Watching the Watcher
Chapter One: Initiate
"We were the people who were not in the papers.
We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print.
It gave us more freedom.
We lived in the gaps between the stories."
[The Handmaid's Tale]
"She says nothing at all,
but simply stares upward into the dark sky and watches,
with sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars."
[In a Free State]
Giles' eyes followed the line of her pantyhose up the back of her long, perfect legs; legs he had come to adore over the course of the past few months. He looked away in embarrassment as the lines disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt and settled for simply listening to the sound of wine being poured into a glass. He could picture in his mind's eye the way her curly hair, as dark as the wine she was pouring, would fall over her shoulder, released from its typical residence upon the top of her head. He had watched her go through her routine every night as they settled in after a long day.
"A glass, Rupert?" He glanced up from the book he was reading at the sound of her lilting British accent, adjusting his glasses before meeting her crystalline gaze.
"Ah, yes, thank you Penelope." He said, accepting the second glass from her before she settled on the couch beside him, unbuttoning her blouse a few buttons to reveal a creamy undershirt. Penelope tucked her lovely legs beneath her as she picked up a text to explore. She lifted her reading glasses from the top of her bosom where they usually hung by a jeweled chain and placed them on the tip of her freckled nose.
"What do you think she'll be like?"
"Anyone else thinking mini-Giles?"
"With a name like Penelope Bishop she has to be some stuffy old English woman, right?"
"Do you think she'll wear tweed?"
"That's enough you three," Giles interrupted Willow, Xander, and Buffy as they gossiped avidly about the prospects of his soon to be guest, standing at the train station. He still didn't know exactly how they had managed to come along with him. "Miss Bishop is an initiate into the Watcher's Council, and as such deserves your respect. I would very much appreciate it if you would all show her the decorum you haven't shown me. She is required to do a year of field work with a qualified Watcher before she is made a full member of the council."
"Don't worry, Giles, we'll knock your socks off… metaphorically of course."
"…thank you Willow," Giles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as a train pulled up. He was not particularly happy with this arrangement. The Watcher's Council had sent him the message mere days ago, letting him know that a certain Miss Bishop would be arriving that Friday afternoon to stay with him. He hadn't even had time to work out proper lodgings for her yet.
"Wow, she's beautiful." Willow's voice shook Giles out of his moping and he froze as he looked up. Beautiful was most certainly an understatement. A young woman had just stepped down from the train, and despite looking slightly disheveled from a long flight and dragging a large steamer trunk behind her, she was absolutely gorgeous. She was dressed in a matching cream pencil-skirt and blazer; curly crimson hair was piled into a neat bun and a creamy fascinator decorated with pink fabric peonies clung primly to the side of her head. Most amazingly of all, she was looking directly at him with stunning blue eyes and smiling.
"Mr. Giles," the young woman greeted, extending her hand enthusiastically as she took the last two steps to meet him. Giles fumbled a hand out of his pockets and grasped her delicate hand as if it would break on contact. "I recognized you from pictures."
"Miss—Miss Bishop!" Giles could have kicked himself as he realized who she was. He could hear a soft low whistle coming from Xander's direction and he sent a sidelong glare at him. But he could not help notice that Miss Bishop was most definitely not wearing tweed. The only item that might give away her occupation as a Watcher was a pair of emerald reading glasses that hung around her neck from a jeweled chain.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you Mr. Giles, Mr. Travers speaks about you often." He could tell from her accent that she had an aristocratic heritage. A person who wasn't native to Britain wouldn't be able to tell the difference, but if her clothes weren't enough to give her away, her voice was a certain indicator that she had an upper-class upbringing. Not to mention the fact that she knew Quentin Travers without even being a member of the Council yet.
"Oh, I am somewhat surprised to hear that," Giles answered with an awkward smile. "Can I, uh, help you with your things?"
"Yes, thank you," she agreed, letting him take her luggage from her with a surprised grunt at how heavy it was as he waddled out to the parking lot and swung it into the back of his car. Miss Bishop was busily introducing herself to the three teens and staring somewhat wide-eyed at Buffy Summers.
"I apologize; I should have introduced you."
"Please don't concern yourself, I am tired enough after the flight and train ride that I am certain I'll need to be reintroduced once I'm more alert." Penelope smiled charmingly and Giles swallowed hard, shaking himself slightly before opening the passenger door for her. Her smile was turned on him as she gratefully took a seat, folding long legs into the small car. Despite her evident exhaustion, she managed to keep up pleasant conversation with the three squeezed into the back seat as Giles dropped them off at Buffy's house.
