FIC The Futility of Grand Gestures (4/10) (BUFFY)

[blairprovence]

Title:  The Futility of Grand Gestures
Author:  blairprovence
Rating:  PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s):  Buffy, Giles
Warnings:  Season 3, Serious Angst
Disclaimer:  All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al.
Summary:   Buffy would do absolutely anything for the people she loves.  That's a good thing, right?
Author Notes:   Completed at long last for my scheduled day on summer_of_giles  2008.  Apologies to my flist for the mass posting.  Set after the events of Graduation, Part 1.
 
Part 1
Previous Part

The contradictory sensations of comforting heat and bone-knawing hunger brought Buffy back to herself a few hours after Ripper had departed. Early morning sunlight shone through the window in her hospital room, bathing her in its warm glow and leaching away some of the cool clamminess from her skin. She blinked, disoriented, and found that she was still sitting slumped in the middle of the bed where Ripper had left her, her hospital gown gaping open. Her heartbeat sounded sluggish to her own ears, and her hand was numb from clutching the Pez dispenser so tightly. I'm in shock, she thought dispassionately, recognizing the symptoms from one of Giles's long ago lectures.  I wonder why...?

 

Soon enough, everything came rushing back to her and she moaned low in her throat, anguished anew. "Giles...Oh, Giles..." Her red, itchy eyes remained dry, however--it seemed she had no tears left at the moment. She carefully pried her fingers from Willow's toy and placed it on her pillow, next to the circlet of silver - Angel's Claddagh ring. Willow...Angel...Oh, God... They were gone. Oz and Cordelia were gone. And Giles was gone, too, but in the worst possible way, leaving a demon behind to commit mayhem behind his smiling face.

 

She remembered what Ripper had said about Giles's soul - that it was still inside him, watching in horror at the things the demon made his body do. Buffy couldn't even imagine how painful that must be for the good man who had been her mentor and her friend, who had held all life sacred, who had given his own life to keep Sunnydale safe. She knew that more than anything in the world, Giles must wish for someone to end it, to stake his body before the demon inside could kill anyone else he loved.

 

She hadn't even tried. He'd come to her, here in this room, completely unarmed...and she hadn't even tried to kill him. Had welcomed him, in fact - had allowed that grotesque parody of an embrace.

 

Because he had Giles's eyes.

 

How could she kill him?

 

Willow...Oz...Angel...

 

Giles...

 

How could she not?

 

Ripper's mocking words echoed in her mind: "Are you going to run away, little girl? Once more leaving your mess for others to clean up?"

 

"No," she whispered. Her voice sounded weak and shaky in the quiet room. In her mind's eye she saw Giles - her Giles - frown at her lack of conviction.

 

"No," Buffy repeated, more firmly this time as she stared down at the toy and the ring. She reached out to pick them up.

 

"I can do this. I will do this." She clenched her fist, the sharp edges of metal and plastic biting into her skin. The pain was welcome.

 

"I promise, Giles. I'll do it - I'll do it for you."

 

Buffy set her jaw and squared her shoulders, resolute - and was at once overcome by a wave of dizziness. She realized she was almost faint from hunger - which made sense, since she hadn't been able to choke down any of the meal the orderly had delivered last night, no matter how her mother had prodded her, and meals for three days previous had consisted of only IV nutrition. That was fine for an ordinary hospital patient, but her accelerated Slayer healing required a caloric intake of Xander proportions to truly work effectively, which was probably why it had taken her so long to reawaken from the draining. To regain her health and strength, she was going to have to find large quantities of food, and fast.

 

And she also very much needed to get some sleep, or all the conviction in the world would not help her defeat a vampire at full strength, especially one who possessed every possible psychological advantage over her.

