Origin and Season One (Ch. 30)
Character: Buffy Summers
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2050
Setting: The Harvest
- Safe -
“Giles?” Buffy called as she pushed open one of the sturdy library doors. “I'm sorry it's so late. Are you still here?”
Sudden sounds of movement from the rows of bookcases upstairs told her he was indeed still here, and she felt an inexplicable flood of relief. It had been nearly two hours since she'd left her house for Willow's, and she'd been nursing the fear that he had already gone home most of the walk to Sunnydale High. She didn't know why, but it felt important that she see him tonight, that she finally start the conversation she'd been having in her head with him for the past two days. Now he was here, and she was here, and they were going to talk, like she'd meant to when she'd first come to him after she'd lost Jesse in the cemetery.
“Buffy,” Giles said, appearing from behind a bookcase.
“Hi,” she said lamely.
He studied her for a beat. “Is there something wrong?” he asked finally.
“No,” she said automatically, then revised, “Yes. I mean...” her voice trailed off, and she smoothed hair behind her ear. “You remember when you said I could talk to you?” she asked.
He paused, then began making his way down the stairs. “Yes,” he said. “And I meant it, Buffy, anything at all. As your Watcher, I'm here for you.”
He came to a stop several feet from her, and she nodded, letting her eyes slip away. “Can we talk then?”
“Of course,” she looked up to see him gesture at the long table, where several boxes had appeared since this morning. “We can sit, if you like.”
“We can,” she said, and together they took a chair on opposite ends of the table. Then she stared at him, unsure of what she really wanted to say. It seemed as if she'd had this conversation a hundred times, but now that she was actually here, and now that she'd actually set the ball in motion, she couldn't remember any of the words she'd come up with before. So instead she just said, “How much do you know?”
His brows dipped, “About what?”
“About,” she made an all-encompassing sort of gesture, “...me. About everything. I mean, what did they tell you? The Council?”
His eyes left hers for a moment, and he leaned back. “Not much, honestly.”
“But you know - I mean, they told you about Merrick, right?”
“Yes,” at this he looked at her again. “And I am sorry, Buffy.”
She nodded, swallowing, then pulled her legs up onto the chair. “What specifically did they say?” she said.
“Only that there was an accident. That he was killed and you didn't check in with the Council, so there was a bit of a confusion.”
“A confusion,” she repeated quietly. Her mouth felt dry, and she swallowed again. Fragmented memories were streaming behind her eyes, “Did you talk to Rebecca Sofer?” she asked. “Or did she talk to you?”
“Miss Sofer?” he repeated. “No. I don't believe we were ever able to talk outside normal meetings.”
That cut, though she didn't know why, and her gaze slipped down. She'd been harsh with Sofer, and she'd denied her, but in that five minutes she'd poured so much of her anger and fear and feelings of betrayal out onto the table for her to see. She'd been more honest with her than she'd been with Merrick, or with anyone. Had that meant nothing? Was none of it relevant to the Council? Was she truly just a tool to them?
“I had heard she went out to meet with you,” Giles' voice broke through her thoughts. “She was to be your new Watcher, but you two had a disagreement when she found you, so it was decided I might be better suited.”
“Disagreement?” she repeated, then looked up. Anger roared through her like fire. “That's what she told you? We had a disagreement?”
He tensed visibly, apparently sensing danger. “She didn't return to the Council after she left you. Quentin Travers - the director - relayed what happened before appointing me.”
“Oh,” she shrugged helplessly. The anger was draining away. “He made some interesting edits.”
“What happened?” he leaned forward.
“It's not important,” she waved him off, then settled her hands against her knees. “So you really don't know anything, do you?”
He was studying her. “I'm sorry to say, Buffy, I don't know much more than what I've said.”
“So you don't know who killed Merrick, or why?”
He exhaled and shook his head. “No.”
“It was a vampire named Lothos.” He nodded at that, recognition flaring in his eyes. “You've heard of him?” she asked.
“Yes,” he nodded. “He's known for chasing myths. Spent a good half a century looking for the Gem of Amarra and the Amulet of K'resh. Eventually he started going after Slayers in accordance with the Zulrak Prophecy.” His eyes seemed to focus again. “He killed your Watcher?”
“Yes,” she said. “And then he attacked my school, on the night of a dance. He came with lots of friends, lots and lots of friends, and I killed him.” She exhaled hard. “I killed him, and I burned down the gym, and I was expelled.” She didn't know at what point she'd started staring at the table again, but she was seeing a lot of scuffs on the beaten wood. “And he did it for fun, Giles. That's why he killed Merrick, why he tried to kill me - because it was fun for him.”
