TITLE: A Sense of Self-Preservation (4/?)
AUTHOR: Whoser88
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Right after "Normal Again," S6
SUMMARY: Giles is faced with far more than he expected after his initial meeting with Buffy.
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.
NOTE: Single quotation marks (') denote thoughts.
Dedication: To everyone who commented on my first story -- you guys raised my self-esteem so much! Also, to Laura Pigeon, webmistress of my new site -- -- for all her help and support. Of course, this is also dedicated to my rockin' goddess of a beta, Angelina, who is slowly being converted to the dark side of the force.
Giles took a sip of cold tea from the Styrofoam cup, grimaced then forced himself to swallow. He had been at the airport since 5 that afternoon, knowing full well Buffy's flight didn't get in until 7, but aware of the fact that he needed some time to think. The clock now read quarter to 7, and Giles was no more relaxed than when he first arrived.
The problem lay in the fury that sat like a stone in Giles' heart. Try as he might, he couldn't get past the anger he felt towards Buffy over the way she had blatantly ignored the effects her death and return had wrought on her friends and family. But it was not just this that plagued the Watcher -- in fact, this reason was only a minor character in the play of Giles' emotions. A thought that had been pushed aside, forcibly looked over for months, had begun to creep its way into his consciousness once more. Ever since Buffy's return from heaven, since he received that fateful call from Willow, Giles' views on his Slayer had changed. At first, it was subtle, the way he noticed how certain outfits complimented her figure, the way she wore her hair on occasion. But by two weeks after his arrival from England, Giles had to admit it -- he was in love. He couldn't really pinpoint when or why everything was so different, but he now knew he had to be close to her. He dreamt of simply being near Buffy, wished for friendly touches or hugs, longed for acknowledgement as more than a maid to pick up after the mistakes of the others.
But Buffy gave him nothing. In fact, all she did was ask; whether consciously or not, Buffy had slowly pried everything out of Giles -- money, responsibility, decisions -- everything except his well-concealed love. That he would never give, unless she gave first. And that event, he was certain, would never occur.
'And so I left,' Giles thought to himself, finishing the tea and harshly crushing the cup. 'Frustrated over her, myself, all of it, I took the child's way out and ran. Brilliant move, old man. Years of training in strategy and the best you can come up with is "retreat?" Pitiful.' He berated himself, understanding that part of the bitterness he felt these days stemmed not only from Buffy's actions, but his own as well.
Looking up at the airport's track of flights Giles realized it was almost seven, and Buffy's flight had arrived. He pulled himself out of the chair, threw out the remains of his cup, and began to walk briskly towards the baggage claim. 'Ah well,' He considered, 'It's probably for the best we see each other again. She needs me to take charge, and I need her close by. I'll shut out my feelings once again, and play the father-figure. It's a well-worn role, why not?' Swallowing his bitterness much like the cold tea, Giles stood at the claim for flight 109 -- the plane that held the woman he loved. All he could do was wait.
When Buffy was 9 years old she took her first and only other transatlantic flight. Hank Summers, busy with work as always, was stationed in Rome for most of the summer. However, at this point the Summers patriarch was still concerned with keeping his family together, and so came up with the fantastic idea of shipping his wife and young daughter(s) (two if you count altered memories) across the ocean for a few weeks of "culture." Suffice to say, Buffy's hatred of airplanes first emerged here.
The ride was filled with bawling babies, whining toddlers (one of them her younger sister in an alternate version of the tale), and her mother, who had a fear of flying and sat next to Buffy, nervously shredding napkins and peanut packages while downing glasses of white Zinfandel. And though she was not yet a Slayer, Buffy was still an active child, and felt trapped by the tight squeeze of adults filling plastic-lined seats. The flight had been long, hot, and played a movie beyond her youthful comprehension. But none of it compared to her flight to see Giles.