 

A light knock brought her back to the present, and she hastily tied her gown as the door opened. An obscenely cheerful nurse wished her a perky good morning and informed her, between checks of her vitals, that her clothing from the night she'd been brought in had been trashed, though her shoes were in the room's closet. Breakfast, PerkyNurse said, would be served in two hours, and then the doctor would come to release Buffy from their care. She really, really hoped, she said, that Buffy would be feeling much, much better, very, very soon.

 

Ten minutes later Buffy exited the hospital, clad in stolen scrubs and incongruous clogs, her destination already fixed firmly in her mind.

 

*****

 

It was laughably easy to break into Giles's apartment.  Buffy had chided him upon occasion about the rinky-dink locks on his front door, but Giles had pointed out somewhat acerbically that he had much less to fear from ordinary burglars than he did supernatural foes. Vampires required invitations to enter, and a sliding chain was hardly likely to pose much of a barrier to a demon. On the other hand, the frequency with which he lost his keys during battle dictated that he keep the entering process simple, to facilitate his own home-breakings. After a few lock-picking lessons Buffy herself had become nearly as proficient as Giles with a bobby pin and credit card.

 

Lacking those, she simply kicked the door in.

 

That action took the last of her strength. The walk from the hospital to Giles's condo had been long, cold and draining, and she'd had no money for either a cab to shorten the trip or a bagel to tide her over. But as much as she wanted to simply collapse on the couch, she knew she needed to eat before getting some rest--odds were, she'd sleep until nightfall, and her body could do a lot of healing in that amount of time if she provided the proper fuel. So, near the top of her agenda was breakfast.

 

But before that, she had phone calls to make.

 

And before even that, she had to make sure she was alone.

 

She didn't honestly think Ripper had stayed in the apartment since he'd been Turned. It didn't fit, somehow--the condo was very Gilesy, and from the things the vampire had said, she didn't think that would appeal to him much. The place certainly didn't look ransacked, at any rate--a little untidy, but that was to be expected with the schedule they'd been keeping the past few weeks. Dusting the furniture really didn't seem all that important when you had a mini-apocalypse to worry about. And even she, self-acknowledged Oblivious Girl, had noticed that Giles had basically given up both sleeping and eating. Housework must certainly have been below those on his list of priorities.

 

A quick check of the bathroom and the kitchen revealed that they were in a similar state of disarray as the living room. The dish drainer by the kitchen sink was full of teacups and saucers, indicating that Giles had been mainlining tea for days as he researched. The milk in the refrigerator had expired long ago, and the fruit and vegetables were wilted looking, if not actually molting yet. There was a lone English muffin on a plate on the top shelf, and she grabbed it as she turned to head upstairs. It was dry and slightly stale, but edible enough.

 

She paused mid-swallow at the top of the steps, freezing momentarily at the thought of entering Giles's bedroom. She'd only been inside it once before, in the aftermath of Angelus's cruel visit, in order to search for clues as to how Giles would retaliate for the death of the woman he loved. The romantic setting the vampire had created to present his 'gift' to Giles was seared into her brain, but for some reason she had trouble remembering any other details of the room. She couldn't even use her imagination to conjure up a picture of what it *might* look like. It had never been something she thought about, really--what Giles's home life was like, how he was when he was by himself. When she pictured him in her mind he was always in the library, presiding over everything like the lord of a book-filled manor.

 

The Watcher.

 

A sense of shame swept over her again. He'd been more than that--so much more, and she had known it even as she ignored it.  Even as she lived her life as though he had nothing more to do--could want nothing more--than to train her, to watch her, to guard her. As though he couldn't possibly desire anything else for himself.

 

The one time he had tried for more her demon lover had nearly destroyed him.

 

Ripper's words echoed inside her mind.  Selfish...Selfish...

 

She blinked back a fresh onslaught of tears and pushed the door open, entering the cold, silent bedroom. Her search was hasty and not terribly thorough as she scanned the confines of the room through brimming eyes. The bed was rumpled, and clothes were stacked on the chair and hanging from the closet doorknobs--arranged more untidily than she would have expected, but at least not piled on the floor. The morning sun streamed through dark green curtains, lending a cool, otherworldly glow to the walls as motes of dust danced through the air. A faint residue of Giles's cologne lingered. Her throat closed up with emotion the moment she smelled it.

