"This Innocent"
by Eurydice
Date posted: 2/28/06
Characters: Giles, Angel
Genre: Gen, Angst-ish
Author's Note: This story takes place immediately following the Season 3 episode "Helpless." It contains spoilers for seasons 2 and 3. Usual disclaimer: This story belongs to me, but the characters within do not.
----
Tea was not always his beverage of choice. Sometimes he preferred something stronger; the same hue, perhaps, that clear and crystalline brown, and as calming and soothing as tea, but it went down more sharply, bit more fiercely.
It was one of several things he would never admit to Buffy.
He sat with a book open on his lap, not reading it. He couldn't even remember what it was. His eyes would trail off the densely-packed letters and rest on the wall, or a chair, or a lamp, not seeing any of them. All he could see was a face, streaked with tears, an ugly red-purple gash above the right eyebrow.
Who are you? How could you do this to me?
He removed his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his face, as though he could erase the night. More than anything he'd ever wanted before, he wished this night away. He wished he could go back and erase the injections, tell the Council to fuck themselves, to call off the test and stand up to this body of so-called wise men who knew nothing of the terrors of the dark. They sat safely in their offices while adolescent girls were on the front lines, risking family and friends and their own short lives at the behest of people three and four times their ages who'd never had to fight a day in their lives.
Like me, he thought. I sit amongst my books and make her defend me.
It would be best if you had no further contact with the Slayer.
He took a sip of his Scotch, but derived only a passing pleasure at its smoky smoothness. Rarely had he felt this low. He would not leave Sunnydale, he would not leave Buffy. She had to trust him again, he had to make her trust him again.
But what if he couldn't?
What if the person he cared most about in his life shied away from him forever?
I don't know you.
He downed the rest of the Scotch and winced as he slammed the glass down on the table. And then, from behind him, a low voice, deathly in its quiet: "How could you?"
He stood in surprise, the unheeded book tumbling with a whoosh of pages to the floor. Angel stood behind him, arms at his sides, an expression of stony fury on his ashen face. "Tell me," he said. "Tell me what you did to her."
"I presume she's already told you," Giles answered. He was amazed that his voice was so even. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."
"She told me," Angel answered. "But I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you admit that you…" His fists clenched, but his tone remained steady. "That you poisoned her."
"I will admit to no such thing. That I injected her? Yes. That I drugged her? Yes. But I did not poison her." To keep his eyes off the seething vampire in front of him, he took the book off the floor and crossed the room to its shelf. It didn't need straightening, but he did it anyway to keep his hands from shaking. "It was a test, which she passed admirably."
"A test you administered."
"A test the Council deems necessary."
"You could have said no."
"They would have found a way to do it without me." Of this he was reasonably certain; Quentin Travers was not a man who took no for an answer.
Angel let out an unmistakable growl. "For a group that's so obsessed with Slayers, you seem to be in an almighty hurry to kill them all."
Giles turned sharply. Angel had just said aloud something that had been nagging him for an age. We give these tests, these deadly, unnecessary tests, and for what? These girls face tests every night on patrol. Every vampire, demon, villain they face is a new challenge.
And the biggest challenge she's ever faced, he thought with a clarity so bright that it hurt, is standing right in front of me.
"She is alive," said Giles carefully. "If she were not, I would blame myself even more than I am currently doing."
Angel blinked. He seemed thrown off guard by this pronouncement, but recovered quickly. "She doesn't trust you anymore."
"I'm perfectly aware of that."
"And I don't blame her. You've been her teacher for three years. You've taught her everything she knows about how to fight, how to win, and how to trust, and then you snuck around behind her back and almost got her killed because of some arbitrary 'test' that you could very easily have said no to." Anyone else giving this speech, Giles thought distantly, would have been breathing more heavily, their color high. Angel was not. He was stepping forward, slowly but inexorably, stopping only a foot or so away from Giles.
"The Council –"
"Fuck the Council," Angel snarled. "You are not the Council, Giles. You love her as much as I do, and you don't betray someone you love because some… some group tells you to!"
Until now, the only anger in Giles' mind had been directed toward two parties: himself and the Council. Guilt, sorrow, fear, horror: all of these and more had been battling at his conscience for days. Now, however, the anger started to veer toward Angel, not least because he was right, dammit. But there were other reasons. God, were there.
"Trust?" he said. It came out as a harsh whisper, almost a sigh. "You talk to me about trust after what you did to her? To all of us?"
"Don't make this about me, Giles," said Angel. He turned away.
