FIC The Futility of Grand Gestures (9/10) (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

 Angel! 

 

Buffy took two unconscious steps toward Angel before Ripper whipped the poker back toward the captive vampire. The glowing hot tip of it lit Angel’s face eerily.

 

“Tch, no, Slayer,” Ripper said. “Move away or I torch him.” She froze, her eyes locked with Angel’s. “NOW!” Ripper commanded, and she jumped back reflexively, not tearing her gaze from her ex-boyfriend’s face.

 

Angel’s eyes were wide, dark and urgent. His mouth worked furiously, but he couldn’t seem to make a sound. 

 

Which was weird, really.

 

Buffy glanced at Ripper, who was smiling in satisfaction. “Bit of a spell,” he told her. “Didn’t want threats and whining getting on my nerves.” The smile turned impish. “And he really is much prettier if you don’t have to listen to him talk.”

 

“Always was,” Buffy managed, though her mouth was suddenly dry as dust, her heart pounding with faint, painful hope. 

 

She wasn’t alone anymore. 

 

What can I do? her wide-eyed gaze asked Angel. Help me!

 

He tilted his head, gesturing sharply with one bound shoulder, and clearly mouthed, Get out of here. Run!

 

Which was the one thing she couldn’t do. 

 

No help from that quarter, then. She turned resolutely back to Ripper. “Chains won’t hold him forever, y’know. And rope? Totally amateur.”

 

“The rope is impregnated with Holy Water,” Ripper replied calmly. “Very tricky to apply, that. And the chains are far from ordinary.” He reached out and grasped Angel’s hair, pulling his head back painfully. “Isn’t that right, Angelus? Keeping them as a souvenir of tortures past, were you? I’m sure Rupert Giles would appreciate your maudlin sentiment. If your selfishness hadn’t just led to his demise, I mean.”

 

Angel closed his eyes and tried to turn his head away.

 

Buffy swallowed down sudden nausea and attempted to ignore the implications of Ripper’s statement. “So what’s the deal? You’re into bondage now?”

 

A grin lit Ripper’s ruined face.

 

“Bondage, torture – a little of this, a little of that.” He released Angel’s hair and did a half whirl toward the fireplace, snatching up his sword gracefully. “A bit of blood, a bit of gore.” She had just enough time to bring her sword up to parry his swift attack. “I think I’d like to see what you’re really made of, Slayer.” He grinned wickedly. “From the entrails out.”

 

***

 

“I must say, you’ve surprised me,” Ripper commented fifteen minutes later, dancing nimbly away from an overhand strike, not sounding at all breathless. 

 

Well, he didn’t have breath, did he? Lucky bastard. They’d been fighting without pause, and she could feel her energy beginning to flag. The myriad of small cuts on her arms and legs stung. She knew that he was merely toying with her.

 

“That’s great,” she managed, parrying a thrust. “Glad I could-“ CLANG “-keep you entertained.”

 

“Your reaction to Angel’s imminent demise was so touching,” he pointed out mockingly, blocking her with the fireplace poker. “You rushed right out to commit murder and suicide for him - but the deaths of all of your other loved ones aren’t fazing you at all. I suppose that makes you an exceptionally shallow, faithless bitch. Well done.”

The words shouldn’t have stung – he was a vampire, after all – but hearing herself described that way in Giles’ melodious voice hurt nonetheless. “No, it makes me a Slayer,” she snapped, checking a wild emotional swing in favor a more subtle attack. She was rewarded with a successful slice that bit deeply just below Ripper’s ribs.

 

“Slayers aren’t robots,” he mimicked in a high-pitched tone, wincing and backing away as she pressed her advantage. “Isn’t that what you’ve always said?” He stumbled against the corner of the low table, and she darted forward, desperate to finally end this torture. “I mean, I’ve killed your Watchers, your best friends-“ she readied the killing blow “-your Mother-“

 

She froze. Ripper laughed and eeled away. 

 

“That isn’t true,” she said faintly, sword dormant in her numb hands.

 

“Ah, but it is,” he said. “Ask your boyfriend if you don’t believe me.”

 

She whirled to see Angel looking determinedly anywhere but at her face. “Angel?” He couldn’t meet her eyes, and that was all the answer she required. Her throat closed up. Mom.