 

Oh, Giles...

 

Taking a deep breath, she knelt down and looked under the bed, the only possible hiding place in the small room. No Ripper there, just boxes lined up side-by-side, and a cardboard envelope half-hidden by the duvet. She picked it up as she arose, curious, and found that it held a stack of pictures from the one-hour photo place downtown.

 

With trembling fingers she opened the envelope.

 

They were from the Prom, pictures taken with one of the disposable cameras that had been scattered around the room by the Prom committee, for the enshrining of memories thereof. Xander had snagged one for their little group--in order to avoid dancing too often with Anya, Buffy had thought, but hadn't said. There were several shots of Willow and Oz, looking cute and couple-y, and it broke Buffy's heart to see the happiness in their bright faces. There were a few of Xander alone, a bit out-of-focus, as Anya tried her hand at the unfamiliar process of photography.  There was a really nice shot of Wesley and Cordelia, dancing as though no one else were in the room, and she could tell just by the composition that Xander had taken it--Cordelia looked absolutely stunning. And there were several snaps of Buffy with her 'Class Protector' umbrella--she flipped past those quickly, uncomfortably aware that she had proven herself entirely unworthy of that accolade.

 

And there were pictures of Giles - beautiful, horribly haunting pictures. A shot of him by himself, slouched elegantly in one of the folding chairs, a satisfied smile on his face. One of him dancing with Willow, holding her hand with careful grace as they traded steps. One, in particular, of all of them--Giles, Willow, Oz, Xander and Cordelia - that must have been taken by Wesley, a clear, beautiful shot of them grinning with dizzy glee. Giles, surrounded on all sides by the Scooby Gang, looked like the King of a particularly appreciative court, practically glowing with pride...so incredibly proud, of all of them.

 

Where was I? Buffy wondered, but deep down she already knew. She hadn't noticed their photo session, hadn't seen anything at all but the man who'd held her in his arms. She'd been dancing with Angel, and if the devil himself had walked in and done a tango, she never would have even noticed.

 

There wasn't a single picture of her with Giles. They hadn't danced at all, though she'd had a vague idea of asking him to do so before Angel had arrived. And then after Angel had gone, leaving her alone once again, she'd allowed Giles to take her for ice cream, as though granting him the wonderful favor of her company. He probably would have had a lot more fun at the IHOP with Willow, Oz, Xander and Anya. Her friends had wanted him to go with them, she knew that without question, because they didn’t take Giles for granted. But he'd gone with her, had taken care of her, and she hadn't even thanked him.

 

Selfish, Ripper chided once again.

 

Choking back a sob, Buffy dropped the pictures on the dresser top, turned and fled downstairs, unmindful of the tricky steps in her headlong rush. Ican'tdothis, Ican'tdothis, Ican't Ican'tican'tican'tcan'tcan't....

 

At the foot of the steps she was suddenly seized by a gripping fear that Ripper was coming for her – now, before she'd had a chance to prepare herself, before she was even remotely ready. She quickly crossed over to the couch, shivering in nervous apprehension. With shaking fingers she opened the small drawer of the oak end table, extracting the supplies Giles had cadged there, all the ingredients necessary for the de-inviting spell he'd devised for Angelus. Buffy had found them one day while looking for a pencil - and had then subjected Giles to an unexplained three-week snit as a result. She had known those supplies were there because of Angelus, had known that Giles feared his return more than anything - and she had chosen to view their presence as an admission on Giles's part that he didn't trust her to do the right thing.

 

Why should he have? Buffy thought bleakly as the combination of herbs began to smolder in the tiny brazier. She opened the book and began to recite in a shaky voice.

