BTVS FIC Remembrance
Well here it is my submission for the
slayerversathon. Idea came whilst watching the New Zealand memorial dedication before Remembrance Sunday.
Author: tessarin
Title: Remembrance
Characters: Faith, Giles
Pairings: None
Gen/Het/Slash: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:
Disclaimer:. Buffy the vampire slayer is owned by Fox. All characters bar original characters are copyrighted by Fox and Mutant Enemy.
Summary/Notes: Faith and Giles visit the military cemetery at Louverval near Cambrai to meet a collector of rare antiquities. This fic acts as a prequel to my ongoing wip Running on , as such it takes place roughly one year before that and 6 months after chosen.
Remembrance
The intermittent squeak of the windscreen wipers was the only sound other than the constant pitter patter of the rain and distant purring of the engine that penetrated her consciousness. She could feel the comforting oblivion of sleep fading away and despite her desperate efforts to crawl back into the darkness the light worked its inexorable way in.
Her eyes opened a little, just a slit but enough to bring with it some vague awareness of her surroundings.
The hire cars cabin was overly warm the heat from the vents blasting out in a futile attempt to keep the car warm. Instead their artificial heat only served to steam up the windows of the little red rental as it groped its way along the narrow country lanes in search of its destination.
The driver every so often would lean forward and use the palm of his hand to wipe a visible peephole so he could see where he was going or at least an approximation of it. The small GPS sitting on the dashboard lay silent, its screen resolutely dark, victim to the drivers low regard for infernal machines. Occasionally it would rattle as the driver violently jerked the wheel before muttering imprecations against driving on the wrong side of the road.
The silence that had encased the two passengers, who was to know its length but the uncomfortable tinge to it would seem to indicate that it was at least of some considerable length, was finally broken by the feminine clearing of a throat.
"Yo G we there yet?" Faith queried rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sat up in the back seat. Certainly she couldn’t tell from the bleak flat French countryside barely visible through the steamed up windows, its flatness dotted only with the occasional farmhouse was no clue. Damn place all looked the same to her not that she could remember much of the journey. She had zoned out practically the second she had clambered into the car. Giles finishing up the paper work whilst she waited.
"Not quite, nearly there I think," answered Giles a slightly querulous tone entering his voice. She could tell that he was tired, he had been tired when he had picked her up at the airport straight off her flight before depositing her and her meagre travel luggage consisting only of an old broken down kit bag on the Eurostar to Brussels. She had been surprised when he had boarded the train to accompany her. They hadn’t exchanged many words other than a desultory greeting and a brief attempt from him to pry into what had happened in New York. So they had sat opposite each other, she despite pretending to listen to the music on her ipod acutely aware of his scrutiny and the reason for it. He probably heard more of the tunes than she did judging by the look of pained tolerance that briefly crossed his face whenever a track changed.
She just sat there and remembered. The whole trip, every detail, every slice, dice and scream a never ending reminder of her failure to be a hero, to be worthy of the trust that Giles and Willow seemed to be placing in her.
A jolt of the car and some muttered Latin swear words jolted her back to the present. Giles probably thought he was being clever swearing in some dead language, part of his futile attempts to mould her into being his type of slayer. But she understood well enough. She and Dawn had spent enough time hanging out in the new council’s library for her to pick up some things before Dawn had disappeared off to Africa.
She watched Giles through her partially lidded eyes before seeing his steady regard in the rear view she realised the game was up. No pretending to sleep any more. Not that she wanted to sleep as that was when she fully remembered.
"So what’s going down that you needed me along for the ride," she asked finally sitting right up and catching Giles’ eyes as he held her attention in the rear view mirror. When he didn’t answer, his eyes turning back to the road ahead, she continued.
"I figure there’s got to be a reason otherwise you would just have asked for one of the local Slayers, not flown yours truly halfway across the globe to go on a tour of the French countryside in the middle of the night. So whose the sucker you want me to slay?"
"Actually I don’t want you to slay anyone. I had arranged to meet with a certain collector of antiquarian artefacts. He has something very interesting to pass on in return for reaching an arrangement with the new council. I thought after recent events you might fancy the chance to get away," replied Giles.