 

“She took it well, you’ll be glad to know.”

 

Ripper’s triumphant voice was barely audible over the roaring in Buffy’s ears.

 

“Had a bit of a reunion romp first, just for old times’ sake,” he told her. “Felt a bit inspired by your fuck with-“

 

“NO!” Buffy screamed, flying at him like a virago. He brought his sword up, but she blocked it with her own, sending both of the swords flying. She bodyslammed him into the brick wall and trapped his wrists with her hands. Her panting sobs were audible in the sudden stillness.

 

“There’s my girl,” Ripper crooned, staring into Buffy’s eyes, a half-smile twisting his lips.

 

She had no more tears to cry. She shook her head. “Giles’ girl.”

 

Ripper scissored a leg behind hers and used his superior weight to out-leverage her, reversing their positions to force her back up against the wall, pinning her groin to groin.   His vampire strength squeezed the thin bones of her wrists painfully, but she didn’t make a sound.  

 

“Giles is gone,” he told her, almost kindly.

 

She closed her eyes, falling limp in his arms. “I know.” She didn’t struggle as he leaned forward to nuzzle her neck. A cold tongue licked the sweat from her skin, and she felt the prick of sharp canines against her flesh.

 

Goodbye, Giles.

 

Buffy brought her knee up between Ripper’s legs, using all her Slayer strength. He crumpled to the floor with an “oof” of surprise. She extracted a stake from her waistband and brought it down over his back.

 

The shower of dust covered her shoes. She sank to her knees, reaching for the cracked, useless glasses that had fallen to the floor mid-fight.

 

She was dimly aware that Angel was calling to her, but she couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in her ears.

 

So tell us, Slayer...the death of friends, the death of families...the death of your Watcher...was it worth gaining a few additional days of un-life for your pet demon?

 

She tightened her fingers over the glasses; the broken shards bit into the palm of her hand.

 

No.

 

Swift bootsteps signaled Spike’s arrival.

 

“Well, now, isn’t this a picture? Hello, broody! Thought you were dust.” Angel’s voice rose angrily as a pair of feet in scuffed Doc Martens came to a halt just inside Buffy’s field of vision, toeing the dustpile on the floor. “Somebody’s dust, anyway,” Spike continued, ignoring the other vampire. “Got the Watcher, did you?”

 

Buffy closed her eyes. Only one more thing to do. “My mom…” she said.

 

Spike stilled.

 

“You liked her. She gave you hot chocolate.”

 

No reply.

 

“That was her in the woods, wasn’t it?”

 

“Slayer-“

 

She rose to her feet and met his gaze squarely. “Thank you.”

 

Spike ducked his head, seemingly discomfited. “Wasn’t really Joyce,” he muttered.

 

Buffy held the glasses to her heart. “No, I know.” She steeled herself and turned to face Angel, who was speaking again. He fell silent at the look on her face.

 

“This is my choice,” she told him hollowly. “Better Spike than the Watchers, anyway.” Angel frowned in confusion. 

 

She took a deep breath. “Please stay away from the next Slayer.” 

 

Horrified comprehension dawned across Angel’s face as she turned on her heel and left the room, Spike trailing behind her. Angel’s anxious shouts followed them down the hall.

 

Buffy ended her purposeful march in the stone foyer, still empty but for Oz’s body against the wall. She averted her gaze from the crumpled form to stare at the gibbous moon shining through the window. Her eyes burned. Her fists clenched.

 

“Do it.”

 

There was a silent, breathless moment, and then a whisper of cloth; suddenly the vampire was behind her.

 

“A woman of her word – I like that. But first, do you fancy a bit of-“

 

“Now.”

 

He chose a spot on the opposite side of her neck from Angel’s mark. She would have laughed, but the darkness came too swiftly. 

 

The endless night fell as she set off to find them all.

Epilogue

 

 

 

Comments

[redpearl-cao.livejournal.com]

I remember reading this fic so long ago. You stopped posting after chapter 8 for some reason. I waited and waited... glad to see the rest of the fic. The ending is sad, though I suppose it'll have to be.

[blairprovence.livejournal.com]

The last chapter sort of wrote itself. I don't think happy would have been believable. Thanks for reading!