 

When she was finished she felt somewhat safer but not all that much better. The ritual had, of course, reminded her of the last time she'd performed it, and what had happened on that terrible night Giles had nearly been destroyed. Angelus had killed Jenny, because Buffy hadn't been able to find the courage to stop him, even though she'd had months in which to do so.

 

She knew instinctively that she wouldn't have nearly so long this time. Ripper wasn't Angelus – who, frankly, for all his psychotic evilness, hadn't been terribly efficient at conducting a reign of terror. Ripper had only been in demonic existence for a few days and he'd already managed to triple Angelus's nearest-and-dearest body count. She was terrifyingly certain there hadn't been more only because he wanted her awake in order to bear witness.

 

Xander, Buffy's mind immediately zeroed in on the only one of the original Scooby Gang still alive. He hadn't been a part of Angel's successful cursing ritual, which probably explained why Ripper hadn't killed him outright. But she owed him a warning, at the very least, and a promise that she would take care of what needed doing.

 

With chilled, shaking fingers, she dialed the phone, quite unsure of what she was actually going to say to him. A picture of his wounded, angry face as he'd glared down at her yesterday filled her mind.

 

After a few rings the answering machine picked up, and Xander's father's gruff tones admonished her to leave a message.  She hadn't considered that possibility - though she should have, probably. Xander had confided once with uncharacteristic candor that his parents tended to screen all their calls, the better to avoid angry creditors. If anyone answered the phone at all, it was usually Xander, but judging from his behavior the day before, he probably wasn't in a conversation-having mood.

 

"Xander," she began hesitantly, her mind racing as she tried to select the right words - words that would make the situation clear to her friend without alarming his parents. "It's me, Buffy. I-I know you probably don't want to talk to me, and...um, you're right. To not want to, I mean. And you're right about everything you said in the hospital. I'm so sorry about Cordy, Xand." Her voice broke, and she swallowed, blinking back tears.

 

She couldn't tell him about Willow and Oz – she just couldn't find the words – but he had to know about Giles.

 

"It's just – you know that friend of ours that died in the explosion at graduation? Well, h-he didn't. Um, not really. I mean, he, uh, came to see me in the hospital last night. After it got dark, you know? And he was okay except for being, um, really pale a-and his teeth were messed up some. But I-I'm gonna take care of him, Xander. It won't be like last time, I promise. I'm gonna do what we both know he'd want." She sniffed and swiped at her eyes, her voice lowering to a hoarse whisper.  "Just b-be careful, okay? I-I...I love you, Xand. And I'm so, so sorry."

 

There was nothing left to say. The receiver clicked as Buffy placed it back in the cradle. Taking a long, shuddering breath, she looked over at the clock, mentally calculating how long it would be before her mother left to pick her up at the hospital. She didn't want to talk to Joyce, didn't want to have to explain herself or admit what she was going to have to do.  And she still hadn't figured out a way to tell her mother about the death sentence from the Council. Better all around to simply leave her a message.

 

Buffy stood on shaking legs and headed for the kitchen. Her sharp hunger pangs had subsided to a hollow ache thanks to the English muffin, but she knew she needed a lot more fuel to regain top Slayer form. Opening the refrigerator, she extracted all the necessary ingredients for an ultra-omelet and a rasher of bacon.  She pulled two large frying pans from the cupboard and set them on the stove, tossing half a stick of butter into one and depositing the bacon in the other. As the stovetop burners heated, she chopped up a shriveled green pepper, two iffy-looking onions and a plastic crate of sickly mushrooms. When the butter had melted in the left pan she cracked six eggs into the mix and then hunted up a spatula with which to toss them. As everything sizzled to her satisfaction, she trimmed the green from half a loaf of wheat bread and popped the slices into the toaster.