She didn’t answer. She wanted to tell him to stuff it, clock his head against the steering wheel and get out of the car. Problem was there was this nagging annoying part of her that was telling her he was right and that she should just spill, unload tell him the whole thing. His eyes told the story of his concern and worry.
She bit down on the inside of her lip as his gaze returned to the road. For a moment there he had looked so old the rigours of his job as the new head of the council clearly writ in his shrunken build. Who was she to add another burden to his load, to offload her failures onto his shoulders no matter how much he pleaded. She was responsible for what had happened and she would bear the pain, she would suffer the nightmares and regrets. She might have failed them in the task but she was damned if she was going to let them suffer the consequences.
"Yeah, well you know me any excuse to stretch my legs and get my slay on," she replied hoping she had put enough bravado into her voice.
"Good, I was hoping you might," Giles answered pausing briefly to glance to his right before turning their small red runabout on to another country lane. Although from the sound of their passage this seemed somewhat wider than the previous ones.
She squinted as an oncoming truck dazzled them. Its passage interrupted their lonely journey and shattered the illusion that they were a lonely lifeboat cast adrift in the solitude of the night. The sound of the tyres crunching on gravel signified they had reached the end of their journey.
"Well we’re there. At least I think we are," Giles craned his neck as he looked over his shoulder.
"Great, sooner done sooner I’m out of your hair," she shoved the passenger door open ignoring the pained look the watcher sent her way and stepped out into the cold night. After the stifling warmth of the car the cold winter air hit her like a welcome relief. She popped open the boot and unzipped the dark brown bag that nestled there next to her kit bag. Rummaging round she retrieved a couple of stakes and seeing the watcher come up on her blind side tossed a few in his direction as well before cocking and placing a quarrel on to the crossbow.
At his cough she looked up. Giles looked meaningfully at the bow.
"Just being prepared is all," she answered in monotone before turning on her heel and marching towards this imposing edifice nestled by the side of the road.
"Faith," Giles called out the thud of the boot signifying that he had completed his preparations, "do wait up."
She could hear the crunch of his shoes as he started off. She waited to let him catch up.
"So where the hell is this anyway, damned impressive monument for a joint in Hicksville," asked Faith gesturing with her crossbow towards a three-arched white marble edifice. Its carefully masoned brickwork glowed in the reflected moonlight and the moment the words left her mouth she wished she could call them back. They sounded so loud in the absolute silence that now descended on them. She shifted uncomfortably her boots disturbing the gravel.
Giles looked at her and she could see the disappointment on his face. She didn’t wait for his oh so British put down. She started towards a set of black-hinged gates, which sat amidst some black iron railings in the middle arch.
Her hand stopped in mid descent beyond, through the railings she could see a red wreath of some kind propped up against a great stone altar nestled in a great colonnaded alcove. She knew what this place was now.
It was a place for heroes and she didn’t belong here.
She turned and glared at Giles as he walked towards her.
"Why did you bring me here, I don’t belong here," she hissed. She wanted to scream at him, shout at the top of her lungs but the rows of names to either side of her on the arch made her feel small.
Giles smiled sadly at her and glanced briefly to either side as he took in the impressive monument beside which their small red car seemed like a toy.
"Well to answer your earlier question we are at the Louverval military cemetery. More specifically I believe that this is the monument to those who fell at the Battle of Cambrai. As to the why, I thought I explained earlier we are here to meet a rather reclusive collector and this was his specified location," replied Giles rubbing his hands together.
"Shall we get on I believe we may have a couple hours wait ahead of us," he gestured at the gate and when she made no move towards it opened it himself and entered the cemetery.
She glared at his retreating back and then followed him inside. She wasn’t going to let him get killed by some wandering vamp or doubled crossed by this collector whoever he was. She cringed slightly as she passed through the arch almost as if she expected to be baulked or zapped into a million little fragments. But then she was through and she dismissed her concerns her mere presence wasn’t going to bring the edifice crashing down. And who the heck did she think she was anyway she didn’t matter that much. Those tunnels in New York had proved that.
She saw Giles turn from where he had been reading some names inscribed on the wall that lined the colonnaded alcove. To her right in the cold November night she could make out four straight rows of head markers a white cross off to one side. Beyond the branches of a couple of trees she could make out nothing more, just the rolling darkness of the countryside.
