Title: A Father's Love Part 1 - The Dream 1/3
Rating: FRT, genfic, Willow, Giles centric
Summary: A prophetic dream sends Willow back to London and the Watcher who has driven everyone away. Can she help him let go of his grief and guilt? Before the next apocalypse?
Written for Nanowrimo 06 and LJ summer of giles 08
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television, the WB Television Network, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I do not mean to infringe upon any copyrights.
A/N: Thanks to the earliest members of my f-list who provided such great encouragement and feedback at the time I was working on this in 06, especially antennapedia, thule222,willowgreen, ljs, and stormwreath, and to the wider f-list now that's been so patient with my wittering on about this and a fandom many of them don't know or care about. Thanks also to the kind mods of summer of giles, who allowed WIPs for this year's comm and worked with me changing and adding dates when real life got in the way. Finally, thanks to gillo for general encouragement and beta-ing this at various times over the past couple of years, and in advance for making time for the parts coming up that neither of us have had a proper go at yet. Any remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.
Post Chosen, not remotely comics canon compliant (say that three times fast.)
The pain was worse than anything she could remember feeling before. It came again, hot and searing, against the center of her breastbone. As her life force poured out, she felt a numb shock at the betrayal. Because somehow she knew the pain was caused, not by an enemy, but by someone she loved, and who had loved her just as dearly. The hand pressed against her was so small and delicate, totally incapable of hurting anything, or anyone. Yet it was.
She gasped awake then. Just a dream, she tried to convince herself, sitting up and trying to regain control over her breathing. But she knew it hadn't been a dream, once. The situation had been reversed, then, and it was Giles who had suffered this agony, and she who had caused it. She trembled as she remembered the day she'd nearly killed her old mentor and friend.
From the dim light filtering through the hotel room curtains she saw Kennedy stir slightly beside her, then drift back down to exhausted sleep. As she gathered more of her wits about her, Willow remembered the previous night had been rough on the Slayer. She grinned fondly, and a little sadly, that her nightmares were so common that Kennedy could sleep right through them.
But this had not been like her usual nightmares. Her past provided a rich array of scenes to haunt her nights, but she'd never seen this one from her victim's point of view. It was probably one of the things she felt most guilty about, but each time she'd relived it in her dreams before, the worst part had been gazing into Giles' haggard eyes, unable to stop herself. Not wanting to.
She rose and dressed quietly, then worked a brush through the tangles in her long hair. Kennedy slept on. Willow slipped to the sliding glass of the balcony door and pushed it open carefully, trying not to wake the Slayer. She knew Ken had had been out patrolling with a couple of the new slayers they'd found on this trip, and besides, she wanted some time to herself to reflect on her dream.
She leaned on the iron railing and looked out over the city, watching the sunrise. She was calm again now, but she had a slightly restless feeling that she needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere a lot less warm and bright. Two years ago, her hometown had disappeared from the face of the earth, and for a while another place had become a kind of home to her. She shivered now, thinking of London. And Giles.
There had always been a kind of connection between them, forged by shared dangers and averted apocalypses. But magic had deepened that link. So, she had to admit, had the misuse of it she'd been dreaming about earlier. Though she made a special effort now, to stay out of the minds of people around her, ever since that awful day she'd felt uncontrolled flashes of emotion that were not her own, whenever he was near. It had taken her a while to figure it out.
She remembered the first time she had summoned the courage to touch her power again. She had tapped into the Earth Magic binding all living things and called a flower through the earth, all the way from Paraguay to England. Behind her, she had suddenly felt a genuine relief, and amusement, and even a flash of joy, but also a flash of guilt. She had glanced up and seen him standing there, looked into his eyes and-- she had just known. What he was feeling. Joy for her, but sorrow, that he hadn't done a better job teaching her, recognizing her gifts and helping her steer clear of his own terrible mistakes.
It had been unsettling for the both of them. And it had not gotten any easier as they had worked together to avert the next couple of apocalypses. Which partially explained why Willow was now half a world away with Kennedy, organizing this regional branch of the Council, just as they had set up several other outposts in the two years since the closing of the Sunnydale Hellmouth.
But there had been more to it. Giles had changed, horribly, since he had returned to London to oversee the reformation of the Watcher's Council. He had become ever more closed off, cold, distant. Willow had been the last to leave, when the pain of seeing him like that, more dead than alive, had become too much for her to bear. When her every effort to draw him out was met with cold indifference, or contempt.
But something was up with him, now. The dream had awakened that connection between them again, and Willow just knew-- he needed her there. Whether or not he wanted her there, was, of course, another question entirely. She sighed and wondered how she would broach the subject with Kennedy.