"Thanks Giles!" They chorused as they piled out of his car and the two were left alone. Giles let out a nervous laugh.
"They're an enthusiastic bunch," he babbled, fiddling with the gearshift more often than he really needed to.
"They seem sweet." Penelope had turned her attention curiously to the scenery out of the window, squinting slightly at the bright sunlight. He was surprised she hadn't commented on the Slayer's friends or their apparent knowledge of her identity as the Slayer. Normally anyone on the official side of things would complain about both of these aspects. Not to mention that the lack of traditional soldier like respect between Slayer and Watcher couldn't have failed to escape her notice.
Giles tried hard to keep his eyes on the road rather than on her hair blazing in the sun. Fortunately, Sunnydale was so small that it never took very long to get anywhere in it. When he had parked in front of the flat, she waited patiently for him to walk around and open the door for her, nor did she protest his handling of the steamer trunk as they walked down the path leading to the courtyard. Definitely upper-class, Giles thought again.
"I'm afraid I haven't had time to prepare a more suitable place for you to stay. I'm sure we can arrange something more appropriate in a few days' time." He shouldered the door open and held it for her. Penelope, meanwhile was spinning in a slow circle in the courtyard, examining everything quite avidly, from the fountain to the ivy. Giles coughed and she turned her attention back to him, moving into his flat while running a hand appreciatively across the fleur de lis molding on his door.
"This is… quaint." She said as she observed the rest of the apartment. Giles frowned in annoyance at the hesitancy and tone of her response as he sat the trunk down.
"I imagine you're rather tired after the flight. Would you like to rest? The guest room is just upstairs."
"Could I trouble you for a spot of tea first? It will help me relax, traveling always makes me restless." She asked, walking around the room, observing everything with interest. Giles couldn't help but smile at her phrasing and request. How very British. He had been around these damned American's so long that it was a pleasant surprise.
"I-I'd be happy to." Giles mumbled as he walked into the kitchen. He kept glancing at her over the bar as she walked into his living room and ran her fingers across the spines of old books on his shelf.
"You have a lovely little collection." Penelope's voice wafted over to him and something in the way she said little made his nose crinkle in slight distaste.
"I have many more stored at the school." he assured her defensively as he waited for the water to boil. "Those are just some of my favorites."
"Do you mind terribly if I...?" She was glancing over her shoulder at him, crouched slightly with a book half pulled out of the shelf. It was a quite ancient text that he recognized by the title "αἵματος πίνω".
"Of course, please help yourself. I must caution you though, that particular text is written completely in the attic dialect of the ancient Greek language." She looked at him and raised an eyebrow, a flicker of annoyance crossing her crystal eyes.
"One of my masters is in classical languages," She told him with an indignant lift of her chin. "The title: I Drink of Blood, intrigued me."
She shrugged off her blazer and tossed it over on his couch, kicked her shoes off haphazardly across the floor, and sat back into his usual armchair in the corner of his room, even unclipping the fascinator from her head and dropping it onto the end table. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the mess she had already made in his living room before forcing himself to take a deep breath. The kettle whistled behind him and he poured it into one of his best tea kettles, loading it on a tray with two teacups and a strainer.
"Here we are," Giles set the tray down on the coffee table, and Penelope gently placed the book aside, removing her reading glasses, and looked at the teacups expectantly. Giles sighed as he poured tea for both of them and she leaned forward picking one up and leaning back contentedly. That was the first time Giles admired her legs, they shifted melodiously against one another like a bow on a string. They were smooth and pale beneath her sheer pantyhose and he could almost imagine his hands running across them, gripping them, kneeling between them.
"This is an... interesting blend." Penelope said politely and Giles scolded himself quite harshly as he returned to reality.
"It is nothing like tea from home," Giles conceded. "But it has a certain charm once one becomes used to it."
"I, um, I wanted to thank you for bringing me into your home like this." Penelope said, leaning forward and sipping on her tea, eyes downcast in embarrassment. Her appreciation took Giles aback. He had just been solidifying his opinion of her as a spoiled and insensitive posh bit and here she was, reforming at least the insensitive part.
"Not at all Miss Bishop, I look forward to your stay." He assured her. She smiled another dazzling smile at him.
"Please, Mr. Giles, call me Penelope."
"Then you must call me Rupert."