"All passengers should note the seatbelt sign has come on, as we will be landing in a few minutes. The crew hopes you've enjoyed your flight on British Airways, and have a nice a time in the UK." The pilot's voice crackled over the PA system, rousing Buffy from her daydream. She looked down at the tray table in front of her, not entirely surprised to see a substantial amount of shredded paper in one corner. The memory of her mother's nervous tick brought a smile to the Slayer's face. However, the smile soon faded with the onset of leg cramps. No matter how petite a person was, no one was meant to spend that many hours in a plane.
Dumping the remains of her napkins as the flight crew moved around collecting garbage, Buffy reclipped her seatbelt and settled down to wait for the landing. She avoided eye contact with her neighbors, knowing that they were wary of her, the strange girl who had fidgeted the entire flight. She was positive they had noticed the way her hands shook, or the words she mumbled in her sleep, echoing in her head moments before she awoke. 'I bet they're all real happy to get away from the crazy lady.' She thought to herself.
Buffy's flight to England had been filled with contemplation, torn between her guilt over leaving Dawn and her friends so suddenly, and the impending confrontation between her Watcher and herself. The fear of what Spike would expect as a "favor" when she returned was miniscule compared that of Giles' reaction when he found out about the events of the recent months. She imagined his face impassive as he listened to her failures, the only response shining through his eyes, cold and full of hatred. Buffy wanted to believe he would understand, as he always did, but the more she looked over the past year, the more she was afraid of her Watcher, and the rejection she felt would ultimately come.
The plane set down with a bump, taxied to the ramp, and settled, the giant metallic beast sighing as it began its rest from the long trip. Buffy rose creakily, and exited the plane, visibly relieved to be on solid ground once more. As she walked to the baggage claim, a sickening cycle of thoughts whirled through her mind, 'He'll hate me. I'm dirty, a disgrace. Stop it Buffy. He'll hate me. I'm dirty, a disgrace.' She hugged herself tightly and looked about, searching for the man who would stop the cycle, and answer her questions.
Giles didn't see her in the first wave of passengers, nor the second or third. It was not until the final stragglers, those kept behind by overeager relatives, or the elderly who couldn't walk as fast, that Buffy entered the baggage claim. Giles' eyes opened wide to the sight before him -- his once radiant Slayer was now a comical rag doll, worn and frayed at the edges. As she looked up and met his eyes, her mouth formed a bittersweet smile, but she clasped her hands firmly in front of her. Giles moved to meet her in the middle of the room.
Looking down at Buffy, it was all Giles could do not to gasp. The flight had been long, but the lines on her face spoke of a perpetual exhaustion that did not come from airplanes. He spoke softly, as if afraid to frighten her away.
"Buffy. Welcome to England. I...I've missed you."
Her eyes danced about, as if searching his face. Voice wavering slightly she managed, "I've missed you too Giles. So much."
They stood uncomfortably for a few minutes, both unsure of the correct action, not willing to risk a hug, or stumble over a handshake. Giles finally broke the silence.
"Let's get your bags, shall we? You've had a long flight, and I'm sure you'd like to sleep a bit." Putting a hand on the small of her back, he gently guided them to the rotating machine.
"Yeah, sleep would be good. Thanks -- for... all of this." She shrugged, then looked to find her bags. Spotting them, she reached out, momentarily forgetting her "condition."
Giles was unprepared for what he saw. The insecurity, the exhaustion, all could be attributed to the depression after her return from heaven. But what he saw now was inexplicable. 'Her hands, they're...they're shaking.' Giles thought in disbelief. Buffy, who wielded weapons nightly, who had the poise of a gymnast and the steady grip of a gunman, now could not keep her hands still.
Hearing his sharp intake of breath, Buffy glanced at Giles' face, then down to her hands, promptly gripping the suitcase handles in a tight hold. Pulling the bags off the machine she turned and began to walk towards customs, leaving Giles behind. Bewildered, he followed slowly, thinking to himself, 'I fear this night will unveil far more than I had expected.'