There was silence for a few moments, and then out of the corner of her eye she saw Giles get up. He dragged the chair he'd been sitting in closer to her, so that they would be face to face if she could ever look up.
“I'm sorry, Buffy,” he said. He was trying to catch her eye, and after a beat she finally let him.
“I wish that was it,” she said, then inhaled. She was going to say it, all of it. He had to know everything, even what she hadn't told Willow and Xander. “A week later, a couple vamps in an alley, they killed my best friend. They killed her, and I was right there, but I couldn't stop them. I kinda lost it.” She shook her head. “I told my mom about me, about being the Slayer, and...” she stopped. She didn't want to say it, even though she knew she needed to.
Hesitantly, Giles reached forward and touched her hand. After a moment, she placed her palm over it, and distantly she marveled at how much larger his hands were than her own.
“She took me to a clinic,” she continued finally. “A mental hospital. They thought I'd been raped or assaulted or something. That I'd lost my mind. I was there for two weeks, Giles,” she looked into his eyes, and she knew her glare was becoming accusatory. “Two weeks. It took two months for the Council to find me, and in that time I lost my school, my best friend, I was tossed in the looney bin, and my family broke apart. You know what brought me here, Giles?” she was angry again, though she didn't want to be. “It wasn't the Hellmouth or destiny. It was because my parents divorced, because my mother had to find a school that would take me.” She laughed suddenly and hollowly, again looking down at their hands on her knee, “I guess a little arson isn't much of a black mark here in Sunnydale?”
“Buffy...” he started, then stopped.
“I know,” she stared at an ice cream stain on her pants, “you're sorry. Well, I'm sorry too.”
“I am sorry though,” he said. He squeezed her hand lightly, and she looked up at him. She realized she was almost crying.
“What am I to you?” she asked. It was the same question she'd posed to Merrick all those months ago in the warehouse, but now they seemed more important than anything, and she needed to know his answer, because if she didn't hear what she needed to then she knew she was done.
Giles seemed to know that, and he was silent for a long time. Finally, he squeezed her hand again. “You are Buffy Summers,” he said. “You are both a young woman and a Slayer, and you've been given a hard path to follow, and to forge.” He exhaled, “I wish I could say I understood, or that you'll eventually find that the way becomes less rocky, but I'm afraid at the end of the day all I can really do is try to help you find the strength to keep soldiering on.”
She stared at him. She didn't know if that was what she wanted to hear, because she didn't really know what she wanted to hear, but as they sat there like that she realized she felt safer than she had in a long time, since she'd found Merrick dead on the warehouse floor. “Thank you,” she said finally. The words failed to cover her feelings, but they seemed right all the same.
“Thank you for feeling you could speak to me,” he said.
She smiled. She could feel hot tears on her cheeks, and she wanted to wipe them away, but at the same time she just wanted to hold his hand, because it felt safe, and in some strange way almost like having her dad back. “That's not it though,” she said.
Concern flashed through his face, and she hastily added, “I'm done with story time, but that's not the only thing I came here to talk about.” Carefully, she lifted her hand and wiped her eyes, and he released her, perhaps sensing it was time for her to rebuild the walls. “I need to get back into training,” she said. “Not counting these last few days, it's been a long time since I've really fought anything, and I can feel it.” She exhaled. “I feel like half a Slayer, Giles, and if I'm going to do this, I need to prepare. Whoever this Master is, I need to know that when I face him...” her voice trailed off as she searched for words. “That he won't just kill me right there,” she finished.
He nodded. “That much at least I know I can help you with.”
“Thank you,” she said again, and she meant it.
“It's my duty,” he replied. “We can start training tomorrow.”
“Good,” she sighed, feeling enormously better. “That's good.”
He studied her for several moments, “Is there anything else?”
She shook her head, “No. I think I'm all tapped out.”
“Right then,” he rose. “Then it's late, and we're both tired. Come on, I'll drive you home.”
She sniffed, wiping the last evidence of tears from her face, then got up too. “You're becoming like my ride service,” she said, shooting for a levity that hadn't been there most of the night, or even most of these last few days.
“Maybe that's my other duty,” he said.
“Works for me,” she followed him as he headed for the door, but he stopped after only a few steps, and she looked up at him.
“I really am sorry about everything that has happened to you, Buffy,” he said. “And I hope that you can start a new chapter of your life here, one with a lot less grief.”
She looked at him for a beat, reflecting back on everything that had happened since her calling, on all the pain and all the loss. “Yeah,” she said finally. “I hope so too.”
He flashed her a grim smile. “Off we go then.”
“Off we go,” she repeated.
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