TITLE: Death Brings Clarity
AUTHOR: JK Philips
RATING: PG-13 (torture, swearing)
SUMMARY: From “Spiral” to “The Gift” followed by my own attempt to put things right. Giles has a moment of clarity, but it’s too late. How he deals with Buffy’s death and how she comes back to him.
SPOILERS: Everything up to “The Gift”
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.
EMAIL:
. Would love feedback. This is my first fanfic ever. :)MY WEBSITE: www.jkphilips.com
--------------------------------------------------- Part 1: He knows his heart too late He was dying. He knew from the moment they pulled him from the RV. But he also knew they wouldn’t leave him behind. So for their sakes, for their safety, he struggled to put one foot in front of the other, Buffy and Xander taking his weight as they crawled towards the abandoned buildings a half-mile ahead. Somehow he had made the distance and they were inside. He fell as Buffy released him, but another pair of hands took her place and were lifting him up. He landed on the hard surface with a jolt and cried out as the pain washed over him in waves. He clenched his jaw, his fists against it, tried to curl up around it. He could barely breathe and oh God, Angelus had nothing on this. Hands pressing on his side, he was shaking now, his breaths drawn in short shallow gasps. You’re going into shock. Shock, unconsciousness, then death. The cold, calculating voice in his head ticked off the sequence like an obscure prophecy read from ancient parchment. It was the Watcher’s voice inside him. But no, not his voice. Someone else. They’ll never get you to a hospital in time. Best die quick, Rupert, buddy, so your friends can get moving again. He knew that voice. So close, right beside him, and the others so far away. “We can’t stay here. It’s too close to the wreck. We’re too easy to find,” Buffy’s voice drifted to him through miles of fog. He wanted to stay with her, wanted to help her even if it was only to demand they go on without him, but the other voice was so much closer, so much louder, so much more insistent. Some Watcher you are. The Slayer’s bailing out your ass *again*, Rupert. I must say, I’m disappointed. He was back at the mansion on Crawford Street, bound once again in his chair, Angelus circling him, circling, circling, circling, smiling. Giles closed his eyes. “This isn’t real. I’ve put this behind me. I’m over this.” But when he opened his eyes again, he still sat in that infernal chair in the room that had become his own personal hell. Angelus crouched before him nearly nose to nose. “Then what are we doing here, you and I?” Angelus patted him amicably on the cheek, then as an afterthought punched him viciously in the side. Giles doubled over as far as his bonds would allow him, his breath stopped by the white-hot agony inside him. He watched his own blood drip onto the gray cement floor beneath him and struggled to remember why he was bleeding, why there was an ever-increasing circle of red sticking his shirt to his left side. Angelus had never cut him. Bruised, broken, but never bled. Angelus had needed him alive. Giles’ body screamed for air, and he drew in great shuddering breaths, each reawakening the fire in his belly. Angelus stood behind him now, his hands digging into Giles’ shoulders, pulling him upright against the back of the chair. “Don’t wimp out on me, Rupert. Last time you held out for hours before you gave it up.” He ducked down low, spoke into Giles’ ear. “Let’s see if you can set a new record.” “I won’t tell you ... about the ritual,” he managed through clenched teeth. “I won’t tell you how to wake Acathla.” “Now, Rupert, let’s get on the same page. This isn’t about Acathla. You already traded that secret for Jenny’s kiss. Remember? Or have you been hit on the head a few too many times?” Angelus laughed and illustrated his point with a blow that sent Giles’ chin knocking into his chest. “There’s some other secret buried in that head of yours. A much bigger secret.” Cool undead hands caressed his palms, and Giles tensed against the touch. Not the fingers. Not again. He remembered not just the pain of their breaking, not just the hours of Angelus’ cruel play, but also the months after when they refused to hold a pen just so, when they spasmed in protest of the slightest weight he forced them to bear. Not the fingers. “I wonder why you never told her, never told any of them? Never told her it was your fault she had to send me to hell? Never told her you’d betrayed her for one last moment with your gypsy bitch.” Angelus circled his fist around Giles’ pinky. Giles felt the shame burn his cheeks. Weak, he’d been so weak. “Sod off, you pillock.” Crack went the first finger, and Angelus moved his attentions to the next. “Wrong