DISCLAIMER: The Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel characters are the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, Lazy Dave, Kuzui, and Fox Studios. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2006 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.
Going, Going, Gone
by Djinn
Giles sat on the balcony of
his hotel room, looking out at the night sky. His view wasn't as pretty as the
one he'd had in Rome. Not by a long shot. But it was easier to be here. Easier
for all the wrong reasons.
Damn the Immortal.
His cell phone rang and glancing
at it, he saw her name on the ID screen. Buffy was calling him.
Again.
Sighing, he picked up the
phone and put down his glass. He could do this now. He had to do this now. "Hello."
"Giles?"
"Buffy. Hello." As
if he hadn't known it was her. As if she didn't know he'd known it was her. She'd
gotten him the damn phone, shown him how to use it even.
"Where are you? Stephan
said you'd left."
Stephan. Only she was allowed
to call the Immortal that. It wasn't really his name. She'd made it up. But
maybe it was his real name. She was frighteningly intuitive—when she wanted to
be.
"I'm in Dublin. I thought
it was my turn to go out slayer hunting. Andrew and Xander have done more than
their share."
"But I need you here. With
me."
"You have Stephan."
He knew he'd put a bitter twist on the name.
"Giles, what's the
matter?"
He could hear the Immortal's
dark tone. "You love her. I know you do." The man had ripped
something open in Giles when he'd said it. Because as soon as he'd heard the
words, he'd known they were true. And, God help him, they were a truth that Giles
had never, ever allowed himself to consider.
He loved his slayer. No, he
was in love with his slayer. A rather
large difference.
Too large for the Immortal's
taste. "Get out of Rome," he'd said. "And she'll never have to
know."
And Giles had left. Left the
girl he'd sworn to protect behind, because now one of the things she needed to
be protected from was him.
"Giles?"
"I'm very tired."
"Why are you being this
way?"
"Tired? Well, you see,
my dear, I'm a very old man." Older by the moment. Unlike her handsome
beau.
"No, you're not. And
that's not what I meant."
"What do you want,
Buffy?"
"I need you here." She
sounded off balance, but then he'd never talked to her this way. Never been
quite this cold. She trusted him.
God help him, she trusted
him. He could imagine her eyes as she waited for him to answer her. The way
they would change from questioning to betrayed.
He'd do it fast. It would
hurt less that way. Or it would hurt her
less that way. "You're grown up now, Buffy. Perhaps you should act like
it." His voice was too harsh, too angry.
If she were here, he'd pull
her to him and—
"Are you leaving me
again?"
"Do you think I find it
interesting in Rome? Scintillating stuff for the old man, eh? Stuck with a
bunch of pubescent girls." Except for Buffy—somewhere in their time
together, she'd left girlhood behind and become a woman.
A woman he wanted.
"Giles, what the hell is
wrong with you?"
"You, Buffy. You're
what's wrong with me." It was the truth, even if she'd never understand
that.
There was silence. No sniff. No
sound of tears. No angry words. Then the connection went dead.
"Goodbye, Buffy,"
he whispered as he put the phone down and picked up the bottle of Irish whiskey
he'd been nursing along all evening.
He drank it all and managed
to forget her. For the night.
##
"Don't worry, my
dear," Giles said in what approximated Hungarian as he loaded the last slayer
into the car Xander was driving. "You'll be safe now."
By her expression, he knew
his Hungarian was not up to the task of comforting a scared, young woman. He
smiled at her encouragingly, and she seemed to relax. Shutting the door, he
gave the top of the car a pat and watched as Xander pulled into traffic.
He waited until they were out
of sight, then turned for the entrance of his hotel, nearly running into Buffy.
"If Mohammed won't come
to the mountain," she said, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Buffy." It had
been two months since he'd seen her. Since he'd left her.
"Giles." She eyed
him warily. "Are you going to be mean to me again?"
He should. He should be terse
and ugly, make her run away in tears.
But she looked so lovely in
the fading light.
"What are you doing
here?" he asked.
"Other than looking for
you?" She put her hands in her jacket pocket, turned to walk with him
toward the hotel entrance. "I've never seen Budapest. It's nice so
far."
He glanced at her. She was
staring up at him, her look hard.
"Well, now that you're
with me, I'm sure it won't be."