He gestured to an archway just beyond the central memorial, "We best shelter under here at least it will provide some protection from the cold."
As she moved in his direction she caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eye and stopped in her tracks.
She crouched down, her hand gently reaching out to caress the simple red wreath that lay propped up against the memorial stone sitting atop the terrace. Almost like a flash of colour in an old black and white movie, so out of place yet so central to the picture.
She reached forward and gently ran her finger over the edge of the wreath and was surprised to feel the rough warmth of paper underneath her fingers. The blood red petals and the words above them held her riveted until a slight disturbance behind her caused her to snatch her hand back.
"What are they?" she looked over her shoulder at Giles who had come to stand behind her.
"Poppies," Giles answered and seeing that she was still none the wiser continued, " Remembrance Sunday was a couple of days ago, this wreath is probably left over from then. I suppose it is a bit like your Veterans Day. A time when the nation but in particular those who fought remember the sacrifice of those that they fought alongside, remember their friends and loved ones who paid the ultimate sacrifice. A time when we remember our heroes."
He looked at her and for a moment she felt she was laid bare under his gaze. As if he saw through all her front and bullshit and saw who she really was underneath. Saw that she didn’t belong here, saw that she could never fulfil his expectations no matter how hard she strived, no matter how hard she desperately wanted to.
She shivered under his scrutiny and forced her self to stand up.
"Faith are you cold?" Giles asked.
"Nah, I’m fine. When is this guy supposed to show up?" she asked restlessly pacing around backwards and forwards.
"Not entirely sure," Giles ventured looking at her in that funny way he occasionally did.
"Great," she huffed and went to sit down before the cold of the stone disabused her of the foolishness of that notion.
"I have tea if you want it," Giles offered. At her look that said not just no but hell no he smiled and tossed her a bag of donuts. As she ripped open the bag and spotted the sparkles he smiled, "Your favourites I believe."
She looked at them for a couple of moments before the protests of her stomach forced her to start skarfing the contents.
"Yeah, thanks Giles," she finally managed between mouthfuls.
As she glanced around she was surprised at how small the cemetery seemed. She wanted to ask Giles why that was. She had grown used to the huge sprawling graveyards of Cleveland, New York and Sunnydale. Normally they didn’t creep her out, like this place did, maybe it was the chatter or the adrenaline rush brought on by the prospect of a slay. Fat chance of that happening here, she doubted any vamps had ever frequented this cemetery. No she knew the reason they, like her, knew when they didn’t belong in a place.
They stood like that occasionally shuffling from foot to foot to ward off the cold in what proved to be an ultimately futile effort. She wanted to run, she considered going back to the car but she knew Giles would stay out here braving the cold. She ground her teeth in frustration and almost stumbled when Giles suddenly snorted in laughter.
"What?" she glared over in the watchers direction.
"Nothing, just a moment of hubris," he shook his head in response and returned to his contemplation of the night sky.
"Like hell it was nothing, spill your guts tweed boy or the tea gets it," she levelled the crossbow so the quarrel targeted the thermos.
He glared at her threat before carefully retrieving the flask, "Actually I was making a rather foolish and arrogant comparison between our current situation and the Battle of Cambrai."
"And what’s a World War One battle and the shit we find ourselves in got to do with anything," she laughed at Giles shocked expression, " Well I did do something with my time in the joint Giles finished out my GED."
"You never said," Giles queried a hurt tone in his voice.
"You never asked," she returned, " and quit with the stalling spill."
"Well I was thinking how so alike the two times were," at her non plussed look he continued, "not exactly obviously but think about it. This battle signified something new, that something had changed and that war would never be the same again. Certainly it heralded the eventual breaking of the stalemate of the Western Front the end to almost four years of attritional warfare."
"And this is the same how?" Faith asked puzzled.
"Well don’t you see," Giles raised his eyebrows warming to his task a teacher again no matter that his student was a crossbow wielding killer.
She shook her head she didn’t see. She didn’t know what the hell he was talking about and although she was pleased to see some of the old energy back she was hoping he would get to the punch line sometime soon.