She heard the glass door scrape open behind her. Kennedy came over and rested her hands on Willow's shoulders. Together, they watched the city come awake below them. Then Kennedy squeezed a little harder before releasing her and reaching over to drag a chair next to hers. "So, when are you leaving?" she asked gently.
Willow looked up in surprise, and Kennedy grinned a little sadly. "There's someplace you need to be, and it's not here. Hasn't been for a while." Kennedy looked out over the railing for a moment, as if waiting for Willow to deny it. When she didn't, the Slayer went on, "I had a dream last night-- you and Giles and somebody else I couldn't see. Somewhere in London, I think. Lots of fog. And a little girl standing all alone under a street lamp."
Willow started a little at that. She remembered, now, that before the nightmare part of the dream, she'd seen something like that herself. She closed her eyes and waited for her lover's mind to brush up against her own, inviting her in. Then she looked on the scene she now recalled from her own dream, filtered through Kenedy's mind, of herself, and Giles, and the child under a streetlamp. She felt Kennedy reach out to take her hand, strengthening the connection.
Willow frowned as she continued to look through Kennedy's eyes. "I don't get the sense that anyone's in danger, do you?" she asked after a moment. Kennedy shook her head.
"I don't either. Not then. I get something bad before that moment, though. Nothing you can't handle. But more, I get a strong sense that you're needed there, for this. Whatever it is."
Willow pulled back and released the strong hand, but not before bringing it to her lips for a kiss. "I think so, too. Are you okay with that?"
Kennedy looked away again, but she nodded. "There's too much to do here right now for us both to leave, " she said simply.
There was a lot more to say, but neither of them was ready or willing to go there. Willow knew as she packed, that this was an ending of sorts. But not a bad ending. She and Kennedy were, and always would be, connected in some ways. But they both were on different paths, and it was time.
Willow kissed Kennedy goodbye at the airport security checkpoint. If she'd had any doubts about the change in their relationship, the kiss sealed it for her. Friendship, bittersweet resignation, but no tears, and no helpless longing, no sense that either of them would go on empty without the other. They were both strong in their own ways, and while they would always be close, they had grown apart in the two years since Sunnydale. And they both knew that their places were halfway across the world from each other. Kennedy in Rio, organizing and training the Slayers in this region. And Willow in London, by the side of the man she had once had a hopeless schoolgirl crush on.
She grinned a little at the memory. Then she frowned as she remembered how much she had hurt him, over the years. Such a trite but true saying, that we always hurt those we love most. And her failures and sins had been very much on the spectacular side of badness. Raising the dead with Darkest Magic. Killing Warren. Enjoying it. Trying to bring the world itself to an end. Deliberately nearly killing Giles, all the while knowing deep inside that she loved him, and that he was an innocent in most of the events which had led to her final breakdown.
She still marveled that he had brought her to England back then, had overseen her recovery, had fought behind closed doors for her right to continue to exist, to make amends, to grow back into being "just Willow." She knew some of it was fueled by his regret, that he hadn't seen her crisis coming, knowing so well from his experience what that was like. But some of it she had seen in his eyes and his emotions as he'd helped her through that long, terrible summer. In spite of everything, he still loved her for the shy, beautiful girl she had been. For Willow.
She boarded the plane, saying one final blessing under her breath to ward off random or directed evil, and wondered what would be waiting for her in London. Because the Giles she remembered, even from the summer he had gone "all Dumbledore" on her, had been gone for a very long time.
Willow hated flying. She'd thought once, when she first began learning witches were real, and she had power, that she'd one day be as comfortable on a broom as, oh, say, Harry Potter. But Giles, on hearing that, had witheringly informed her that witches did not actually hold with such nonsense. Much later, Tara had confided, "My mother always told me, Well we can, but we don't. Power carries with it responsibility, my child." It was a maxim Willow now lived by whenever possible, including forgoing teleportation except in real emergencies, and she was not yet convinced this qualified as such.
Which was why Willow was wedged into a seat next to a fat man who was snoring softly and who reeked of bourbon, and in front of a little boy whose mother thought it was adorable how he kept kicking the back of her seat. She sighed. At least the flight was nonstop. Only 9 hours. She had about 5 to go, and sleep was just not happening for her, though the little boy seemed to have conked out at last. Which was good, because she had seriously been resisting the temptation to turn him into a toad.