It was a stupid, self-indulgent
thing to say. He saw her eyes narrow, and she turned away.
"Stephan told me not to
look for you."
"Stephan was no doubt
right."
"Did something happen
between you two?"
"Yes, Buffy. The
Immortal and I had a torrid affair and now can't bear to look at each other,
knowing it can never be."
"That's not quite what I
meant." Her voice was as sharp as his had just been. Suddenly she captured
his arm, pulling him close as she kept walking past the entrance of the hotel,
down toward the Danube.
"Where are we
going?"
"The minute we get
inside that hotel, I'll have lost you. You'll turn all British, maybe even mean
British, and duck out of sight. And I'll be stuck in Budapest with no one to
show me around."
"It's not as if I'm a
native." He could hear his voice softening and hated that he couldn't stop
it. But it felt so good to be walking with her this way.
"Oh, I'm sure you did
the European youth walkabout thing back when you got out of school. In the dark
ages." She looked up at him, and he couldn't tell if she was kidding.
"Yes, I did. They had
knights still. In armor and everything."
She laughed, and he felt
himself relaxing. He tucked his arm in a bit, felt her move closer.
"So. You left, Giles. Why?"
"I needed a
change."
"No, you said you were
tired of me."
"That's not precisely
what I said."
"Close enough." She
stopped, waited as cars passed, and then pulled him when there was a break. They
dashed across to the bridge; she never let go of his arm.
Did she think he'd run away? He
felt like a moth, captured by the fire. He should run. But he'd be damned if he
knew how to pull away.
The river shone below them. The
last light playing across it. Letting go, she stared up at him, standing very
close.
"Beautiful," he
said, not really referring to the river.
"It is. But there are lots
of beautiful rivers in Europe. In fact, they're a dime a dozen. Not unlike
museums and fancy churches. Watchers, however, who abandon you..."
He sighed.
"Tell me why you left."
"You don't need me
anymore."
"Because I need to grow
up? Just like last time you left?"
"Not quite like
that." It wouldn't be fair for her to think he didn't know she'd grown so
much in the last few years. But he had to tell her something that wasn't
anything close to the truth.
"Andrew has a
theory."
"He does?" He made
his laugh mocking. "I'm sure it's a dilly."
She laughed, and he knew it
was at his choice of words. She'd always laughed that way at him. He'd found it
delightful then, he still did.
"His theory wasn't
something I'd ever considered before."
"I'm all ears."
She turned away suddenly and
stared out at the river. "Are you in love with me?"
He forced the laughter out, letting
his surprise make it more real. "What?"
Her fingers tightened on the
railing; he saw the stone crack. "Don't turn this into a joke."
"Yes, Buffy. Seeing how
much fun Xander had fancying you when you were in the arms of another, I
thought I'd try it. It's quite exhilarating."
She let go of the bridge and
turned on him. "Stop. Joking."
"I have a responsibility
to help you. Not to pump your ego. Perhaps I left because I was tired of seeing
you spoiled and pampered by that...man. When are you going to stand on your
own?" It was not the best rejoinder, but it would have to do.
She frowned,
her eyes dark as she stared up at him. "He was right. Andrew was right?" She shoved her hands in her jacket and
turned away.
"Where are you
going?"
"Home." She hit the
word hard. As if she knew how much it would hurt him that home was with the
Immortal now. Not with him.
"Safe trip, then." He
was pleased with himself. His tone was smooth, even a bit flip.
She hurried off in the
direction of the train station without another word, and she didn't look back
at him. Not once.
##
The sound of someone being
paged woke Giles. He tried to sit up and was immediately sorry for it as his
head throbbed and he nearly ripped a needle from his arm. He looked around and
realized the world had gone black.
"Shh, lie still."
Buffy? He struggled to get
away from the strong hands holding him down.
"Giles, stop it. You're
in the hospital. You're going to be fine."
"I can't see." Had
he lost his eye? The way Xander had? Only not one. Both.
"You have bandages over your
eyes. But they'll be fine, you'll see."
"So, I won't need glasses?"
He smiled and felt his skin tear around his lip. "Oh."
"Here. This will help."
He felt her dab something slippery
on his lips. "Why are you here?"
"I heard you were hurt. What
were you thinking taking that thing on by yourself?"