"Well we changed everything! Now nothing will be the same again, it may be better or it may be worse but from now on nothing will ever be the same again. Where there was one there are now many and where one girl after another was forever locked in an endless battle of attrition with evil over countless centuries now we have a chance to make a change for the better. A pivotal moment, just like Cambrai we changed the rules of the game," Giles gestured around him.
She looked at him the animation playing again across his face. Fired again with the passion for his vocation. The fire that used to warm her alight in his face again whilst hers lay cold and dormant. Sure she goes through the motions puts on the front and that is enough to fool most. Fortunately two of the people who could see through her charade had gone walkabout. The other two, one of who is standing in front of her, well she hopes but doubts she has them fooled. She almost feels the silence descend as he stops talking and instead regards her with that gaze that always makes her feel like she has been caught in the midst of a lie.
"You’re a part of it too Faith, part of the change, you need to remember how important you are. How much the younger slayers and watchers look to you, a little hero worship is not a bad thing, it can bring hope," he ventured tentatively reaching out as she knew he would at some point.
She remembered all right. She remembered Beth’s horrified look as the demons claw had punched straight through her back and out her stomach. She remembered Carys calling for her mother as acid ate away at her back as they desperately fled down the sewer tunnels. And she remembered cold dark Annabeth who had never said a kind word about anyone screaming at her to run as she had started back to help the wounded slayer her leg a mangled ruin before she had smiled as the darkness descended on her. She remembers them all and she remembered herself running terrified for only the second time in her life.
All her power and self-belief as nothing in the face of this dark monstrosity. She remembers, part of her hanging onto the memories, as at least in them for a brief moment they were still alive and she had not failed. The other part of her longs for the release, for the end of waking up in a sweat filled bed. Willow called it survivors guilt, she wasn’t sure that is what it really was, no she preferred to call it by its real name which was just guilt. She had failed to live up to her own image, her carefully crafted persona that had let her bask in the warmth of the adoration in their eyes. Too pumped up on doing the hero thing she had led them all into a death trap and now nothing lit up their eyes.
"I ain’t no hero, at best I’m a reformed killer," she replied and at his hurt look she continued growing bolder, "I’m not what you need Giles for your new council, certainly not role model material. Find someone better to do what needs to be done. Don’t," she motioned angrily with her hand as he moved closer.
"Faith please," he answered coming to a ragged halt a few paces away.
"No Giles, whatever you may think or I may have wished that is the way it is and nothing is going to change that. I was a fool to ever think I could be more," she retorted her voice betraying her and growing hoarse in the cold air.
"I’m outta here I don’t belong in this company," she moved to step past him and stared in shock as his hand clamped down grabbing hold of her wrist.
"Let go," she growled angrily but he didn’t shift his arm. Instead he returned her glare with a cold angry darkness that caused her to shiver a little inside. She knew the look well, she had seen it enough times on her own face.
"Not yet Faith, I have something to show you," then he was off dragging her astonished, uncomprehending and most surprisingly unresisting into the main part of the cemetery before coming to a stop in front of a plain stone grave marker.
"Read it," he ordered his warm mellow voice gone and in its place cold iron menace.
12524 Rifleman
Patrick S Lehane DCM
15th Bn. Royal Irish Rifles.
21/11/1917, aged 19
"You may think there is nothing of the hero in you Faith, but I know better. How could it be otherwise when the blood of heroes flows in your veins," Giles said softly.
"I don’t understand who is he?" she asked looking over at the Englishmen.
"He was your grandfather’s brother, killed on the second day of the Battle of Cambrai and like you he was a hero. So don’t ever tell me otherwise. I know it for the lie that it is. I have seen you, you know and no matter how you think you have failed it doesn’t make you any less of a hero in mine or anyone else’s eyes," he laid his hand gently on her shoulder as she sank to the ground.
"Giles," she asked her vision blurred suddenly by unshed tears as he moved away.
"There never was any collector was there?"
"No," he answered smiling sadly," but sometimes a small white lie is necessary for us to remind our heroes of who they are."
He walked away then and she could feel his words as they flowed over her, warming her with their resonance, chipping away at the dam she had built,
"Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields."
