TITLE: Death Brings Clarity
AUTHOR: JK Philips
RATING: PG
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 3: The Daughter Test She remembered the pain as she fell through the vortex. She remembered the light and the voices fading in and out around her. She remembered the warmth and security of her mother’s arms. She remembered calling for Dawn. Please, please, I just have to know she’s okay. Just like that the light vanished. The first few days of her ghostly existence drifted by in indistinct images and disjointed thoughts, which danced just beyond her ability to focus. Exactly as a grown man hardly recalls his newborn efforts to control his mortal shell, so Buffy had no memory of learning to exist without hers. So when she realized finally that she was standing in her own kitchen, she had no idea how much time had passed, only that she needed to find Dawn now. She sprinted through the dining room and ran straight through Xander. Buffy fell to her knees, the sensory overload of passing through living tissue nearly shattering her tenuous hold on her non-corporeal consciousness. Xander merely shivered and closed a window before continuing on to the kitchen. She caught her breath, well not so much her breath as her focus, but still it felt like breath, and then turned towards the living room where Xander had come from. There they all were: all the Slayerettes, quiet and somber and dressed in dark blues and blacks. And tucked between Willow and Tara, Dawn sat at the coffee table, twirling her fork through the remnants of some kind of casserole. Alive. Safe. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Buffy smiled. It had worked. She had saved her sister. She had saved them all. Buffy pulled herself to an isolated corner where she could sit without fear of people unexpectedly walking through her. And then she watched her friends at her funeral wake, her eyes continually drifting back to Dawn. She counted her sister’s breaths, waited for the slightest hint of a smile at one of Xander’s lame jokes, memorized every nuance she could soak up. This is what she had bought with her life. After the others left, Buffy followed Dawn upstairs like a puppy dog, trailing behind her as her sister entered first their mother’s room and then her room. Dawn laid on Buffy’s bed, holding tight to Mr. Gordo, Buffy’s childhood stuffed pig, the one Buffy had never let her play with. Face buried in pillows, Dawn cried until she made herself sick, until she vomited in the trashcan next to the bed, like she had the night their mother died. And then Buffy shadowed Dawn as she crept down the stairs on wobbly legs, probably headed to the kitchen for a drink. She nearly walked through the littlest Summers, the only Summers now, as Dawn stopped short in the archway. Giles knelt on the dining room floor, crying. Buffy watched them together, reminded of that long ago night outside the warehouse when she had held Giles as he grieved for his lost love. Now it was Dawn whose arms held him, whose tears mingled with his, Dawn who would be his reason to wake in the morning. Buffy knew she had made the right decision in leaving her sister with her watcher. Giles needed someone to take care of just as surely as Dawn needed to be taken care of. She spent that night walking between Dawn’s room and the living room couch, standing over each of them as they turned fitfully in their sleep, sometimes waking with her name on their lips. And then just before sunrise, Buffy discovered that she too was starting to drift asleep. Whether ghosts actually needed rest or whether it was simply a habit she had picked up from living 20 years, it didn’t really matter because either way she was now asleep. *** Buffy woke next to her tombstone, as she had everyday in the month since she died. She saved the world a lot. “God, how cheesy. Giles must have let Dawn pick that out.” She stood and stretched, long past wondering why her periods of rest always drew her back to her grave. She didn’t really understand anything about being dead. She didn’t know why she was stuck here or for how long. Sometimes she wished for another ghost to come tutor her, like that weird subway guy in “Ghost.” Or maybe she could find some kid who would be able to see her, like that creepy Osmond boy in “The Sixth Sense.” Or maybe she would just hang out and watch her friends until she knew they had each recovered from her death. Buffy headed towards the Magic Box. Anya would be working there, and Tara now, too. Giles had hired her after school let out for the summer, and Anya had thus far relished her new role as supervisor. If it had been Willow in Tara’s position, Buffy wouldn’t have laid odds on the Magic Box surviving the summer. Lucky for her watcher, Tara seemed to have an endless supply of patience and didn’t mind taking orders from the ex-demon. Giles relied more and more on Anya these days to keep the store running smoothly. He worked at the shop himself less and less now that Dawn had only half days for summer school. And in the few hours he did spend at the Magic Box each day, he was more likely to disappear back into Buffy’s training room than to actually wait on customers or catalog inventory. Of all those she had left behind, Buffy worried about Giles most. The others and even Dawn, while they all had their bad days and