 

A few minutes later she sat down to a gloriously greasy, calorie-laden feast. Ordinarily she never ate anything like it, as concerned as most girls about the consequences to her figure, but she supposed it didn't much matter any more what she looked like. A zillion-calorie meal didn't register real high on her worry-o-meter with the sword of Damocles descending toward her neck. But as wonderful as everything tasted, she couldn't bring herself to enjoy the unaccustomed treat - every thought of Giles made it harder to swallow, though she knew how necessary it was to do so.

 

As Buffy ate she contemplated various strategies, considering and then discarding them one by one. She was actually quite adept at tactical planning - it was one of the things for which Giles had consistently praised her – but her confidence was tempered by the knowledge that Giles had known her better than anyone in the world, which meant that Ripper knew her as well. He knew how she felt and thought and acted, and would probably be able to suss out her plan before she'd even formulated it herself. She couldn't afford to give him that kind of advantage, but was at a loss as to how to prevent it.

 

What is the last thing in the world he'd expect me to do in this situation? Buffy wondered – and then wondered further if he would perhaps expect her to wonder that very thing and plan her actions accordingly. Circles within circles... She closed her eyes, shook her head and speared a mushroom.

 

By the time she had persevered through most of the omelet and half of the bacon and toast, she'd come to a few tentative conclusions – ones that left her entirely unsatisfied and not a little wary. Which could maybe be a good thing, she supposed – maybe Ripper wouldn't expect her to embark upon a course of action she was more than half-convinced would lead to an entirely disastrous conclusion.

 

Maybe.

 

Buffy chewed a last bite of toast and washed it down with a sip of water, glancing sideways at the wall clock. If she'd guessed correctly about her mother's schedule, it was now safe to call the house. She reached for the phone and let out a sigh of relief when the answering machine picked up on the other end and Joyce's bright tones instructed her to leave a message.  

 

"Hi, mom, it's me. I'm sorry I didn't wait at the hospital for you to pick me up, but I needed to...to get away, be by myself for a while. I'm fine, though - ultra-rapido healing, right? I just need to deal with some stuff. Just...please don't worry about me, okay?" She paused and swallowed; the answering machine tape hissed in the silence. "And, listen, Mom - be home before it gets dark tonight, all right? And don't invite anybody inside. Not anyone, even if you know them, even if you think they're a friend, okay?" Great, that was guaranteed to freak her mother out majorly, but it was necessary to warn her. "I-I love you, Mom," she added finally. She could think of nothing else to say, so she hung up the phone.

 

Buffy looked down at the cooling remains of her breakfast and swallowed convulsively, suddenly quite nauseated. But the hollow aching in her bones had eased, and she could feel her body healing, blood singing in her veins, various aches and bruises subsiding into nothing. The whole process made her incredibly sleepy, and she wanted nothing more than to climb up the stairs and crawl into a warm bed - to allow the horrible reality of the day to slip away, if only for a little while. But she had two more phone calls to make before she could even think about resting.

 

Sighing, she reached for the phone book.

 

*****

 

Buffy pulled the curiously old-fashioned stopper out of the drain of Giles's old porcelain bathtub, watching blearily as the tepid water swirled down the hole. She shivered in the cool air and grabbed two towels from the shelf, using one to dry her body and wrapping the other around her wet hair like a turban. The warmth of the tub had lulled her to sleep temporarily, until her head had slipped below the water and she woke up, sputtering.  But she felt a great deal better for being clean; going without a shower for four days wasn't something she would ever willingly do.

 

She cast a dubious glance at the discarded scrubs piled on the floor. They had already been dirty when she had stolen them, though luckily not bloody--but assorted sweatstains and wrinkles didn't do much to entice her to put them on again. She did store a change of clothes and extra shoes in the apartment's downstairs utility closet, for the aftermath of ickier patrols, but she would need them later, so she glanced around the small bathroom in search of an acceptable substitute. Her eyes lit on a shirt hanging from the doorknob.