He left her there, alone with her thoughts, left her to remember and grieve for the three heroes who she had lost and for the one of her own who she had never known.
slayerversathon. Idea came whilst watching the New Zealand memorial dedication before Remembrance Sunday.
Author: tessarin
Title: Remembrance
Characters: Faith, Giles
Pairings: None
Gen/Het/Slash: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:
Disclaimer:. Buffy the vampire slayer is owned by Fox. All characters bar original characters are copyrighted by Fox and Mutant Enemy.
Summary/Notes: Faith and Giles visit the military cemetery at Louverval near Cambrai to meet a collector of rare antiquities. This fic acts as a prequel to my ongoing wip Running on , as such it takes place roughly one year before that and 6 months after chosen.
Remembrance
The intermittent squeak of the windscreen wipers was the only sound other than the constant pitter patter of the rain and distant purring of the engine that penetrated her consciousness. She could feel the comforting oblivion of sleep fading away and despite her desperate efforts to crawl back into the darkness the light worked its inexorable way in.
Her eyes opened a little, just a slit but enough to bring with it some vague awareness of her surroundings.
The hire cars cabin was overly warm the heat from the vents blasting out in a futile attempt to keep the car warm. Instead their artificial heat only served to steam up the windows of the little red rental as it groped its way along the narrow country lanes in search of its destination.
The driver every so often would lean forward and use the palm of his hand to wipe a visible peephole so he could see where he was going or at least an approximation of it. The small GPS sitting on the dashboard lay silent, its screen resolutely dark, victim to the drivers low regard for infernal machines. Occasionally it would rattle as the driver violently jerked the wheel before muttering imprecations against driving on the wrong side of the road.
The silence that had encased the two passengers, who was to know its length but the uncomfortable tinge to it would seem to indicate that it was at least of some considerable length, was finally broken by the feminine clearing of a throat.
"Yo G we there yet?" Faith queried rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sat up in the back seat. Certainly she couldn’t tell from the bleak flat French countryside barely visible through the steamed up windows, its flatness dotted only with the occasional farmhouse was no clue. Damn place all looked the same to her not that she could remember much of the journey. She had zoned out practically the second she had clambered into the car. Giles finishing up the paper work whilst she waited.
"Not quite, nearly there I think," answered Giles a slightly querulous tone entering his voice. She could tell that he was tired, he had been tired when he had picked her up at the airport straight off her flight before depositing her and her meagre travel luggage consisting only of an old broken down kit bag on the Eurostar to Brussels. She had been surprised when he had boarded the train to accompany her. They hadn’t exchanged many words other than a desultory greeting and a brief attempt from him to pry into what had happened in New York. So they had sat opposite each other, she despite pretending to listen to the music on her ipod acutely aware of his scrutiny and the reason for it. He probably heard more of the tunes than she did judging by the look of pained tolerance that briefly crossed his face whenever a track changed.
She just sat there and remembered. The whole trip, every detail, every slice, dice and scream a never ending reminder of her failure to be a hero, to be worthy of the trust that Giles and Willow seemed to be placing in her.
A jolt of the car and some muttered Latin swear words jolted her back to the present. Giles probably thought he was being clever swearing in some dead language, part of his futile attempts to mould her into being his type of slayer. But she understood well enough. She and Dawn had spent enough time hanging out in the new council’s library for her to pick up some things before Dawn had disappeared off to Africa.
She watched Giles through her partially lidded eyes before seeing his steady regard in the rear view she realised the game was up. No pretending to sleep any more. Not that she wanted to sleep as that was when she fully remembered.
"So what’s going down that you needed me along for the ride," she asked finally sitting right up and catching Giles’ eyes as he held her attention in the rear view mirror. When he didn’t answer, his eyes turning back to the road ahead, she continued.
"I figure there’s got to be a reason otherwise you would just have asked for one of the local Slayers, not flown yours truly halfway across the globe to go on a tour of the French countryside in the middle of the night. So whose the sucker you want me to slay?"
"Actually I don’t want you to slay anyone. I had arranged to meet with a certain collector of antiquarian artefacts. He has something very interesting to pass on in return for reaching an arrangement with the new council. I thought after recent events you might fancy the chance to get away," replied Giles.
