and said,  “Seriously, it’s cold and damp.  The Academy buildings are mostly very old, stone affairs without central heating.  Wool is wise.”

“Oh,” was all she said, as she tumbled into thought considering the clothes she had packed.  Cool, she thought, looks like I may need to do some shopping.

~~~

“Spike?  Spike?  Where are you?” Buffy said, as she came into the cottage laden with bags and boxes.  Looking flushed, she scraped her shoes on the doorstep.  Something was stuck deep in the grooves and it wouldn’t come off.  She dropped the parcels on the floor, glad to be rid of the burden.  “Whew!  I think I’m getting old!  I used to be able to carry a lot more than that and never even break a sweat,” she said, laughing.  “Spike, are you here?”  He’d better be here, she thought.  It was possibly the brightest autumn day she’d ever seen, aglow with color still on the trees and blowing on the ground and so not a day for him to be walking about.  No sooner than the thought entered her mind it went straight to her solar plexus and she began to have a sick feeling.  She looked down at her shoes. Oh God, no.  With anxiety evident in her voice she screamed, a little too loudly, “Damn it, vampire, where are you?”

Stepping from the bathroom, Spike quietly said, “Right here, pet.  What’s got your bustle all fluffed?”

“My bustle fluffed?  Why in hell didn’t you answer me?  You scared me to death.”  She rushed toward him and went to throw herself around his neck.  Just as quickly he sidestepped her move and walked over to the packages on the floor.

“What’s all this?  Thanksgiving shopping?  You do know that the Watcher has that all under control?  All you have to do is the turkey, at least that’s what he said to me.  His staff was going to take care of the rest.  Oh, and hey, look at the table linens and decorations they sent over for you to make a nice table.”  He was doing everything he could to change the subject from the hug that never happened.

Buffy’s heart was in a knot, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction that she even noticed the slight although there was a lump the size of a California orange in her throat.  She waited to speak until she was certain her voice wouldn’t catch and give her away.  “Actually, I’ve been shopping for you mostly, and a couple of things for me.  Thanksgiving is kind of a dress-up holiday in my tradition and you’ve only been able to wear those sweat pants.  I thought you might like having something a little nicer, but still comfortable for the day.”  She was so off her game now.  The shopping had been so much fun and now she just felt so deflated and stupid.  Still she went on, “I’ve noticed you still haven’t tried to wear your jeans, so I can only guess the rough fabric still irritates …your …um…wound.”  She stooped and sorted the boxes and bags, “So…I bought you a couple of pairs of fine silk/wool blend casual slacks.  One in gray and one in black,” she said, eyes lowered to avoid his as she handed him the two boxes.

“Buffy,” was all that Spike said; he could feel the hurt rolling off her and it went straight to his soul.  He took the boxes and placed them on his lap, making no move to open them.  It appeared he was going to go on when Buffy broke in, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep it together if he said anything nice…or anything mean…God, she had no idea where she stood anymore.

She tried to sound bright but it sounded forced, “Oh, and I got you accessories too.  Two belts, both black, but one is braided and a pair of black braided braces too.  I tried to imagine you wearing braces and it didn’t work, but I thought for sure if I didn’t get them, they would have been just what you wanted.”
She scrambled for more bags, “In this box is the softest orange cashmere v-neck sweater I’ve ever had my hands on.  It just seemed to be the right color, seasonal and all, you know? And there’s a black one just like it and a light blue one too.” she said, still not meeting his eyes. “Um… and there’s three silk oxford shirts, one in red…” She lowered her voice, “I remembered you had a red shirt you used to like to wear,” then a long pause while she swallowed the lump in her throat, “and a black one and a deep purple one…I liked the colors.”

He still made no move to open anything.  He wondered how anything so simple as looking over the results of a shopping adventure could hurt so much.

Pulling herself together, she said, “OK then, just a couple more things.  Socks!  A half dozen pair of good black socks and a pair of dress loafers, I just didn’t think of you as the “wing-tip” type.  That’s it.  Actually, I thought about some brown shoes or some sneakers, but decided no….”  She spoke quickly so that she could move on, “I’ll just bring everything into the bedroom and you can try them on…if you want to, that is…um… I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to force anything on you…Um…  I’ll just take them… you can do whatever you want.”

Spike just sat.  Never made a move.  Never said a word.  He didn’t know what to say… Or do.  He was afraid to follow her, knowing it would force a confrontation.  He wasn’t ready yet.

After about ten minutes, Buffy came out dressed in work out clothes; face red and tear- stained.  Her hair was pulled back into a quick ponytail.  She passed through the room in a flash, grabbed her jacket and ran out the door.  “Bye.  Going for a run,” was all she said, her voice broken and sounding nothing at all like Buffy.

As she grabbed her jacket, she knocked something out of the pocket of the coat she had worn shopping.  Spike picked it up to put it back but the box fell open.  It contained a man’s expensive gold ID bracelet.  Only one word was engraved on it.  Mine.

~~

X-posted:  spike_fics, spuffy_fics, captured_kissThis fic is archived at Elysian Fields, The Fonts of Wisdom, The Crypt,The Spuffy Realm and Aamah's Live Journal