FIC Futures (1/3) (Buffy)

[blairprovence]

Title:  Futures
Author:  blairprovence
Rating:  R
Character(s)/Pairing(s):  Buffy/Giles
Warnings:  Goes AU after Season 3
Disclaimer:  All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al.
Summary:  Sunnydale University's newest history professor and his young, pregnant wife navigate the treachorous waters of a faculty party.  Buffy and Giles and a semi-normal life.

Futures (1/3)
by Blair Provence

Buffy sighed tiredly and smoothed the front of her red crushed velvet dress, wondering for the thousandth time why she had insisted upon accompanying Giles that evening. It wasn't as if she had nothing else to do - Oz and Willow had practically begged her to come to Devon's party, and she knew it would have been a fun evening, if a little awkward. And Giles had offered to make her excuses, had seemed almost eager to do so, in fact...

 

Is that why I insisted on coming? Buffy thought, her fingers tightening on the plush arms of her high-backed chair. Because I thought he wanted me to stay away? Biting her lower lip, she turned her head to gaze out of the window into the crisp January night. California having the climate it did, her eyes did not behold gleaming fields of white snow, but college officials had put up a valiant - if ultimately hopeless - fight to make the campus seem more holiday-ish, stringing lights around the buildings and tying ribbons to the light poles. As a native Californian, Buffy had never really become accustomed to snow, but she was assailed by a sudden longing for it nevertheless. A field of snow, a roaring fire... She turned back toward the room and closed her eyes at the vision before her. And absolutely no sniveling, sneering roomfuls of academics.

 

She caught a glimpse of Giles through the doorway. He was standing in the corner of the dining room next to the drinks table, a slight frown on his face as he listened to the college president expound on some point or another. Only someone who knew him as well as she did could discern the bored impatience behind his calm expression. He stood ramrod straight in his dark charcoal suit, his knuckles white around the glass in his hand. He looked handsome and intelligent, but at the same time very different from the tweed-clad man she'd first come to know during her sophomore year. Upon her graduation, he'd discarded the effective armor of his high school wardrobe, and she appreciated the result, even as she experienced a pang of nostalgia for the tweed. 

 

Perhaps because the other women at the party so clearly appreciated this deliciously stylish Giles as well.

 

Not that he showed the slightest bit of interest in them beyond the requirements of his job. She knew that academic socializing was an anathema to her Watcher, but certain dues had to be paid to ensure employment security. As a junior member of the faculty, in years of continuous service if not in knowledge, it was imperative that he keep on the good side of those in power, and that meant attending their parties, no matter how boring they were.

 

And I'm making it harder for him, Buffy realized suddenly, feeling even more regretful. It was bad enough he'd been forced to become a high school librarian, a job for which he'd been vastly overqualified, but it was almost worse seeing him teach college classes that would normally be handled by marginally qualified graduate students...while being forced to make nice to more senior members of the faculty who had less knowledge in their entire brains than he did in his pinky finger. But he'd been doing it for a semester now, with a cheerful smile and no complaints, and she had still somehow managed to make it even more difficult for him.

 

I'm sorry, Giles, she thought, mentally vowing to tell him so at the earliest opportunity. Which didn't look to be soon, as another university official had joined the conversation in the corner. Sighing again, Buffy turned back toward the window, picking up her plate from the table next to the chair and studying its contents. Giles had filled it for her, admonishing her to save her strength and rest quietly in the chair. He fussed inordinately these days, not that she could blame him, but she wasn't likely to come to harm in the middle of a holiday party.

 

Not from vampires, anyway, she thought, stifling a groan as she spotted Professor Neufield heading her way. The professor was a colleague of Giles' in the history department, a tall, thin barracuda of a woman who walked about in a cloud of Chanel and expensive jewelry, her hair always exquisitely coiffed. Buffy had hated her since the moment of their first meeting, resenting mightily the way the other woman looked Giles up and down like a side of beef she was contemplating purchasing...and devouring - while at the same time treating Buffy like she was something stuck to the bottom of her spike-heeled shoe.

 

And Buffy knew she wasn't just flattering herself with the thought that her hatred was wholeheartedly reciprocated. She was not imagining the icy disdain in the other woman's eyes every time they chanced to meet. And Professor Neufield's negative attitude was hardly uncommon, though she was by far the most insultingly vocal critic of Buffy's relationship with her Watcher.

 

"Buffy, you darling child," the woman trilled, smiling a smile of perfect white teeth and absolutely no warmth. "I thought I would come make sure that you were well taken care of, as dear Rupert seems to be occupied with more important matters."

 

"He filled a plate for me," Buffy told her, smiling back with a shark's smile of her own. "He's *so* thoughtful."

 

"*Isn't* he though," Neufield agreed, evincing no outward chagrin at the failure of her opening gambit. She drew up a chair and perched on its edge, holding a champagne glass in one hand and a tiny crudite in the other. She glanced pointedly at Buffy's overflowing plate, and then her rounded stomach. "I suppose you *must* eat a great deal in your condition, mustn't you? It must be difficult for you to lose your girlish figure at such a tender age."

 

Bitch, Buffy thought, bringing a hand up to curve protectively against her belly. "Well, I'm young, I'm sure I'll bounce right back. We *younger* women have so much *energy* to burn, you know."

 

Neufield's eyelids flickered, and Buffy felt a stab of triumph at the sight. "Besides," she added, her voice syrupy sweet, "this will bring *Rupert* and I so much closer together, don't you think?"