She didn’t answer. She wanted to tell him to stuff it, clock his head against the steering wheel and get out of the car. Problem was there was this nagging annoying part of her that was telling her he was right and that she should just spill, unload tell him the whole thing. His eyes told the story of his concern and worry.
She bit down on the inside of her lip as his gaze returned to the road. For a moment there he had looked so old the rigours of his job as the new head of the council clearly writ in his shrunken build. Who was she to add another burden to his load, to offload her failures onto his shoulders no matter how much he pleaded. She was responsible for what had happened and she would bear the pain, she would suffer the nightmares and regrets. She might have failed them in the task but she was damned if she was going to let them suffer the consequences.
"Yeah, well you know me any excuse to stretch my legs and get my slay on," she replied hoping she had put enough bravado into her voice.
"Good, I was hoping you might," Giles answered pausing briefly to glance to his right before turning their small red runabout on to another country lane. Although from the sound of their passage this seemed somewhat wider than the previous ones.
She squinted as an oncoming truck dazzled them. Its passage interrupted their lonely journey and shattered the illusion that they were a lonely lifeboat cast adrift in the solitude of the night. The sound of the tyres crunching on gravel signified they had reached the end of their journey.
"Well we’re there. At least I think we are," Giles craned his neck as he looked over his shoulder.
"Great, sooner done sooner I’m out of your hair," she shoved the passenger door open ignoring the pained look the watcher sent her way and stepped out into the cold night. After the stifling warmth of the car the cold winter air hit her like a welcome relief. She popped open the boot and unzipped the dark brown bag that nestled there next to her kit bag. Rummaging round she retrieved a couple of stakes and seeing the watcher come up on her blind side tossed a few in his direction as well before cocking and placing a quarrel on to the crossbow.
At his cough she looked up. Giles looked meaningfully at the bow.
"Just being prepared is all," she answered in monotone before turning on her heel and marching towards this imposing edifice nestled by the side of the road.
"Faith," Giles called out the thud of the boot signifying that he had completed his preparations, "do wait up."
She could hear the crunch of his shoes as he started off. She waited to let him catch up.
"So where the hell is this anyway, damned impressive monument for a joint in Hicksville," asked Faith gesturing with her crossbow towards a three-arched white marble edifice. Its carefully masoned brickwork glowed in the reflected moonlight and the moment the words left her mouth she wished she could call them back. They sounded so loud in the absolute silence that now descended on them. She shifted uncomfortably her boots disturbing the gravel.
Giles looked at her and she could see the disappointment on his face. She didn’t wait for his oh so British put down. She started towards a set of black-hinged gates, which sat amidst some black iron railings in the middle arch.
Her hand stopped in mid descent beyond, through the railings she could see a red wreath of some kind propped up against a great stone altar nestled in a great colonnaded alcove. She knew what this place was now.
It was a place for heroes and she didn’t belong here.
She turned and glared at Giles as he walked towards her.
"Why did you bring me here, I don’t belong here," she hissed. She wanted to scream at him, shout at the top of her lungs but the rows of names to either side of her on the arch made her feel small.
Giles smiled sadly at her and glanced briefly to either side as he took in the impressive monument beside which their small red car seemed like a toy.
"Well to answer your earlier question we are at the Louverval military cemetery. More specifically I believe that this is the monument to those who fell at the Battle of Cambrai. As to the why, I thought I explained earlier we are here to meet a rather reclusive collector and this was his specified location," replied Giles rubbing his hands together.
"Shall we get on I believe we may have a couple hours wait ahead of us," he gestured at the gate and when she made no move towards it opened it himself and entered the cemetery.
She glared at his retreating back and then followed him inside. She wasn’t going to let him get killed by some wandering vamp or doubled crossed by this collector whoever he was. She cringed slightly as she passed through the arch almost as if she expected to be baulked or zapped into a million little fragments. But then she was through and she dismissed her concerns her mere presence wasn’t going to bring the edifice crashing down. And who the heck did she think she was anyway she didn’t matter that much. Those tunnels in New York had proved that.
She saw Giles turn from where he had been reading some names inscribed on the wall that lined the colonnaded alcove. To her right in the cold November night she could make out four straight rows of head markers a white cross off to one side. Beyond the branches of a couple of trees she could make out nothing more, just the rolling darkness of the countryside.