answer. Moving on. So I came back from Hell, and she never told you. You hated her for it, didn’t you?” Giles blinked back tears and focused. How had he managed before? Ah, yes. There it was. The hairline crack that traced an uneven path across the opposite wall. Follow it with your eyes. Lose yourself in it. Shelving books in the library. A. “Alchemists through the 12th Century.” by... by... He couldn’t remember. “Asked you a question. You hated her for not ’fessing up.” Angelus twisted the ring finger, near breaking but not quite. “Yes!” Giles dug his right foot into the floor, trying to maintain control over his rising panic. His left foot was growing numb as the blood continued to drip, drip onto the cement. “Yes, I hated her for it! What do you bloody want from me?” Angelus’ grip on his finger relaxed, and he stroked it almost tenderly. “Only the truth. You can lie to yourself, but in the end you won’t be able to lie to me. Although,” he paused thoughtfully, “I guess I kinda am you, since this is probably all some sort of delirious near death experience you got cooking up in your head. Huh. Bet you thought there’d be lights or tunnels or... or angels.” He snickered and poked Giles in one shoulder. “Get it? Angels?” The vampire sighed. “Anyway, I’ve gotten off topic. You hated Buffy for not telling you. Some kind of Watcher/Slayer breach of trust, Rupert?” “Yes. I couldn’t very well do my job if...” Crack. The second finger caught him unprepared and his half swallowed scream sounded loud in his own ears. B. Bradley, Richard. “A Treatise on Demon Mythology vs. Fact.” “So I show up on your doorstep on Christmas Eve of all days. You think: ‘Gee, just pull the trigger of this crossbow and dust Angel right here. What better Christmas present could I get?’ But you don’t. Can’t say as though you were motivated by any warm fuzzy feelings for me. So what did hold you back?” “Buffy...” Angelus leaned in mere inches from his captive’s neck. Giles could feel his cool breath across his skin and shuddered. “Getting warmer, Rupert. Pray continue. Buffy?” “You had been a useful ally for the Slayer...” Crack. The middle finger snapped like a twig. Giles groaned. C. Countermeasures against Ecothsian Seduction Spells. by... by Roverson, James. It wasn’t working. The pain was everywhere, and he couldn’t push it out of his mind, couldn’t escape far enough into himself or outside himself. He was panting, each exhale a soft moan. “Am I going to have to break all your fingers? The test, Rupert, the test on her birthday. Any other Watchers ever fail it before?” “No.” “But you told her everything, threw it all away, and for what?” “Travers said...” Angelus bent back the first finger until Giles felt he would rip it right off his hand. “Funny, I don’t give a damn what Travers said. Why’d you go against the Council?” “Buffy would have died,” he said quickly, trying to stave off further pain. The pressure on his finger eased. “Yeah, so one dies, another is called. Isn’t that the point of the test? Weed out the weaker Slayers?” “Buffy is the greatest Slayer the Council has ever had. The world needs her.” Crack. Crack. His first finger snapped in two places. He closed his eyes to stop the hot tears that now trailed down his cheeks. D. Devin, Thomas. Vampire Feeding Patterns in Greater Metropolitan Districts. Why couldn’t Angelus just kill him and be done with it? “For a smart educated man, Rupert, buddy, you are way slow on the self-realization. So you weren’t her Watcher anymore. Buffy’s off in college and too busy with her Captain All-American to give a second thought to you. What possible reason could you have had to stay in Sunnydale?” “Because I couldn’t abandon her.” Angelus’ fingers trailed up and down Giles’ thumb. “And why not?” Giles shook from the pain, up and down his arm, through his side. A small puddle of blood had formed beneath his chair, and it reflected back to him his own haggard face. How much more could he take? And what would happen when he couldn’t take anymore? What was the secret that couldn’t be spoken aloud? Only Angelus seemed to know. And if he knew, then dammit what was the point of torture? “I could never live with myself if something happened to her, something I could have stopped.” “And why not?” “No matter what the Council says, she’s still my Slayer.” Crack. The thumb went too, and Giles was too tired to hold back his cry. Hot tears trailed into his mouth, and he swallowed salt and bitter shame. E. Everret, Marcus. “Anthology of Hibernating Demons.” “And then her mother died, and you went above and beyond the call of duty. Funeral arrangements, paperwork, the final estate. That fall under a Watcher’s duty?” “No.” Angelus began massaging the fingers of Giles’ other hand. “Tell me