 

Bilious celadon, she thought automatically, then choked back a sob at the memory. The shirt was Giles's most hideous wardrobe choice, a selection she and Willow - and even a sartorially-challenged Xander -had long ago dubbed a Watcher Fashion Don't. They had never informed Giles of their opinions, instead developing verbal shorthand to employ on the days he wore it, and whispering the phrase during research sessions to crack each other up. "B.C." they had called it, the initials of Willow's entirely accurate description of the color of the shirt - a horrid vomit green.

 

Giles had stopped wearing the thing by the fall of junior year, though Buffy had never been sure why. Either Ms. Calendar had broken the news to him of its awfulness, or Cordelia's pointed comments had begun to hit home. Either way, Buffy hadn't seen it in years. She had just assumed he'd thrown it away, but there it was, hanging from the doorknob.

 

After a moment, she reached for it.

 

The cloth was soft and light against her shoulders, and smelled faintly of whiskey and Giles's aftershave. It was like being enveloped in a scented cloud, and Buffy suddenly understood why Giles had worn the shirt - superficialities like looks had never mattered to him, but the careworn comfort of the material felt amazing. She finally began to feel at least a little of the chill leave her bones.

 

She patted her hair with the turban/towel until it was merely damp, then reached up to swipe the terrycloth across the fogged bathroom mirror. Her drawn faced stared back at her, appearing older than she would ever grow to be and so incredibly, terribly sad. Every stray thought of Giles made her want to burst into tears again, and here in his apartment she couldn't help but think of him nearly every minute - how he'd eaten at that kitchen table only a few short days ago, how he'd showered in the same bathroom and worn the same shirt. How he hadn't known then that he had only hours left to live because she would leave him to face the Mayor alone.

 

Giles...

 

Suddenly, Buffy could no longer bear to look at herself and averted her gaze from the mirror. She tossed the towels haphazardly onto the towel rack and padded out into the hallway, barefoot, buttoning a few buttons of the shirt as she climbed the stairs. She'd decided earlier to sleep in his bed - partly as a form of self-punishment, but mostly because the couch downstairs was more conducive to tossing and turning than sleeping, and she would need all the rest she could get come evening. She could never understand how Giles had been able to nap on that couch so often - unless of course he had chosen it to prevent prolonged somnolence during a crisis. The one time she'd tried zonking out on it, she'd had a crick in her neck for days.  

 

The room was as she had left it, the scattered pictures fanning across the top of the dresser. She paused for a moment, examining them - the group picture and the single one of Giles in particular. Her index finger traced all the beloved faces that she would never see again, and her heart ached with bruising weariness. After a moment, she slipped both pictures into the front pocket of his shirt, then turned and climbed into the large bed. The sheets were cold against her skin. Shivering, she pulled the duvet up over her shoulders and sank into an exhausted, troubled slumber.

 

She awoke hours later to find herself no longer alone.

 
Part 5

Comments

[nutterbudgie.livejournal.com]

!! O.O Eeeeeee!
Um, I mean I'm reading, & not enjoying it 'cuz it is by no means a fun frolic - but I must say, damn this is scary & well-written & sad. More plz?

[blairprovence.livejournal.com]

More is coming. Thanks!

[froxyn.livejournal.com]

So, at first I was really annoyed with Xander...basically, because he's Xander. But, then I started thinking...if I were him, I'd probably be upset as well. But, then I felt horrible for Buffy because she's going through a lot too...and the fact that she's (seemingly) lost Giles...which, by the way, absolutely breaks my heart...

I'm kinda at a loss for words at the moment.

But, you made me feel sympathy for Xander...and that's actually fairly hard to do. :)

But, my heart's still breaking over Giles. *sniffle*

Very well written story! (I almost said very nice, but...it's not really a "nice" story...if you know what I mean.)

Waiting (im)patiently for more.

-F

[blairprovence.livejournal.com]

Yes, I think nice would definitely be the wrong word. :)

Xander is exceedingly teenager in this, I think, but he's got an understandable point of view, yes.

More is on the way. Thanks.

painter 11

[(Anonymous)]

very use full information. thank you.