What would she find waiting for her, back in England? Giles hadn't returned her calls, so she wasn't even sure he would meet her, or delegate it to anyone else. She doubted he would be overjoyed to see her on his front steps, either. They hadn't fought exactly, that last time they'd talked, though she had tried to goad him into it. Anything, to get a reaction out of him.
But no. It had been like talking to a stranger. He'd briefed her about the contacts she could count on in Brazil, and the volumes she should ship back if she found any of them. Finally she'd interrupted, "Giles. I know all this."
He paused in mid-recitation. "Indeed. Very well then. I'm sure you have a great deal to finish up..."
"That can wait. I just thought, this was the last chance you and I would have for a while, just to, you know. Talk."
Giles ran his fingers through his hair. "Willow, I really am quite busy today." He began sorting through the loose paper on his desk.
"Why won't you talk to me?" she asked.
"I am talking to you," he replied reasonably.
"No. You're ignoring me and hoping I'll go away. Dammit, Giles. What the hell is wrong with you?"
He glanced up briefly over the rim of his glasses, then turned again to his work. "I am not the one cursing at my superiors," he replied mildly. "Perhaps you should take some time to rest over these next few days, if the stress is bothering you."
"But, Giles..." She trailed off. She knew then, that nothing she said would do any good, would bridge the chasm between them. The hopelessness of it overwhelmed her, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible. She rose.
He did look at her directly then, and smile. "Have a safe voyage." But the smile came nowhere near his eyes. They were dead, and empty, and cold, and she realized now that was as much a part of why she'd left as anything else. After all they'd been through together, she couldn't bear to see him like that. And she couldn't stand by helplessly and watch him sink ever deeper into that abyss.
Neither could the rest of them. Buffy had taken Dawn off first, to a short crisis in Italy which had lengthened until Buffy finally admitted she wanted to be shallow, and frivolous, and normal, and something about cookie dough. Which Willow still didn't quite get. But the rest, yeah. Everyone agreed she had more than earned a break. And there was some organizing to be done in Rome. Dawn was thriving there, in school, in her private Watcher studies, and in just being a normal girl for really the first time in her life. Buffy was finally keeping her promise, showing her sister the world. All these things were of the good. Even Giles said so. But if anything, he'd become more withdrawn and distant after Buffy's departure, and all their overtures, trying to draw him out, had been in vain.
Faith had left next. "Fuck this. Tweed Central is gettin' on my last nerve, y'know? Giles won't even talk to me most of the time, but he makes me file a fucking report every time I stake a vamp in front of his little baby watchers. I need some breathing space, or I swear, one of these days I'm gonna stake him." When the chance came for her to go back to the States and take over the leadership of the Cleveland Hellmouth guard, she'd jumped at it.
For a while, Willow and Xander and Kennedy had lingered. At first, Xander had thrown himself into the work to forget his grief. She still remembered how proud she'd been, the day Xander had realized that he really was good at it. But she knew he'd realized soon after that the one person he wanted most to see the change in him, was barely noticing his efforts. Was barely noticing anything, really. She hadn't been surprised, when Xander had decided to go to Africa and seek out the many new Slayers the coven had identified there.
He had come back from that final briefing with Giles so desolate. She remembered it now: him standing by the window, looking down at the golden halo of light from the nearby streetlamp, diffusing through the fog. "He's..." Xander swallowed, and his voice broke as he forced it out, "It's like he's not even there anymore, Will. He's like a robot, you know? Like he's acting all these mannerisms, but it's-- it's not real."
Willow came over and hugged him close as Kennedy slipped out to give them some time. Kennedy had quickly realized that some friendships were sacred, and that no matter how much Willow loved her, some things would always come before the two of them. Willow was grateful for the gesture, and the privacy. She murmured, her cheek resting against his strong chest, "It's just been hard for him..."
Xander pulled back and looked hard at her through his remaining eye. "No, Willow. Don't make excuses for him. If it's so hard for him, he should let us help. That's what friends do. That's what we've always done. But this-- I don't know what this is. I don't know who he is anymore."
Willow hugged him close again. "Neither do I," she whispered.
Xander had flown out the next morning. She'd watched him go, with Kennedy and a couple of the Slayers who remained from the Battle of Sunnydale, as it was now being called. And when a few more months of Willow's intensive effort had failed to have any effect whatever on the icy wall around her former mentor, she had taken the situation in Brazil gratefully, as a plausible way out of an unbearable situation. Giles had not even come to see them off.
And now she was going back to all that, without anyone at all to stand with her. All because of some dream which might not mean anything at all. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, something was about to happen. Something was about to change.
A/N: That's it for today. Look for the continuation on my next posting day for the comm, which will be July 19th.