their crying jags, were coping and moving on. Giles barely managed. He put on a brave front for the others, often offering a shoulder for Willow to cry on, listening to Xander talk about their high school exploits as they both patrolled in the evenings, or having long discussions with Anya about death and religion during particularly slow times at the Magic Box. Once he even invited Spike in the house for dinner, mostly because Dawn wanted to spend time with the vampire and Giles could deny her nothing. But after Dawn went to bed, Giles allowed Spike to stay and shared a bottle of whiskey with him, playing sympathetic ear for Spike’s grief as well. For Dawn, Giles was a rock. He cooked her breakfast in the mornings, helped her finish her homework in the evenings, and told her all his Buffy stories. The ones from when her slaying was still a secret, the ones Buffy’s mom had probably never even heard. For the most part, he indulged Dawn, but he came down hard when he had to. Summer school, for instance. Dawn had thrown a fit when he enrolled her, but like it or not she was going to make up the school she had missed during her mother’s illness and death, her cutting classes, their flight from Glory, and Buffy’s death. Her teachers informed him that Dawn had fallen a full quarter behind the other students and summer school would put her back on par. “It’s not fair!” she had protested. “Summer break is supposed to be a, you know, a break.” “You’ll still get your break,” he pointed out practically. “Summer session is only 8 weeks, and you’ll have 4 whole weeks after that to do whatever is so crucial for teenagers to do over their summer recess. Besides, you’ll only be in school half days.” “I don’t care. I’ll be the only one in my class who has to take summer school. It’s not fair! Just ’cause you’re Mr. Study Guy doesn’t mean I want to be. If Mom were here, she wouldn’t...” Dawn choked on the rest of her statement and stormed up to her room, slamming the door behind her. Giles had waited five or ten minutes before following her upstairs and letting himself in her room. She cried in his arms until she hiccupped uncontrollably, as he simply rubbed her back and murmured soft platitudes while she slowly calmed. “Do I really have to go to summer school?” “Yes.” “Okay.” Buffy had watched the whole exchange, a strange warm feeling she couldn’t quite name thrumming through her at the sight of Giles so patiently comforting her sister. Yes, her watcher was good with the brave face. He let his guard down slightly for Dawn, perhaps remembering what she had told him that night after Buffy’s funeral. So when the girl caught him staring off into space or pausing next to Buffy’s room, he would admit he was thinking of his slayer, or that he missed her. When she found him up at odd hours of the night, he would confess to bad dreams about Buffy. Even so, only Buffy herself perceived the true depth of his despair. It was when he was alone, that she could read the pain in his face, the fatigue of weeks with little sleep, the unshed tears that hovered at the edge of his carefully maintained control. Only Buffy witnessed the nightly struggle against the pull of the liquor cabinet, the stolen glances over an open book, the drinks that were poured but never consumed. Until finally he emptied every last drop in the house down the drain. As his shaking hands upended each bottle, his breathing ragged, his eyes clenched shut against the sight of a moment’s peace slipping between his fingers, Buffy knew. She knew without a doubt that had Dawn not been his responsibility, Giles would have gladly drunk himself into oblivion, tonight and every night until it killed him. And so, out of all the ones she left behind, Buffy worried about Giles the most. And if Buffy had initially turned from the light to make sure her sister was okay, she stayed now to make sure Giles would be. She entered the Magic Box to a familiar sight: Anya enthusiastically demonstrating the best way Tara could organize some aspect of the store, or pack some shipment, or some other task that needed to be done. Anya hadn’t quite worked up to letting Tara handle the money yet. And as usual, Giles was nowhere to be found. Probably sulking in the training room again. Jeeze, how long can one man stare at a punching bag without actually punching it? Moments later Willow and Dawn bounded through the front door, Willow perhaps slightly more chipper than Dawn. Tara met her lover halfway with a kiss hello. The two witches displayed public affection a bit more comfortably since Tara’s brush with insanity, both grateful to have each other and to hell with what anyone else thought. Dawn was more than happy to provide her opinion. “Eww. You guys are getting as bad as Xander and Anya.” Tara smiled shyly. “So how was school, Dawnie?” “Yes, how was school?” Giles echoed, emerging from the training room. Dawn shrugged. “Same stuff, just hotter classrooms with no air conditioning. Oh,” she dug through her backpack and offered up a folded half sheet of paper. “We’re studying the constellations in science class, so there’s a field trip to the observatory Thursday night. I need you to sign my permission slip.” Giles smiled wistfully. “I used to be quite the astronomer myself. Of course, I lived much further from the city, so on a clear night you