He hadn't been thinking. He'd
been drunk. Another night, the latest slayer sent on to Rome and nothing more
to do except think about Buffy and what he wanted but could never have. So he'd drained a bottle of Rioja and cruised Madrid. And
found a Horkneth demon attacking a young woman and
her son. "Did they—are they all right?"
"The boy's fine. His
mom's in intensive care. But she's alive because of you." Buffy's hand
settled on his forehead. "You were very lucky." He could feel her
breath on his cheek.
"Yes. Lucky." He
wanted to hold her hand to his head, keep it there, and enjoy the feel of her
touch. But he didn't move.
"I shouldn't have just
walked away in Budapest."
"You did exactly the
right thing, Buffy."
"I'm not sure."
"As...annoying
as it might be to say that Andrew was right about anything, he was on target
with this one."
"How long have
you...?"
"Truthfully, I don't
know. I'm not sure I was aware of how my feelings had changed until the
Immortal pointed it out to me." It was so much easier talking to her when
he couldn't see her. These truths didn't hurt so much when he didn't have to
watch her reaction.
"Stephan made you leave?"
It was amazing how she could
jump the chasms in his story and arrive at what had really occurred. "He
suggested—"
"Did he make you leave?"
Her voice was tight.
Giles swallowed hard. "I'm
very tired and in a great deal of pain. Do you think you might go fetch the
doctor for me?"
"I will. Once you answer
my question."
"No. He didn't. I left
of my own accord."
"You're a shitty liar,
Giles." Her hand came off his head, and he heard her sharp, hard footsteps
heading out of the room and down the hall. Boots, he imagined. She was wearing
a pair of the boots she so loved.
A moment later the bootsteps
were back, accompanied by someone who walked with a little less intent. "How
are you feeling, Mister Giles?"
"I've been better."
He felt hands prodding him; pain erupted, and he cried out.
"Sorry. I have to check.
You're healing nicely. Much faster than I expected." A gentle pat on his
shoulder, then the doctor said, "I'll get you something for the
pain." His footsteps faded away.
"You've been around slayers
too long, Giles. You even heal like one."
"Not quite," he
said, as the pain got worse.
"Here you are," a
new voice said. A nurse, probably.
He felt his head lifted, pills
put in his mouth, then a tiny cup of water held to his lips. He drank, swallowing
the pills down with the water.
"They work very
fast." Another pat on the arm, and he and Buffy were alone again.
"I was really worried
about you." She sounded as if she was crying.
"Buffy, I want you to do
something for me."
"Okay." She took
his hand. Her soft, warm skin on his felt like heaven.
"I want you to go
home."
Her hand tightened, as if in
reaction. "What?"
"Go home, Buffy. You've
done all you can for me. And I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. But
you need to go home."
"You're not well
yet."
"But you said I will be.
And look at how fast I'm healing." He smiled gingerly; this time the skin
didn't split.
"I think I should stay
here. At least until the bandages come off your eyes."
"No, my dearest, I think
you should be with the man you love."
She let go of his hand, he
could hear her get up, heard her gathering her things—a coat and purse, no
doubt—then she walked to the door and stopped. "What if I don't know who
that is?"
"It's not me, Buffy. You've
just been worried. It's quite common to mistake relief for something
more."
"If you say so."
"I do."
"Well, you're the smart
one, Giles." Another few steps then she stopped again. "Answer me
this. Why does everyone I love leave me?"
"I haven't left you,
Buffy. I'm just not quite as close as I used to be."
"Semantics, Giles. Nothing
but word games." And then she did leave, her boots clip-clipping so fast
it sounded like she was almost running.
##
Giles stood by Andrew,
wondering why on Earth they had to wear tuxes for this latest hunt.
"The girl you
want...she's over there." Andrew pointed to a crowded room across the
hotel. "In the ballroom. It's sort of like Clue. The slayer with a stake
in the ballroom." He grinned.
Giles had no idea what he was
prattling on about.
Andrew's grin faded. "You'd
think with the number of years you spent in the 'colonies,' you'd have picked
up on some of the tribal pastimes. Colonel Mustard? Mrs. Peacock?" He
sighed. "Why am I trying to talk fun to Professor Plum?" He pushed
Giles gently toward the ballroom and turned toward the bar.