He gestured to an archway just beyond the central memorial, "We best shelter under here at least it will provide some protection from the cold."
As she moved in his direction she caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eye and stopped in her tracks.
She crouched down, her hand gently reaching out to caress the simple red wreath that lay propped up against the memorial stone sitting atop the terrace. Almost like a flash of colour in an old black and white movie, so out of place yet so central to the picture.
She reached forward and gently ran her finger over the edge of the wreath and was surprised to feel the rough warmth of paper underneath her fingers. The blood red petals and the words above them held her riveted until a slight disturbance behind her caused her to snatch her hand back.
"What are they?" she looked over her shoulder at Giles who had come to stand behind her.
"Poppies," Giles answered and seeing that she was still none the wiser continued, " Remembrance Sunday was a couple of days ago, this wreath is probably left over from then. I suppose it is a bit like your Veterans Day. A time when the nation but in particular those who fought remember the sacrifice of those that they fought alongside, remember their friends and loved ones who paid the ultimate sacrifice. A time when we remember our heroes."
He looked at her and for a moment she felt she was laid bare under his gaze. As if he saw through all her front and bullshit and saw who she really was underneath. Saw that she didn’t belong here, saw that she could never fulfil his expectations no matter how hard she strived, no matter how hard she desperately wanted to.
She shivered under his scrutiny and forced her self to stand up.
"Faith are you cold?" Giles asked.
"Nah, I’m fine. When is this guy supposed to show up?" she asked restlessly pacing around backwards and forwards.
"Not entirely sure," Giles ventured looking at her in that funny way he occasionally did.
"Great," she huffed and went to sit down before the cold of the stone disabused her of the foolishness of that notion.
"I have tea if you want it," Giles offered. At her look that said not just no but hell no he smiled and tossed her a bag of donuts. As she ripped open the bag and spotted the sparkles he smiled, "Your favourites I believe."
She looked at them for a couple of moments before the protests of her stomach forced her to start skarfing the contents.
"Yeah, thanks Giles," she finally managed between mouthfuls.
As she glanced around she was surprised at how small the cemetery seemed. She wanted to ask Giles why that was. She had grown used to the huge sprawling graveyards of Cleveland, New York and Sunnydale. Normally they didn’t creep her out, like this place did, maybe it was the chatter or the adrenaline rush brought on by the prospect of a slay. Fat chance of that happening here, she doubted any vamps had ever frequented this cemetery. No she knew the reason they, like her, knew when they didn’t belong in a place.
They stood like that occasionally shuffling from foot to foot to ward off the cold in what proved to be an ultimately futile effort. She wanted to run, she considered going back to the car but she knew Giles would stay out here braving the cold. She ground her teeth in frustration and almost stumbled when Giles suddenly snorted in laughter.
"What?" she glared over in the watchers direction.
"Nothing, just a moment of hubris," he shook his head in response and returned to his contemplation of the night sky.
"Like hell it was nothing, spill your guts tweed boy or the tea gets it," she levelled the crossbow so the quarrel targeted the thermos.
He glared at her threat before carefully retrieving the flask, "Actually I was making a rather foolish and arrogant comparison between our current situation and the Battle of Cambrai."
"And what’s a World War One battle and the shit we find ourselves in got to do with anything," she laughed at Giles shocked expression, " Well I did do something with my time in the joint Giles finished out my GED."
"You never said," Giles queried a hurt tone in his voice.
"You never asked," she returned, " and quit with the stalling spill."
"Well I was thinking how so alike the two times were," at her non plussed look he continued, "not exactly obviously but think about it. This battle signified something new, that something had changed and that war would never be the same again. Certainly it heralded the eventual breaking of the stalemate of the Western Front the end to almost four years of attritional warfare."
"And this is the same how?" Faith asked puzzled.
"Well don’t you see," Giles raised his eyebrows warming to his task a teacher again no matter that his student was a crossbow wielding killer.
She shook her head she didn’t see. She didn’t know what the hell he was talking about and although she was pleased to see some of the old energy back she was hoping he would get to the punch line sometime soon.