could see...” “I’m pretty sure they’re full up on chaperones this time,” Dawn interrupted, holding up the slip. “Maybe when we get to the unit on demons and vampires, I’ll ask if you can come along.” Giles snatched the paper and signed it quickly. “No, no, I remember how embarrassing it is for anyone under 18 to be seen with anyone over 25. I’ve already some experience with teenagers.” “Hey,” Willow bristled. “You never embarrassed us.” Giles spared the redhead a grateful smile and handed Dawn back her signed permission slip. “Should we order in lunch today?” Anya raised her hand. “Umm, Boss, remember you said you’d mind the store while we all went to look for wedding things?” “That I did. Well, you lot enjoy yourselves and call if you’ll have Dawn past supper.” The women filed out, chatting about which store they should visit first and what kind of bridesmaid dress they would each prefer, Anya quickly reminding them that being the bride she got final say. Buffy watched them leave, torn between tagging along to witness the mayhem that would be Anya wedding shopping or staying behind with Giles. As the door closed behind the last of them, her watcher collapsed into the nearest chair with a weary sigh and Buffy’s decision was made. He may not know that she was there, but she would keep him company anyway. *** “There was this purple one, with straps that crossed in back, and long sleeves. I kinda liked that one best, but Willow wanted this green strapless one, with this really pretty sheer netting over the top. And Anya found this pink one that was awful. I think someone told her bridesmaids’ dresses are supposed to be ugly, or maybe she saw it on TV, but then Tara showed her this peach one which was much better, kind of plain satin with a V-neckline.” Buffy smiled as she watched Giles’ eyes glaze over. That familiar look he would get on patrol when his slayer would talk about who was dating who or what stores had sales that weekend. Poor guy, he thought babysitting was rough. Her watcher and sister were standing at the kitchen sink, Dawn washing dishes and Giles drying while Buffy observed their conversation from her seat on the counter behind them. Dawn had a captive audience at the moment and seemed completely unaware of Giles’ lack of interest in the topic. “Oh, and then Anya tried on some wedding dresses. There was this one that was really pretty with this beaded neckline, and a high-waist, and sleeves that kind of...” Dawn turned to demonstrate, forgetting about the spray hose in her hand. She nailed Giles full in the chest with a good stream of warm water. “Ah!” Giles jumped back, throwing his hands up in defense. “Oh my God.” Dawn aimed the spray hose back in the sink. “I’m so sorry.” They stood for a moment staring at each other, Giles looking wet and slightly irritated while Dawn tried desperately not to laugh. The edges of her lips twitched as she said it again, “I’m sorry.” Giles lunged for the hose in her hand, catching her off guard. She shrieked as the water hit her, her face turned, her hands grasping for his. His grip was stronger, but her arms were bare and the water made her slippery. In moments she had the upper hand, spraying him intentionally this time. The water veered this way and that as he struggled to wrench the hose from Dawn’s slick grasp. Water dripped down his glasses and his face, his shirt plastered to his chest. Giles turned the tables with a tai chi move that brought Dawn’s weight forward and spun her into his chest. “No fair!” she cried, held tight around the waist by one of Giles’ arms as the other sprayed her thoroughly up and down. She was laughing so hard; it took her a moment to get the word out: “Uncle!” He released her and tossed the nozzle back into the sink, the hose immediately coiling back up next to the faucet. Battle over, they surveyed the damage. Puddles across the counters, the floor, even the curtains were dripping. “Ugh, my hair’s all wet.” Dawn pushed the soggy mess back from her forehead. One look at a very drenched Giles started her laughing all over again, and him as well. For a full five minutes, they laughed. Anytime one stopped, they had only to look at their soaking counterpart to start all over again. Buffy thought they both looked very much like drowned rats. But the sound of their laughter was balm to her soul. Dawn laughed so rarely since their mother died, not in that true laughing-so-hard-your-side-hurts-and-tears-stream-down-your-face kind of laugh. And Giles? Well, Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him more than smile, certainly not since she had died. It made him look younger, like Buffy could see a glimmer of the boy he had been. He looked handsome. Oh my God, did I just think that about *Giles*? But she was feeling that same warm tingling that she had been feeling off and on over the last month humming through her whole body. She realized with a start what it was. Oh my God, am I having *feelings* for Giles? As she sat on the counter and watched the pair clean up their mess, she knew she had indeed been feeling this way for some time. When she was very much younger and her mother had been dating, Joyce had described it as the “daughter test.” Any man who couldn’t get along with her daughters was a definite turn-off, but a man who showed genuine affection for them could