"You're not
coming?"
"I think you can handle
her."
"Yes, well, that's not
the point, is it?" Giles was feeling a little testy. Had ever since he'd
been released from the hospital in Madrid. He hadn't heard from Buffy since.
Three months. No word.
Not that he'd expected word. But
still, she could have shown some concern for his welfare. At least called to
see if he could see after the bandages came off.
He sighed and forged onward,
making his way into the ballroom, looking for a girl of the right age.
He stopped. There was no one
under the age of fifty in the room.
"It's an American School
reunion. I didn't want you to accidentally hit on the wrong girl." Buffy
sounded amused.
He turned quickly. She was
wearing a long black dress. Her hair was up. She looked utterly lovely.
"I've never danced with
you." She said it the same way she used to talk about a weapon she'd never
used.
"No, you haven't."
"Time
we changed that, don't you think?"
"I—" He exhaled slowly.
"I'm not sure what to think."
"There's no slayer here—other
than little old me. We tricked you."
"We?"
"Andrew and I." She
grimaced. "Consider the wrongness of that. Andrew. And. I."
He grinned and saw an
answering smile light her face. "It is very wrong, Buffy."
"Don't I know it." She
took his arm and started to lead him onto the dance floor.
"We can't dance here. In
the middle of their reunion."
She made a face. "Giles,
please. They've practically adopted me. I've been on their city tour and
everything. And you know, Vienna is a pretty place." She waved to several
couples; they beamed back. "See. It's all good."
He laughed, charmed as ever
by the spirit she held onto no matter what she'd been through. The spirit that
had probably been what had made him fall in love with her in the first place.
It had no doubt been what
made the Immortal fall in love with her, too. "What about Steph—"
Her hand was over his mouth,
harder than she probably meant to—he felt his lips smoosh against his teeth. "Ancient
history, Giles. Got it?" Her hand didn't budge.
He nodded, smiling at her little
pun.
She let go of his mouth.
"Now dance with me, watcher man."
"You really should not
call me that." But he pulled her to him, felt her strong, young body
against his and knew he was lost. "Buffy, I think this is a very bad idea
and—"
She kissed him, swaying to
music that had been released long before she was even born, surrounded by men
and women not so very much older than him, men and women who were clapping and
yelling encouragement. He knew he was blushing a hundred shades of crimson.
Then Buffy opened her mouth to
his, and he forgot all about the crowd and just concentrated on her. When she
finally pulled away, he let himself smile.
Her expression was teasing,
as she said, "Hmmm."
"That was not me at my
best," he felt compelled to say. "You caught me quite off
guard."
"I'll take your word for
it." She smiled up at him.
He smiled back, pulled her closer,
and danced with her the way he wanted to. She didn't seem to mind at all. He
saw Andrew standing at the door. He lifted his glass to Giles, then left them
alone with their new friends.
"Buffy, I—"
She kissed him again and
didn't let him up for air for quite some time.
"I wasn't going to say
anything dire."
The grin she gave him was his
favorite in her repertoire. "I didn't want to take any chances."
"I'm actually quite flattered
that you didn't."
"Do you want to get out
of here?"
He felt his heart speed up. "Well,
there's no rush."
Her smile changed. Became a
wicked one he'd never seen before. "Do you want to get out of here?"
"Oh, good Lord,
yes."
Her smile only grew more
devilish. "Let's go." She tucked her hand in his arm, the way she had
on the bridge, and waved to the crowd as they left. There were a few wolf
whistles to accompany their exit.
"Very classy," he
murmured.
"Yeah. What can you
do?" She looked very beautiful against the gold and crimson and crystal lobby.
"So, do you have a room in this dump, or what?"
"I do, indeed, have a
room." He touched her hair, let his fingers drop to her face, then pulled
away from her. "Buffy, we don't need to rush into anything."
"I almost lost you in
Madrid. You almost died, you know?"
"You didn't tell me
that."
"I couldn't tell you
that and then leave you. And I knew you'd make me."
"How did you know?"
"Because that's what you
do. You make me make the hard choices. And I did. I left you this time. And now
I'm back. And you're here. And I'm here. And upstairs you have a room, and I
bet it has a bed. And I want to use it." She stared up at him as if she
was challenging him to a duel.
He couldn't help it. He burst
out laughing.