why,” he said as he squeezed them ’til they hurt, ’til they throbbed with the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Because... because...” Giles gasped as Angelus’ grip tightened. A little more and the bones in his palm would snap. “Because... I love her! Because I couldn’t help but fall in love with her as I watched her become everything I always wanted.” His body shook, not just with pain, but with sobs that welled up as he heard himself voice the very thing he hadn’t even allowed himself to think. Always with Buffy he had seen the girl. If he saw her as a child, a girl, he was safe from these thoughts. But he knew now that she had never been a child, a girl, not even when he had first met her. A year of slaying had burned the innocence out of her, had aged her, and she had come to him a woman in a girl’s body. And he had loved her for years without realizing it, deceived by her youth. Now she was 20, less than half his age on paper perhaps, but in her soul she was his equal. He could never go back, could no longer see her as the girl. She was a woman in his eyes and his heart now, and he loved her. Angelus circled around in front of him, knelt so they were eye to eye. He grinned as he brushed tears from Giles’ cheeks. “You know that she’ll never love you. She’ll never look at you like she looks at me.” “I know.” A hand on the back of his head, and Angelus pulled him forward until their foreheads were touching. “And that, Rupert, buddy, is better than any torture I could ever devise.” The vampire stood abruptly and ruffled Giles’ hair as he laughed. “Close your eyes. Dream of Buffy. But you’ll always wake alone.” Giles did close his eyes and allowed his head to dip forward onto his chest. He was so tired, and the pain in his side drained his energy with each passing moment. He could almost hear the blood dripping onto the floor. So he closed his eyes, felt her hand in his, and knew he was dreaming. But when he opened his eyes, she wasn’t a dream. She was standing over him, holding tight to his hand, her eyes shining with tears. His golden angel, his beautiful slayer. He remembered now the RV, the spear, the crash. He wasn’t afraid to die, having finally admitted to himself the true depth of his love for her, knowing that in death he would be free to love her with everything he was. He managed a smile for her, and her lips trembled. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard. God, the pain was intense and unrelenting. Just a few moments more, Giles old man, a few moments more. You owe her that. “For what?” His voice rattled in his own ears, the barest whisper, shaking with his barely disguised suffering. “We should have stayed. If we had, none of this would have happened.” “Don’t. What you did...” His face twisted up in agony, and he grasped her hand tighter. He fought to control his breathing, bite back his pain. A few moments more, a few moments more. It became his mantra. He couldn’t leave her with the guilt of his death. He couldn’t have peace at the expense of hers. She had to know. “...was necessary. What I’ve always admired.” “Running away?” Her smile was forced and sorrowful. He rewarded her with a genuine smile of his own, filled with the love he only recently realized, a love that time would not allow him to express. He steadied his breathing, drew air from the top of his lungs, slow careful breaths that would allow him to finish what she needed to hear. “Being able to place your heart above all else. I’m so proud of you. You’ve come so far. You’re everything a Watcher...” He closed his eyes and paused. Not just a Watcher. It was Rupert Giles the man that loved her. But he could only hold on for moments more and there wasn’t time. He opened his eyes again and focused on her, memorizing every detail of her face, the depths of her blue eyes. “Everything I could have hoped for.” She smiled true this time, a smile that touched her eyes and reflected her heart and her love, and Giles felt peace. He sighed, closed his eyes, and let the darkness claim him. *** It was Xander’s voice he heard first. “I gotta agree with Spike on this one, which is probably a sure sign of the apocalypse.” But it wasn’t time for Xander to be here yet. Jenny hadn’t come. He hadn’t given up the secret to Acathla. He stirred, then groaned at the dull ache in his side. He forced his eyes open to see the water stained ceiling above. “Hey, Giles is waking up.” Anya’s voice and then she was in his field of vision, leaning over him. “How are you feeling?” He swallowed. “Like I was run through with a spear.” “But you’re not dead. That’s a good thing.” Her enthusiasm was less than contagious. “Yes, I’m somewhat surprised by that fact as well. What happened?” He blinked rapidly, trying