"And why not? While we're digging each other new wounds, let's get everything out in the open, shall we?" His voice did not rise, his breath did not quicken. The only thing that changed was his heartbeat, now a pulsing tattoo in his ears. "You came to me not long ago for help. You even told me that you had no right to ask for it, and yet you did, and yet I helped you."
Angel, facing away and still as a stone, replied, "Yes."
"I didn't do it for you."
He had still not turned around. "I know."
"Do you think for one second that I would have done that if she hadn't asked me? For God's sake, do you?"
"No."
The anger was in full swell. He grabbed Angel's arm and dragged him forward, knowing in the back of his mind that the vampire could easily resist. But Angel let himself be moved across the room and up the stairs to the landing outside Giles's bedroom. With great reluctance, his eyes followed Giles's shaking hand, which was pointing into the room at the unmade bed within.
"You put her there," Giles said. "You set it up like a game, and I was your playing piece. You laughed as I found her, because I found her, and because I fell for your tricks. You murdered someone I loved. Do you remember why?"
Angel's voice, almost too low to hear: "She was trying to help me."
The flame of rage inside Giles exploded into an inferno. "You snapped Jenny's neck, and on your orders, Kendra was murdered and Xander and Willow were very nearly so. You tortured me, violated my memories and my grief to get you what you wanted. And on top of that, you came within inches of murdering the girl who loves you, the person who knows what you are and would throw herself into fire for you. And you're standing here in front of me, talking to me about trust." His breath was ragged. He was vaguely aware that there were tears on his face. "Go back to hell," he managed through gritted teeth.
Angel was still staring into the room. He had not moved a single muscle, but he had begun to quiver where he stood. Giles went on softly. "She went back to you. Do you, can you have any idea what that's like?" When he received no answer, he plowed on. It was as if some horrible canker had burst inside of him and he had to rid himself of the poison or die. He stepped close to Angel, close enough to feel his heat had there been any to feel. "Imagine if someone had killed Buffy. Broken her neck or shot her in the heart, just to get to you, and then disappeared. And then imagine that he showed up again a year later, and was in your life. Constantly. Imagine that someone else, someone you care about is in love with the man who murdered Buffy, and that you're supposed to accept it as a matter of course."
"There is no one else that I care about," said Angel.
"Yes," replied Giles. He stepped back, suddenly disgusted with himself. "I know."
Angel then did an amazing thing: he slid down the wall and collapsed, his arms wrapped around his head. He shook like a man in an earthquake, his head moving slowly back and forth as though to negate Giles's words. "It wasn't me," he whispered.
"It was and it wasn't," Giles said. He was astounded to find that he wished he could comfort this creature, this man who wasn't really a man at all who was now a mess on his landing. Anger and pity were a stew in his mind.
"It wasn't me," Angel repeated. He looked up and Giles saw that his face was lined with tears. How can he weep? he wondered. How can he sob when he can't breathe? Not for the first time, he felt completely out of his league when confronted with a vampire. Never had he been in quite this circumstance before. "It was Angelus," Angel continued. "I didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice," said Giles. "Even soulless, you could have chosen not to murder. It just didn't occur to you. I could have chosen to say no to the Council. And while it did occur to me, I had no way to foresee the way things would transpire. I fully admit my blame, and I'm ready to accept that Buffy may never trust me again." He swallowed heavily. It was a lie, of course- he would never accept it, but he certainly would not be surprised. "You've been searching for redemption for one hundred years. That you are yet alive… well, as such… speaks to your character." He allowed himself a very small smile. "I could learn something from you."
When Angel looked up this time, his eyes were dry. "What?"
"I could use some redemption myself." He started down the stairs, and heard Angel following him.
"It takes patience," was the reply.
It caught him off-guard, struck him funny, and he laughed. It felt good to laugh, but it was fleeting. "Was there something else?" he asked without rancor. "If you want to continue being angry with me, I won't hold it against you."
"No," said Angel. "I came by fully intending to… I don't know. Have it out. Possibly hit you."
"That wouldn't exactly be a first," remarked Giles wryly.
"True," Angel agreed. "Looks like someone else got to you already."
The bruises on his face. The vampire from the boarding house. "Indeed."
Angel started for the door, but turned when he got there. On his handsome face was a small, sad smile. "She really was beautiful," he said. "I'm sorry that I… I'm sorry."
For a moment, Giles had no idea what he meant. Was he talking about Buffy? Then why would he say that she was beautiful, when Buffy –
Jenny. He's talking about Jenny.
"Yes," he answered, slightly bemused. "I imagine you are."
They looked at each other, neither completely forgiving nor condemning. They understood each other, and that was enough. In a silent swish of black, Angel was gone. Giles stood for perhaps a few seconds longer, and then went to the kitchen to make some tea.