"Well we changed everything! Now nothing will be the same again, it may be better or it may be worse but from now on nothing will ever be the same again. Where there was one there are now many and where one girl after another was forever locked in an endless battle of attrition with evil over countless centuries now we have a chance to make a change for the better. A pivotal moment, just like Cambrai we changed the rules of the game," Giles gestured around him.
She looked at him the animation playing again across his face. Fired again with the passion for his vocation. The fire that used to warm her alight in his face again whilst hers lay cold and dormant. Sure she goes through the motions puts on the front and that is enough to fool most. Fortunately two of the people who could see through her charade had gone walkabout. The other two, one of who is standing in front of her, well she hopes but doubts she has them fooled. She almost feels the silence descend as he stops talking and instead regards her with that gaze that always makes her feel like she has been caught in the midst of a lie.
"You’re a part of it too Faith, part of the change, you need to remember how important you are. How much the younger slayers and watchers look to you, a little hero worship is not a bad thing, it can bring hope," he ventured tentatively reaching out as she knew he would at some point.
She remembered all right. She remembered Beth’s horrified look as the demons claw had punched straight through her back and out her stomach. She remembered Carys calling for her mother as acid ate away at her back as they desperately fled down the sewer tunnels. And she remembered cold dark Annabeth who had never said a kind word about anyone screaming at her to run as she had started back to help the wounded slayer her leg a mangled ruin before she had smiled as the darkness descended on her. She remembers them all and she remembered herself running terrified for only the second time in her life.
All her power and self-belief as nothing in the face of this dark monstrosity. She remembers, part of her hanging onto the memories, as at least in them for a brief moment they were still alive and she had not failed. The other part of her longs for the release, for the end of waking up in a sweat filled bed. Willow called it survivors guilt, she wasn’t sure that is what it really was, no she preferred to call it by its real name which was just guilt. She had failed to live up to her own image, her carefully crafted persona that had let her bask in the warmth of the adoration in their eyes. Too pumped up on doing the hero thing she had led them all into a death trap and now nothing lit up their eyes.
"I ain’t no hero, at best I’m a reformed killer," she replied and at his hurt look she continued growing bolder, "I’m not what you need Giles for your new council, certainly not role model material. Find someone better to do what needs to be done. Don’t," she motioned angrily with her hand as he moved closer.
"Faith please," he answered coming to a ragged halt a few paces away.
"No Giles, whatever you may think or I may have wished that is the way it is and nothing is going to change that. I was a fool to ever think I could be more," she retorted her voice betraying her and growing hoarse in the cold air.
"I’m outta here I don’t belong in this company," she moved to step past him and stared in shock as his hand clamped down grabbing hold of her wrist.
"Let go," she growled angrily but he didn’t shift his arm. Instead he returned her glare with a cold angry darkness that caused her to shiver a little inside. She knew the look well, she had seen it enough times on her own face.
"Not yet Faith, I have something to show you," then he was off dragging her astonished, uncomprehending and most surprisingly unresisting into the main part of the cemetery before coming to a stop in front of a plain stone grave marker.
"Read it," he ordered his warm mellow voice gone and in its place cold iron menace.
12524 Rifleman
Patrick S Lehane DCM
15th Bn. Royal Irish Rifles.
21/11/1917, aged 19
"You may think there is nothing of the hero in you Faith, but I know better. How could it be otherwise when the blood of heroes flows in your veins," Giles said softly.
"I don’t understand who is he?" she asked looking over at the Englishmen.
"He was your grandfather’s brother, killed on the second day of the Battle of Cambrai and like you he was a hero. So don’t ever tell me otherwise. I know it for the lie that it is. I have seen you, you know and no matter how you think you have failed it doesn’t make you any less of a hero in mine or anyone else’s eyes," he laid his hand gently on her shoulder as she sank to the ground.
"Giles," she asked her vision blurred suddenly by unshed tears as he moved away.
"There never was any collector was there?"
"No," he answered smiling sadly," but sometimes a small white lie is necessary for us to remind our heroes of who they are."
He walked away then and she could feel his words as they flowed over her, warming her with their resonance, chipping away at the dam she had built,
"Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields."
He left her there, alone with her thoughts, left her to remember and grieve for the three heroes who she had lost and for the one of her own who she had never known.