Eight Drabbles; The End is the Beginng; G; Gen Giles
Hi! It's nearly the end of my day here so I'm contributing a set of eight drabbles. They're all based around a theme, and each is set before the start of a each season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, beginning with before Season 1. Hope you enjoy and thanks so much to katekat1010 for hosting such a fantastic community!
Title: The End is the Beginning
Author: lillianmorgan
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Joss' or ME's toys.
Genre: Mainly Gen Giles drabbles (though hints of canon relationships)
The End is the Beginning
I.
A new country, a new life to go with the slayer newly called to his tutelage. A brand new start demands, on the first day of the rest of his life, the faithful tweed jacket. Aged, remembered, reassuring.
The heat is something to be learned but the air-conditioning everywhere he goes tempers quite adequately his mood. But not his excitement.
The chance to reform, make history; define a place for himself within the Watchers’ annals. But more importantly the chance to shape a girl’s life. To provide inspiration and motivation. All that lies ahead of him now.
Unknown but beckoning.
II.
Surface wounds take time to heal; eventually they do. Mere days go by, he is himself again.
But the nagging feeling doesn’t dissipate. The look that Buffy won’t give him when she trains. That carefree one, the one she smiled with.
Indeed, it’s the deeper wounds (the wounds of the soul and mind) that take longer to cure. Those few painful seconds of death - inconceivable that he could lose her when he’d only established an impression.
And she, more importantly, most assiduously, on him.
She reassures him, but the words falter. Then she leaves for Los Angeles and her father.
III.
They are all in mourning now even though the world should be celebrating. Once again they’ve expelled the terror that stalks the street. But the terror remains in his heart.
The terror that he misses Jenny more than he misses Buffy. She is everywhere, everywhere he feels not. When he climbs the stairs, he sees the rose petals strewn at his feet; the lust driving through his veins, the sense of adulation that this woman would care for him enough. Just enough.
But the priority must always be - should indisputably be - his Slayer.
Lost to him too. Out there. Alone.
IV.
The children are on the cusp of something new. The world shifts around him and Willow and Buffy are fussing over college plans, while Xander looks mournfully, shyly on. He cannot fail to notice him, sitting on the edge of everything. Uninvolved, uninspired.
The feeling is entirely mutual, my dear boy. Once upon a time - well, he was someone. Now, the future bodes for him ….
But instead he smiles and tuts and offers suggestions. But always his shoulder, when Buffy is sad.
And wishes them well and onwards and upwards, while restocking the liquor cupboard and dreaming of snakes.
V.
Time passes, but so do the dreams. The dreams of the future and the past. He never sees what is right in front of him. Which is a pity, because he likes to be prepared.
The brief dabble with science is over; magic and the natural order of things once again are restored.
He still doesn’t really know what to do with himself; it’s the state of flux, the state of change that worries him so. They’re on the edge of something completely different; he never manages to accustom himself to how unprepared he feels.
It must be the dreams.
VI.
There is a hole, which cannot be filled.
It cannot be filled with Dawn, helping her with homework and preparations for school.
Nor with Anya, her brave though misplaced attempts to be cheerful and the incessant demands of the Magic Box.
Nor the tender, though worried, conversations he has with Tara. About Dawn, about life, about Willow’s alterations.
Nor watching Spike falter toward alcohol-induced decay or worrying if the vampire should influence Dawn.
Nor sympathising with Xander that they need to get fit for the bi-weekly patrol.
Nor wincing when the robot says something perturbing.
There is a nameless hole.
VII.
England is excellent. The air in his lungs, the earth under his feet, the inevitable rain when the summer should shine.
He’s appreciated here, by the coven and his colleagues; his word is meritous, tinged with the weight of experience. He is not laughed at nor dismissed but advanced and admired.
He shares all of this with Willow, the girl he never thought to protégé, but now falls easily into that role. She finally wants to know, to share and to listen.
Because she has been tempered and reformed.
Knowledge, death, rebirth and renewal - they share far too much now.
VIII.
The future is conditioned, it seems, with bureaucracy. Rebuilding, relearning, renewing, rejigging. (Quite often rebooting too.) A new Council, a new biography, a new role; not just for himself - each of them takes steps to revitalise.
Xander goes to Africa, Willow to South America, Buffy takes Dawn and decides that Italy tickles her fancy. They spread like elasticised bands. He steadfastly returns to London - begins again by returning to what he knows.