 

Neufield lost the smile, and the blooming anger on her face robbed it of its brittle beauty. "Was that your plan, then? To trap him before he realized how incompatible you were, how little you two have in common, and how laughingly *inappropriate* you are?" Her tone was vicious, but she kept her voice low so as not be overheard. Even so, Buffy could see they were drawing no little attention.

 

Stay calm, Buffy, she told herself, determined to do no more harm to her Watcher's reputation. "Is that what you think?" she replied coolly. "In fact, he knows me very well, Professor Neufield - for over three years now."

 

Neufield blinked, clearly surprised, and Buffy mentally cursed herself for providing the woman with previously unknown information, which would only add further fuel to the fire of gossip that already surrounded her relationship with Giles.

 

"My, my, you started young, didn't you?" The unmistakable insinuation in the professor's voice caused color to bloom on Buffy's cheeks, and her hormone-imbalanced emotions once again veered wildly off-track. All plans to remain calm flew irrevocably out of the window.

 

"Look," she spat, "just because Giles wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole if you were the *last* woman on earth does not give you the right to be such a vicious *bitch*!"

 

The woman's scarlet mouth tightened angrily. "How dare you, you little tramp. You-"

 

"How dare you, Neufield!" a furious male voice interrupted, his British accent giving his statement the tone of a Biblical condemnation. "What gives you the right to attack my wife?"

 

"I did no such thing," Neufield replied, rising to her feet to face the Watcher. "The child was needlessly insulting and disrespectful, and I did nothing to warrant her insolence."

 

She's lying, Giles, Buffy wanted to protest, but she held her tongue. They'd already created quite enough of a scene. And, besides, she knew whom Giles would believe.

 

Giles glared at Neufield, clearly not buying it. "You must think I'm blind indeed not to have noticed your attitude toward Buffy. This is your only warning - leave my wife alone, or I will give you cause to regret your ill-advised behavior - to regret it a great deal." The angry hiss of his voice was reinforced by the arctic expression on his face, and Buffy was assailed by disturbing memories of Ripper, even as his protective attitude warmed her insides.

 

"Giles," she admonished, reaching for his hand. "It's all right. Really."

 

He looked down at her, his expression softening. "No, it isn't."

 

"No, it isn't," she agreed, smiling a little at his stubbornness, "but it doesn't matter, either. I don't care what she thinks, and neither do you."

 

"That much is certain," he agreed flatly, shooting another glare toward Neufield, who backed away, her expression stony. "I think it's time we should be leaving."

 

Buffy glanced about the room to find that they were the center of attention. The college president regarded her calmly, an unmistakable warning in his eyes. "I think you're right," she agreed softly, clutching Giles' arm as she levered herself out of the chair. The muted hum of conversation began again as people realized the show was over, though Buffy could still feel the weight of many eyes on her.

 

Giles put his hand to her back in an unmistakably protective gesture. She smoothed her dress over her rounded stomach and managed a genuine smile. "Wilhelmina's asleep," she added in a low voice, so only he could hear. "The tenure debate put her out like a light."

 

"She's not the only one," he replied, stifling a smile of his own as he led her toward the door. "But I thought Gertrude was the front-runner this week."

 

"Xander told me that's what people on submarines call telephones," she informed him as he began to rifle through the hall closet in search of their coats.

 

"And this is a bad thing?" he wondered, helping her into her dark woolen coat. The buttons met in front only with difficulty, so she left them alone.

 

"Mmm," she replied. She pulled her hair out from under her collar and straightened her scarf. "I just realized it's going to be hard to top Buffy and Rupert, that's all. Hey, do you know any Chinese?"

 

"Let's stick to the one alphabet, shall we?" he said, smiling. "I-"

 

"Rupert." The college president's stentorian tones interrupted their banter as he entered the foyer. "I'm so sorry you and your lovely wife have to leave the party so soon."

 

Buffy turned to face him, mustering all her determination to meet his steady gaze, all too painfully aware that, against him, she could not employ even the limited forms of retaliation available for use against witches like Neufield. She took a small step closer to Giles.

 

"Yes, well, we really aren't much for parties," Giles replied, his tone just short of blatant rudeness. Buffy could feel the tension in his frame, and abruptly began to feel much more uneasy about the conversation she'd witnessed between the two of them earlier.

 

"I quite understand." The president had yet to look away from Buffy, and she felt an uncomfortable sensation akin to a bug under a microscope. "I think we both understand, don't we?"

 

Is he talking to me?

 

"I understand perfectly, *sir*," Giles bit out through gritted teeth. "Let's go, sweetheart."

 

Obediently Buffy turned to follow, raising her eyebrows at the unaccustomed endearment, but she decided Giles must have been trying to make some kind of point. "Sir..." she echoed, and suddenly they were outside, breathing the blessedly cold clear night air.

 

They took a few steps down the walk before Giles stopped, turned to her, and pulled her into his arms. "Are you all right, Buffy?" he murmured against her hair. "I'm sorry about Neufield."

 

"I'm fine," she said, squeezing tightly. The material of his jacket was rough against her face, and she turned to rub her cheek against it. The Professor's scowling face in the window of the house caught her eye, and she was seized by a wicked impulse to stake her claim in no uncertain terms. "Just fine." She reached up to capture his face between her hands, pulling him down for a kiss. "Totally" *kiss* "completely" *kiss* "absolutely fine."

 

He smiled down at her, his cheeks reddened from the cold night air. "Let's go home."

 

 

Part 2