"Okay, as romance goes,
I admit that was lacking." She started to laugh, too. "But it was
sincere."
"It was utterly
charming." He took her hand and let his fingers twine with hers. "Let's
go see what happens."
Her smile was suddenly shy. "I
thought you'd never ask."
##
Giles woke, an unaccustomed
weight on his chest. He looked down to see golden hair spilled across him and
the pillow, and smiled.
Then he groaned.
Was he suicidal? A man his
age bedding a slayer.
He knew he was grinning like
a fool, even as he groaned again. Easing Buffy off him, he slipped out of bed
and got dressed in something decent enough to let him run down to the lobby shop
where he'd seen some aspirin for sale.
"Giles?"
He stopped, turned to look at
her as she stared sleepily up at him. "Hmmm?"
"You're not leaving, are
you?"
"I'm going to get some
aspirin."
"Oh." She closed
her eyes, then opened them again. "Did I hurt you?"
"Just a bit." He
smiled at her. "I can get some coffee, too. Would you like some? Maybe
some breakfast pastry?" It was all so odd—how awkward it should be...and
wasn't.
She nodded and cuddled back
into his pillow. "Don't be long."
"I won't." He took
the stairs quickly, feeling his muscles twinge, but the walk seemed to be doing
them good. So she hadn't permanently injured him,
then. He was just out of shape. He bought the aspirin, then went to the little
bakery just off the hotel entrance and ordered coffee and strudel to go.
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
Giles whirled, hands coming
up by instinct, as if he could take on an angry Immortal.
Only the man didn't look
angry. He looked intolerably amused. And pleased with himself.
"This is on me," he
said, handing the old woman behind the counter a large bill. "Keep the
change, my dove."
She beamed.
"So," he said, putting
the coffees in Giles' hands, tucking the bag of strudel under Giles' arms, and
turning him toward the entrance, "I think this worked out well, don't
you?"
"You aren't angry?"
"Why would I be
angry?" The Immortal opened the door, letting Giles go out first. He stood
on the sidewalk, hands on his hips, and took a deep breath. "I'm a free
man again. It's a wonderful feeling."
"A free—what?"
The Immortal grinned at him. "When
you've lived as long as I have, everything gets old, my friend. And besides, I
saw what was happening. Who am I to stand in the way of true love? Even if I
did have to help it along a bit. My, but you two are blind when it comes to
what you want."
Giles knew his mouth was
open.
"I told this to Buffy
when she left me, and I will tell this to you: if you ever need my help, you
have only to call." He smiled warmly, then his gaze wandered to where
three young and very comely women were getting into a taxi. "Excuse me. I
think I might share their cab."
The women looked up as he
hurried over, gesturing for him to get in. The taxi pulled away, leaving Giles
on the sidewalk.
"Sir?" The doorman
pulled open the hotel door. "Please..."
Giles walked in, pressing the
elevator buttons with his knuckle, but he had to put the coffees down to
navigate the key card.
Buffy was sitting at the
window seat as he walked in. She was swallowed up in his robe, staring down at
where he'd been talking with the Immortal. She looked up at him, and her smile
was untroubled.
Giles handed her a coffee and
the bag of strudel. She peeked in the bag, then got up and found some napkins. She
split the strudel and offered him half.
"My favorite kind,"
she said softly.
"I remembered."
"So. Fancy meeting him
here, huh?" She looked up at him, a tiny piece of strudel on her lip.
He kissed it off. "Yes. I
was quite surprised."
"Everything okay?"
"If we ever have need of
him, etcetera, etcetera." He did a passably good King of Siam.
She laughed. "I should
probably be offended. He was tired of me, wasn't he?"
"Who could be tired of
you? He just knew when to get out of the way."
Her smile was very pleased. "Who
knew you were so gallant?"
"Who, indeed?" He
took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, enjoying the moment, the fact that
she was here with him, dressed in his robe, fresh from his bed.
His hip twinged, and he laughed
softly at the thought of his young love who might just kill him if he didn't
get into shape quickly. He reached for the aspirin and swallowed a few with his
coffee.
She put her coffee down, left
her strudel unfinished, and pulled him back to bed.
He let her have her way with
him, ignoring his aching muscles.
After all, no pain, no gain.
FIN