to bring Anya’s face into focus. “Buffy’s friend Ben, the doctor, he came and fixed you.” Anya patted his hand and smiled brightly. Giles turned his head to see past Anya. The counter beneath him seemed to spin, and he clutched quickly at the edge so as not to fall off. The movement should have cost him dearly, but he felt only a slight twinge in his side and that steady, dull ache. Thank god for pharmaceuticals. His eyes took in his surroundings for the first time. Greasy, cement floor and ceiling, boarded up windows. He seemed to be lying on the front counter of an old gas station convenience store. Xander and Willow stood just behind Anya, alternately watching him and stealing glances off to their left. He shivered as he registered their lost, stricken expressions. He feared to even ask the question. “Buffy?” Willow approached, placing her hand gently on his calf. “We don’t know exactly how it happened, but Glory was here, and she took Dawn.” Giles closed his eyes, hoping that this too was part of his near-death delirium. He licked his lips and asked again. “Buffy?” They all glanced over to their left again, past the edge of the counter, past his field of vision. Willow’s forehead furrowed as various thoughts crossed her mind. She shrugged. “She hasn’t moved or spoken. I don’t think she even knows we’re here.” “What?” He tried to sit, but failed miserably. “Help me up.” Anya slipped her hands under his shoulders and leveraged him up enough to see across the room. Buffy sat stone still in her chair, her eyes, God, her eyes stared at nothing, hollow and empty. Unbidden, Jenny’s image flashed through his mind as she had lain in his bed that night, that same empty expression in her dead eyes. But, no, Buffy wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead. Later, if he were to look back in hindsight at this moment, he would say that this was The Moment the ground fell out from under him. What happened in the coming days could only be described as the slow tumble to eventual bottom. But this was The Moment that took Buffy forever out of his reach. *** Giles polished his glasses for only the fifth time in as many minutes, as if that could somehow change the words in front of him. Xander and even Spike had both hovered over him the last two hours, fetching books and tea and anything else he required so he would need to move as little as possible. Neither one of them had any idea that Giles had finished translating the ancient text they had brought him. In fact, he had fully translated it three times by now, using different sources and different references, but each time the basic meaning was the same. He felt sick, nauseous, and not just from the blood loss or his pain medication slowly wearing off. The implications of his translation left him wishing he had died back at the gas station. “Buffy’s friend Ben, the doctor, he came and fixed you.” Now that he could remember Ben and Glory’s shared identity for more than two minutes, he wished he could forget. This was all his fault. If only he had used those last moments with Buffy to urge her to leave him behind, to take Dawn and the others and keep moving, Glory would have never caught them in time. The text in front of him spelled out the exact time for the ritual. If Buffy had left him behind, Glory would never have found them before her window of opportunity closed forever. But no, he had thought he was dying, he had thought those would be his last words. Selfishly, he had wanted to die in the arms of the woman he loved, wanted to pour out his heart to her, and failing that, he at least wanted to spend his last breath comforting her. Those words had obviously not comforted as intended, but rather spurred her to take action to save his life. Now because he lived, Dawn would die. And Buffy would hate him for it. He read the lines again. He had cross-referenced from ten different sources; he had double-checked the definitions of even the most common words used in the text. They had their solution, their way to close the portal. As a Watcher, he had to set aside his personal feelings and take whatever action was needed to save the world. No matter that Buffy would hate him for even asking it of her. He slipped his glasses off and tossed them to the center of the table, rubbing his hands over his weary eyes. “Hey, Giles, I know I’m not Research-Guy, but maybe if you point me to the right book, I could help out. You know, if it’s in English.” “No need, Xander,” Giles sighed, “I’ve already finished the translation. Now we just hope Willow can get through to Buffy.” Giles stood cautiously, waving off Xander’s solicitous attempt at support and stepping gingerly towards the teapot. One hand unconsciously slipped to cradle his injured side as his mind churned with the various reactions he was likely to get from Buffy. None of them were particularly good. That was that, then. He would tell his Slayer that she must kill her sister to save the world, and she would hate him. No necessity to ever tell her how he felt, no hope his newly discovered love would ever be requited. He supposed it was only fitting. Duty had brought them together, and now duty would tear them apart. *** Giles, I’m sixteen years old. I don’t wanna die. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be different from the others. I realize that every Slayer comes with an expiration mark on the package. But I want mine to be a long time from now. She looked so peaceful. He always imagined that Slayers (the others, not Buffy, he never pictured her like this, no, only the others that came before) imagined that they should look angry, outraged and fighting their death to the last moment. He approached on unsteady feet. She looked serene. I don’t understand. I don’t know how to live in this world, if these are the choices, if everything just gets stripped away, I don’t see the point. What was the point? If he gave everything he had, and it still wasn’t enough? If all of his knowledge, all of his training wasn’t enough to save her? What was the point of a fucking Watcher’s Council except to watch each woman die before she’d had the chance to live? The spirit guide told me that Death is my gift. Death was his curse. Randall. Thomas. Philip. Dierdre. Kendra. Jenny. Buffy. Their blood on his hands. He should have been able to save them. He should have been able to save her. He stretched one trembling hand towards her. No pulse. No breath. His Slayer was dead. *** Giles sat in the smooth leather chair and waited for the man on the other side of the mahogany desk to hang up the phone. His eyes wandered over the certificates lining the walls, the legal volumes on the shelves, coming to rest on the empty chair beside him. The last time he had been in this office Buffy had sat in that chair. He had come with her to settle her mother’s estate. Now scant months later, he was here to settle hers. “Terribly sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Giles.” “Hmmm?” He brought his attention back to the lawyer standing in front of him, shaking the proffered hand and watching as Mr. Thomas Stockwell strode across his office to pull some files from his cabinet. This man had been a friend of Joyce’s, had handled her legal affairs and those of the gallery. Giles imagined he must have also handled her divorce, but he’d never had the nerve to ask. He’d only met the man the one time, when settling Joyce’s estate. Stockwell had spoken of her fondly, mentioned meeting her at a benefit Hank’s office had hosted in L.A. “I’m sorry we have to keep meeting under such circumstances. It’s a tragedy about Buffy. She seemed like such a bright young girl.” Giles only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Mr. Stockwell sat on his side of the desk and began pulling papers from the thick file in front of him. A pensive expression creased his round face, and Giles wondered if the man was thinking of Joyce. “It’s only been three months, so the Summers’ finances haven’t changed much since you last went over these papers with me. We’ll skip the details, and you can look over the file later at your leisure.” Stockwell waited patiently for Giles to nod his assent. “There is a sizeable sum remaining from the sale of the gallery and Mrs. Summer’s life insurance policy. Buffy’s will stipulates that this money is placed in a trust fund until Dawn’s 20th birthday. She has named you as Dawn’s legal guardian.” Stockwell paused as he noticed Giles’ frown. “What about the girls’ father?” The lawyer tapped his pen on the desktop and smoothed his tie over his expansive waistline, using the moment to try and read the older man’s expression. “Buffy and I discussed this at length when I drafted her will last month. I’m sorry. I assumed you were a part of her decision.” He waited, but Giles made no effort to fill the silence, so Stockwell continued. “Apparently their father has played little role in their life these last few years. To be frank, sir, the man could not be bothered to return to Sunnydale after their mother’s death, even after they finally tracked him down. Can I ask? Have you been able to inform him of Buffy’s death?” Giles pulled off his glasses and polished them a bit more forcefully than necessary. “His office informs me he’s at an extended business function in Italy. It didn’t seem like the sort of news I should ask a secretary to pass along. I did press upon them the urgency of the matter.” “But he hasn’t returned any of your calls.” It wasn’t a question, and Giles only shook