melt her heart and win her over any day of the week. So how could Buffy not have these feelings after spending a month watching Giles care for Dawn with such devotion? So the Slayer examined her Watcher with new eyes, with the eyes of a woman coming to the revelation that she was falling in love with the man before her. Giles was handsome, always had been, even if Buffy had never let herself notice before. His eyes, she had always loved his green eyes, would know them anywhere, even in the body of a demon. He had a nice body, too. His waterlogged clothes hugged him tight, leaving very little to the imagination. Yes, their daily training had left him in very good shape. She shook her head and jumped off the counter. What are you thinking, Buffy? You have like the worst timing in the world. You don’t realize how much you care about Riley until it’s too late, and he’s on a helicopter to Central America. The only thing that could top that, I guess, is realizing you’re in love with your watcher *after* you’re dead and buried! Yeah, that’s real smart. Smart or not, she could no longer deny her feelings as, later that night, she watched Giles tutor Dawn in geometry. He was smart; he was handsome; and he loved her sister. The only problem Buffy could see in this whole situation was that she was a ghost. She couldn’t even touch him. Couldn’t even tell him how she felt. Being dead sucked. *** Buffy stood over his bed. This room had been her mother’s, but now it was his. Dawn had been the practical one, pointing out that Giles couldn’t sleep on the couch forever and there were only the three bedrooms. Neither one had even considered the possibility of touching Buffy’s room. Giles had hesitated over even this one at first. Moving into Joyce’s room so soon after Buffy’s funeral seemed unwise. But Willow had insisted that enough time had passed since Joyce’s death, and especially now after Buffy’s, that Dawn needed a sense of permanence, the security of knowing Giles meant to stay forever. So the Scoobies made a day of it: emptying Joyce’s room and redecorating for Giles. Dawn cried over every piece of furniture and article of clothing, making Giles constantly second-guess his decision. But every time he asked her, Dawn was adamant that she was okay with this. They painted, hung blinds on the windows and artwork on the walls, and moved as much of Giles’ stuff as would fit in the little bedroom. Less than three days after Buffy’s funeral, Giles had his own room in her house and was sleeping in his own bed. And now a month later, Buffy stood over that bed, the knowledge of her love for him so new in her mind that she had to constantly watch him in order to convince herself that what she was feeling was real. Knowing it was real only made her curse herself and fate even more. Why couldn’t I have figured this out before, when I was still alive? It’s been here inside me this whole time, and I couldn’t see it. And now it’s too late. Giles stirred, and Buffy drew closer. He started moaning, and then thrashing in his sleep. She had watched him suffer night after night like this and wondered if he had nightmares this bad when she was alive too. She reached out one hand to smooth his brow, calm his panic, remembering too late that oh, yeah, Buffy, you’re *dead* and you can’t touch him. Her hand passed through him, a light tingling that sizzled up her arm. Suddenly, the room spun, and she blinked away dizziness. Ghosts weren’t supposed to get dizzy. She looked up and saw scaffolding criss-crossing to the night sky above her, reaching towards the platform Dawn was tied to. Buffy thought, Oh God, this is the night I died. She spun around to dash up the stairs, desperate to stop these chains of events, but there was already another Buffy running just ahead of her, the Troll hammer discarded behind her on the floor. “Can you move?” She turned at Giles’ voice. He knelt over Ben’s bruised and bloodied body. She realized then what was happening. He was having a nightmare, and I touched him. Now I’m in his dream with him. “Need... a minute.” Ben coughed up blood, breathing heavily. Buffy wanted to feel guilty for beating him within an inch of his life, but she had never intentionally hurt Ben. She had pounded on Glory with the Troll hammer, and he just happened to share her body. Instead of guilt Buffy felt anger. Ben had come to the desert knowing the danger he put Dawn in by doing so, and still he came. For what? To flirt with her? To play the hero? A real hero would have sent someone else, would never have let Glory anywhere near Dawn. “She could have killed me.” “No she couldn’t. Never. And sooner or later, Glory will re-emerge and make Buffy pay for that mercy, and the world with her. Buffy even knows that, and still she couldn’t take a human life. Because she’s a hero, you see. She’s not like us.” “Us?” Buffy watched in horror as Giles’ hand thrust out to cover Ben’s mouth and nose. She had never seen his green eyes look so cold and ruthless, except perhaps when he had rammed the sword straight through the Mayor. He watched the man struggle beneath him, his expression never changing as Ben suffocated, as Giles took the human life that she couldn’t. She remembered what he had said to her in the training room, when all she could think of had been that he was referring to Dawn. I have