Title: His Wish
Chapter One: If I Had A Gun
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sorry.
The ice had barely stopped cracking by the time Rupert Giles finished his glass of scotch. He had long since lost count of the numbers, but judging by the continuous drooping of his eyelids, he would venture to say that he had had plenty. Though not nearly enough. He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another glass, absentmindedly humming along to the music drifting across his living room. With tumbler in hand, he ventured over to the record player. He watched the needle dance along the visibly scratched surface for an eternity, the words of Roger Daltry forcing him into a past life. She was alive then. She was smiling at him, a true smile that reached her glowing eyes. She was his. But now she's gone. Giles yanked the record from its temporary stage and threw it against the wall, not even flinching as shards ricocheted around the room. This had been going on long enough.
Six months. Two weeks. Six days. Twenty-two hours. Thirty-seven minutes.
That's how long he had been without Buffy. His Slayer. He had failed her and let her die. What did he have to show for the work the two of them had accomplished? Vampires still roamed the streets, though not nearly as freely due to the increasing numbers of Potentials on patrol. The Scoobies had settled all over the world. He received the occasional letter from Willow, and Xander and Anya had finally gotten him to use the internet and supplied him with a webcam. But things were different. The conversations seemed forced and every individual was worn and tired. Giles was usually drunk, too.
"Bloody hell." He tossed the tumbler aside, settling instead for sipping straight out of the bottle. The room was too quiet now, so he put a Pink Floyd record on and collapsed back onto the couch.
Knock. Knock.
He glanced at his watch. 10:45 PM. His new Slayers were out patrolling. If they needed him, they would have called on the house phone. He decided to ignore the tentative knock and took another swig of scotch.
Knockknockknock.
"Go away, please!"
"Giles?"
His eyes fixated on the door. That voice. He jumped off the couch, only to fall back down on the floor in a drunken heap. Cursing, he voted on crawling to the door and latching on to the knob to pull himself up. So close. She was so close. He opened the door slowly.
She was there. In every meaning of the word, she was there. She seemed... childish, almost, glancing out at him from under her eyelashes. She wore torn blue jeans and a tattered jacket, a backpack slung across her shoulder. It looked like she hadn't showered in days... smelled that way as well.
"But... you - you're dead," Giles stammered.
"Please let me in," Buffy Summers begged. "Please, Giles."
"I held you. You died in my arms." His voice was shaking. "I couldn't save you. I buried you!"
"Giles! Please."
It was nearly 3 AM by the time Buffy had finished her story. It seemed too simple. Too remarkable. Too... eerie. She was given another chance. By whom? She couldn't say. She was given a chance at a real life. To experience the things that she had missed out on as a Slayer.
"I just woke up one day," she said, cradling a steaming cup of hot cocoa. "I was in some forest. I hitchhiked my way here."
"To England."
She grinned sheepishly. "I may have been a stowaway..."
Giles removed his glasses, intent on polishing them, but instead placing them on the coffee table. He ran a weary hand through his hair and found himself staring at the young woman before him. She hadn't changed at all. And, yet, she was incredibly new to him. Things he had never noticed before now jumped out at him with a startling need for discovery. The way her eyes always seemed to be hiding something. The sunkissed tone of her skin.
"You're not wearing a suit," she stated, a bit startled.
"Ah, yes. It, um, it seems inappropriate now." He looked down at his current attire and grimaced. He was clad in a faded pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. He hadn't felt the need to get dressed up in his normal outfit because - well, there was no need.
"You look... weird."
"Erm, thank you." He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was right in front of him. Not dead. Very much alive. "Do the others know of... this?"
"No. I wanted to see you first." She paused. "I needed to see you."
"But... I'm sorry, it's just all very, very new. I'm not quite sure how to progress from here." He closed his eyes briefly to stop the world from spinning. "And I'm quite, quite drunk at the moment."
"I've noticed. I've understood everything you've said." Buffy smirked. "Why don't you go to bed? I'll find a place to crash tonight and we'll talk in the morning."
"Just stay here. My bed is quite large and it's been quite lonely with just myself as the occupant."