Is it his age that demands this of him? Perhaps. Rewriting the past by scrubbing out the words from the previous pages. Making new histories from the old.
Title: The End is the Beginning
Author: lillianmorgan
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Joss' or ME's toys.
Genre: Mainly Gen Giles drabbles (though hints of canon relationships)
The End is the Beginning
I.
A new country, a new life to go with the slayer newly called to his tutelage. A brand new start demands, on the first day of the rest of his life, the faithful tweed jacket. Aged, remembered, reassuring.
The heat is something to be learned but the air-conditioning everywhere he goes tempers quite adequately his mood. But not his excitement.
The chance to reform, make history; define a place for himself within the Watchers’ annals. But more importantly the chance to shape a girl’s life. To provide inspiration and motivation. All that lies ahead of him now.
Unknown but beckoning.
II.
Surface wounds take time to heal; eventually they do. Mere days go by, he is himself again.
But the nagging feeling doesn’t dissipate. The look that Buffy won’t give him when she trains. That carefree one, the one she smiled with.
Indeed, it’s the deeper wounds (the wounds of the soul and mind) that take longer to cure. Those few painful seconds of death - inconceivable that he could lose her when he’d only established an impression.
And she, more importantly, most assiduously, on him.
She reassures him, but the words falter. Then she leaves for Los Angeles and her father.
III.
They are all in mourning now even though the world should be celebrating. Once again they’ve expelled the terror that stalks the street. But the terror remains in his heart.
The terror that he misses Jenny more than he misses Buffy. She is everywhere, everywhere he feels not. When he climbs the stairs, he sees the rose petals strewn at his feet; the lust driving through his veins, the sense of adulation that this woman would care for him enough. Just enough.
But the priority must always be - should indisputably be - his Slayer.
Lost to him too. Out there. Alone.
IV.
The children are on the cusp of something new. The world shifts around him and Willow and Buffy are fussing over college plans, while Xander looks mournfully, shyly on. He cannot fail to notice him, sitting on the edge of everything. Uninvolved, uninspired.
The feeling is entirely mutual, my dear boy. Once upon a time - well, he was someone. Now, the future bodes for him ….
But instead he smiles and tuts and offers suggestions. But always his shoulder, when Buffy is sad.
And wishes them well and onwards and upwards, while restocking the liquor cupboard and dreaming of snakes.
V.
Time passes, but so do the dreams. The dreams of the future and the past. He never sees what is right in front of him. Which is a pity, because he likes to be prepared.
The brief dabble with science is over; magic and the natural order of things once again are restored.
He still doesn’t really know what to do with himself; it’s the state of flux, the state of change that worries him so. They’re on the edge of something completely different; he never manages to accustom himself to how unprepared he feels.
It must be the dreams.
VI.
There is a hole, which cannot be filled.
It cannot be filled with Dawn, helping her with homework and preparations for school.
Nor with Anya, her brave though misplaced attempts to be cheerful and the incessant demands of the Magic Box.
Nor the tender, though worried, conversations he has with Tara. About Dawn, about life, about Willow’s alterations.
Nor watching Spike falter toward alcohol-induced decay or worrying if the vampire should influence Dawn.
Nor sympathising with Xander that they need to get fit for the bi-weekly patrol.
Nor wincing when the robot says something perturbing.
There is a nameless hole.
VII.
England is excellent. The air in his lungs, the earth under his feet, the inevitable rain when the summer should shine.
He’s appreciated here, by the coven and his colleagues; his word is meritous, tinged with the weight of experience. He is not laughed at nor dismissed but advanced and admired.
He shares all of this with Willow, the girl he never thought to protégé, but now falls easily into that role. She finally wants to know, to share and to listen.
Because she has been tempered and reformed.
Knowledge, death, rebirth and renewal - they share far too much now.
VIII.
The future is conditioned, it seems, with bureaucracy. Rebuilding, relearning, renewing, rejigging. (Quite often rebooting too.) A new Council, a new biography, a new role; not just for himself - each of them takes steps to revitalise.
Xander goes to Africa, Willow to South America, Buffy takes Dawn and decides that Italy tickles her fancy. They spread like elasticised bands. He steadfastly returns to London - begins again by returning to what he knows.
Is it his age that demands this of him? Perhaps. Rewriting the past by scrubbing out the words from the previous pages. Making new histories from the old.