sworn to protect this sorry world, and sometimes that means saying and doing... what other people can’t. What they shouldn’t have to. Her hands came up to her mouth to hold in her cry. She had done this to him. She hadn’t been able to finish Ben off, even though she knew it had to be done. At the time, she could think of nothing except getting to Dawn. She had put Giles in the position of doing her dirty work, of committing murder on her behalf, and shouldering the burden of guilt after. Ben’s thrashing ceased. He was dead. And still Giles held him by nose and throat, still pressed him against the ground. Beneath Giles’ hand, Ben shifted and morphed, his strong build shrinking into feminine curves, hair flowing outward in blond waves, face smoothing into lovely familiar lines. Buffy realized it at the same moment as Giles: that it was her form beneath him. “No!” His anguished cry echoed across the construction site. He snatched his hand back as if on fire, his stone mask crumbling into panic and fear. “Buffy... Buffy ... BUFFY!” Giles was shaking her still form, then frantically trying to breathe life back into her. “Oh God, what have I done?” Buffy reached out to touch him, expecting to pass through as she had every time before, but here in his dream she felt the soft curls of his hair. “Giles?” His movements stilled as he turned disbelieving eyes towards her. “Buffy?” She smiled and nodded, tears now spilling down her cheeks. He sees me. He can really see me. He stood, his fingers finding her tears and brushing them away. He traced the contours of her face reverently, smoothed back her golden hair. His eyes glistened. “I’m so sorry.” She leaned into his caresses like a cat, enjoying the simple sensation of being touched. “What for?” “I should have made you leave me in the desert. If I had, none of this would have happened.” She reached out to cradle his face in her hands, fingers memorizing the feel of his skin against hers. “You couldn’t have known, Giles. None of this is your fault. You were unconscious, and I asked Ben to come. I asked him. And even knowing how it would turn out, I would still have asked him. You would have died if I hadn’t.” “But you would have lived.” “You don’t know that. It may have turned out just like this anyway. Besides, I couldn’t have left you in that gas station.” “Because of the things I said?” “No. It doesn’t matter that I could never have just left you to die. The bigger picture is that there was a whole army of Knights camped on our front step. We couldn’t go anywhere, with or without you.” “Oh.” He frowned as if he’d never considered that. He looked back towards Buffy’s dead body. “It’s not supposed to happen like this. You’re always dead, and I’m too late.” He turned back to Buffy, framed her face with his hands. “This can’t be real. It can’t be you.” Buffy placed her hands over his, pressing them against her face as if she could imprint his touch against her skin and take it with her. “It’s not real. It’s a dream. But I’m real. Giles, you have to listen to me. I don’t know how much time I have before you wake up. I’m a ghost, and I’ve been watching over all of you. You and Dawn mostly. You’re so good with her, and I’m so proud of you. But you have to let me go. You have to get over this idea that you’re responsible for my death. You couldn’t have done anything. You couldn’t have saved me. I made the choice, and I would do it again. It saved Dawn. It saved you. It saved everyone. “I’m fine, Giles, really I am. But I need you to go on. I need you to be happy. I told Dawn that the hardest thing in this world is to live in it. I need you to do that, Giles, to live in this world. Think of me and be thankful for the time I had. It’s more than most slayers get. Be happy, Giles. Live for me.” He trembled beneath her fingertips, his tears falling freely now. She never expected him to kiss her, but he did. His kiss was soft and undemanding, yet filled with passion and longing. She returned the kiss and deepened it, her hands slipping from his to tangle in his hair and pull him closer. When he had drank his fill of her, he shoved her backwards, wresting himself from her grip. “You’re not real. You’re just some fantasy I have in my head, telling me what I want to hear. The real Buffy would never have kissed me like that.” “No!” Buffy reached for him, wanting to tell him she loved him, wanting to pour out her whole heart to him and make him believe that she was real. But there was no time. It was like running to the helipad too late to stop Riley. It was like holding Angel in her arms and watching Acathla open behind him. Too late. Too late. She was always too late. No happy endings for Buffy. Because now Giles had bolted upright. He was awake, and Buffy was nothing more than a ghost beside his bed. She could only weep as he covered his face with his hands, his body shaking as he sobbed. No one to hold him tonight. Just Buffy to watch his misery and wonder if she had made it worse or better by stepping into his dream. She stayed until he slept again, only then allowing herself to close her eyes and follow. When she woke, she was laying beside her tombstone, as usual. But things were not usual at all. The ground before the headstone had been disturbed. Buffy’s grave was empty. ***
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