"Giles, you're drunk. I can find a place to stay."
"No." His green eyes met hers. "Stay."
"If I had the time, I'd stop the world and make you mine... And everyday would stay the same with you."
Buffy rolled over and stretched languidly. The unfamiliar feel of a mattress under her body seemed both intrusive and comforting. She could smell a faint spicy scent in the air. Glancing to her left and noticing that Giles was no longer there, she buried her face in his pillow and inhaled. That's where the spice came from. The familiarity of Giles' personal smell filled her with an unknown comfort. She was back.
"Give you back the dream, and show you now what might have been... if all the tears you cry would fade away."
Was Giles singing? She tiptoed to the kitchen to find her Watcher at the stove, making what looked like pancakes. He was barefoot and... bare chested. Buffy found herself blushing, but also undeniably curious. She took in what she could see. Broad shoulders. Muscles rippling under a slight layer that comes with age. Who knew that the stuffy Brit would be so... normal?
"You sing well," she finally said. He jumped a bit and turned to face her. She blushed again. The view from the front was even better.
"Ah, Buffy. Good morning. I'm just, um, making pancakes. Is that all right for breakfast? You look like you could use a few carbohydrates and, um, a few pounds, as well, couldn't hurt." He realized he was rambling and she could see him mentally slap himself. "Coffee? Orange juice?"
"Coffee, please." She smiled. "Thank you for letting me stay here."
"Oh, it was of no concern. You needn't thank me. I'm just..." For once, Buffy saw a true grin on her Watcher's face. "I'm glad you're back. A bit perplexed and more than a little curious, was it a spell? Are there magicks elsewhere that I've yet to research?"
"Giles, hush. Just be happy and make breakfast." She settled down at the bar and looked out the window. She had never been to England and was curious about the local life. The pubs and museums and scenery and history and - oh, God. She was excited about history? Things must have really changed. With curiousity getting the better of her, she turned to watch Giles finish breakfast. He had set a cup of coffee down in front of her, made just the way she liked it. More of a light tan color than the black coffee he preferred, but she loved the way it tasted. He moved around the kitchen gracefully, yet he still maintained the meticulousness she had seen so often.
"Giles?"
"Yes, Buffy?"
"Will you help me?"
"Erm, of course, but with what?"
"Life."
Buffy had settled down with a book and a cup of tea Giles had provided her, basking in the warmth of his fireplace. She had enjoyed the few days she'd spent in England and was beginning to realize why Giles chose to return to his homeland. It was quiet and relaxing with a certain feeling of home. And Giles was a wonderful host, giving her whatever she needed to make her comfortable. He was a wonderful host.
The front door creaked open and Giles peeked his head in.
"Um, Buffy?"
She glanced up from her book to see Giles smiling from the entryway. "Oh, hey. What's up?"
"You've got some guests."
He opened the door and the Scooby Gang stormed into the living room, pouncing on Buffy with unchained enthusiasm. Giles watched on happily as the friends reveled in the life of their best friends, so glad to find Buffy alive. Their eagerness was infectious and soon Giles found himself in the middle of a group hug, laughing with gusto at the unbridled love that filled the room.
"Buffster! We thought you were dead!" Xander finally let go of the Slayer and settled on the other end of the couch with Anya, who seemed uncomfortable with the emotions of the room.
"I was! Well, kind of." She chuckled. "You know me. Always dying and coming back to life."
The day passed on comfortably, with the Scoobies catching up and Giles, of course, supplying them with homemade meals and paternal advice. No, Anya, it's not weird for a couple to have sex multiple times a day. Yes, Willow, I am supremely happy that you have escaped the Black Magicks that held you captive. No, Buffy, we cannot go to a pub, because they're slimy. Yes, Xander, Buffy is really alive. Yes, self, this is what true happiness feels like.
He glanced to where Willow sat cross-legged on the floor. She was staring at him, a curious smile on her face. He cocked a questioning eyebrow at the young witch, but her smile just grew. She knew something, he deduced. And when Willow knows something, no good ever comes from it.