his head bitterly, then slipped his glasses back on. Stockwell sighed and forged ahead. “In either case, Buffy was adamant in her preference that Dawn remain in your care. If this is also your wish, then I’ll need your signature on some forms.” Giles reached across the desk for the papers he was offered. “The first is a basic form, simply stating that you accept responsibility as Dawn’s legal guardian. The second is a motion I’ll file with the court to have Mr. Summer’s parental rights terminated for abandonment.” Giles looked up sharply, his pen poised over the first form. “Is that necessary?” “He would have a limited amount of time to contest it before his rights terminated and you became Dawn’s permanent guardian. I can’t promise that the court wouldn’t overturn the judgment should he return at a later date, but it would at least give you a leg to stand on if you wanted to fight him for custody.” Giles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand as the pen in his other hand hovered over the papers before him. God, he’d never really even met the man. Just the fake Hank who had shown up all those years ago when everyone’s nightmares were bleeding into reality. Despite his workaholic tendencies, Buffy and Dawn had both loved him. He, Giles, had already stolen his oldest daughter, gotten her killed in her slaying duties. Could he steal this man’s youngest daughter too? “If Dawn changes her mind... That is to say if she would rather be with her father, this could be reversed?” “Of course.” Giles sighed and signed the papers quickly, shoving them back across the desk before he could reconsider. Stockwell gathered them neatly and slipped them back into the file. “Just a few more papers, Mr. Giles. Now the house has been left to you in your name.” At the man’s startled expression, he continued quickly. “Buffy wanted to make sure you had the freedom to move quickly if need be. I didn’t really ask why that was such an urgent concern. Also, as Dawn’s guardian, you will be able to draw from her trust fund to pay for her expenses. All that will require is an itemized report submitted annually. I’m sure your store accountant can take care of that.” He passed these papers to Giles as well. He signed the deed for the house without a second thought, but he passed the authorizations for Dawn’s trust fund back unsigned. “I won’t need Dawn’s money. I can provide for her just fine, Mr. Stockwell.” “Mr. Giles, you do realize that you’ll only be drawing off the interest. It’s highly unlikely you would need to touch the principal.” Giles’s face set in stone, and he leaned forward over the desk. “I don’t need Dawn’s money.” Stockwell quailed under Ripper’s gaze, and Giles regretted being so harsh. The lawyer gathered the papers all together quickly, obviously still flustered. “One last thing, Mr. Giles.” Two envelopes, one with his name, one with Dawn’s. “Buffy wrote these for each of you to read in the event of her death.” Giles made no effort to take them. He was not expecting a letter. He had come to the lawyer’s office prepared for tedious and necessary paperwork. Dry, professional routine. He had not expected to feel her presence in this office. And now these letters, touched with her hands, filled with her final words to him, they caught him off guard and slipped past his defenses, reminding him all the more of her absence by the fleeting sense of her presence. “Mr. Giles?” He didn’t remember reaching for them, only that they were now in his hand, the thin envelopes fluttering as his hands shook. He slipped the letters into his inside jacket pocket quickly, hopefully before Stockwell could notice his distress. “Thank you, sir.” Giles voice was rough with emotion. “Is there anything else?” “No, I’ll call you back to the office after the motion passes. My secretary will send you copies of everything we handled today.” Both men stood as one, awkwardly shaking hands and shuffling towards the door. The lawyer felt compelled to ask: “The funeral is this afternoon?” “Yes, three o’clock at Restfield Cemetery. There’s a wake following the service at... at...” Giles floundered, unsure what to call the house on Revello Drive. Not Joyce’s, not Buffy’s, he couldn’t think of it as his. “At the house. You’re welcome to attend.” Stockwell nodded and stared at his shoes. “I’ll see if my secretary can’t clear some time this afternoon. I was awfully fond of Joyce’s family. I remember when the girls were just kids, you know?” He shook his head and met Giles’ gaze again. “Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you or Dawn?” Giles nodded and walked out of the office, one hand sneaking up to feel for the letters in his front jacket pocket. ****
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