Title: "In Peace"
Author: Spirit in the Night
Fandom: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"
Setting: After"The Gift"
Feedback?: You'd better believe it. Send me lots!
E-mail me!: maccagal_618@hotmail.com
Disclaimers: They belong to Joss Whedon, I'm not making a profit off of them, blah-blah-bliddy-blah. People usually write something funny here, but I think I'll skip it. :o )
Rating: A light and fluffy PG
Summary: Buffy's troubled spirit drops in on Giles
He kept a well-organised diary, as many Watchers of the past had been inclined to do. But there was one difference between Rupert Giles and his predecessors: He was going to tell it all. He would make sure that all of Buffy Summers' adventures as the Chosen One were very carefully documented. Not one detail would be left out. The Master, Adam, Angel, Zackary Kralik, Faith, the Primitive...all of it.
Even the "final battle." Damned if Buffy was going to die without a legacy.
Finally everyone was going to know how brave she had been, how exceptionally, stubbornly, bullheadedly brave. Everyone would see in just what ways she had "saved the world...a lot." Years from now Watchers and their Slayers would extract this diary from the Council's archives and marvel at her courage. They would live by her example.
This was what Giles felt he owed her.
Since the funeral he had not stopped writing, had not left his condo for days. He *certainly* had not slept. How could he? His hand ached terribly, but not nearly so much as his heart. Besides, he did not care. It was amazing how much he remembered, dating all the way back to the day he had first become properly acquainted with the articulate, precocious youngster. God, she had seemed so innocent...she had never BEEN innocent, of course--she had never enjoyed that luxury--but her strength had been refreshing. Truly a welcome challenge.
Naturally, though, Giles had had no earthly idea who was dealing with. Buffy had always preferred to do things her own way, and that was what everyone was going to find fascinating. They might also say that it was her rebellious nature that had gotten her killed, but there was more to it than that. If they read, they would know.
The grandfather clock chimed five times. The sun would be up soon. Giles was not much interested, however. The sun came up EVERY morning. It happened every day, thanks to Buffy.
"Don't you think you should take a break?"
Giles stiffened. His pen stopped scratching across the paper for the first time in roughly seventy-two hours.
"Leave me alone," he said through his teeth.
"Get yourself some coffee or something. You've been up all night."
"Go away."
"Whatcha writin'?"
Giles heaved a terrific sigh. Dropped the pen, which had over the past three days become a treasured part of his hand. He placed his glasses onto the pages of his diary and buried his weary face in his open palms.
"Why can't you leave me alone?" he asked pleadingly, his voice muffled.
"I'll leave you alone when you let me go."
"You *know* I can't do that, Buffy."
"Well, if you don't, I'll keep coming back like this," Buffy's spirit said. "It might not always be at the most convenient times, either. I mean, you'll have a hell of a time explaining me to dinner guests."
"I see you haven't lost your sense of humour."
"You've obviously been thinking about me a lot," Buffy's spirit said from behind him, ignoring his remark. "That's why I'm here. You know that, don't you? You've seen me twice already. Third time's a charm, they say, so are we gonna settle this now?"
Giles did not say anything.
"Okay, then," the ghost said. "So why don't you just tell me what you're writing. I've asked you before, but you haven't answered yet."
Giles smiled bitter sweetly.
"The greatest story ever told," he replied quietly.
"You're gonna have to come up with a new title. That one's taken, I think, and people will get just plain confused. So what's it about?"
"Well...it's about a little town that sits atop the mouth of hell. A little town with the highest murder rate in the entire world. A girl and her friends sacrifice their normal lives to try and change that, and greatly succeed, for the most part. It's quite astounding, actually."
Buffy's spirit was very quiet for a moment. And then she said, the ghostly, sapphiric voice barely above a whisper, "Oh. I see. That's it, huh? Well, for one thing, I didn't sacrifice a normal life. It was sacrificed FOR me. Willow, Xander, Tara...fine. They made a choice. I didn't. So you'd better write up a new summary for the book jacket."
"Of course I understand that. I--"
"Good. For another thing...you need to move on, Giles. If you keep doing what you're doing, writing that diary, I'll never go away. And it's not like I'll be dropping by for friendly chitchat over tea and krumpets. I'll haunt you. I'll get restless, and I won't be able to control what I do. We're talking 'Poltergeist' here. Do you want that?"
"In some small way."
"You'll hate me."
"Buffy, there's no way I could possibly--"
"You will. You'll hate me, and it'll drive us both crazy. That's too big a price to pay for the recognition I get from your little story."
"But they need to know."
"PLEASE listen to me, Giles!" Buffy's spirit cried. The voice was suddenly and dangerously close to tears. "You don't owe me anything, okay? I'm tired! Just let me rest! I need a little peace and quiet, and I can't get that, not even in *death*, because you keep bringing me back here! Don't you think I deserve a break? After all this time?"
Giles said nothing. He stared at the loosely drawn words in his diary, the focus of his attention for days. But Buffy had been the focus of his attention for years, and continued to be. She would always be his priority.
"Is that really what you want?" he asked.
"More than anything. I've always wanted rest and relaxation, and now I've finally got the chance to enjoy it. This is the last favour I'll ever ask of you, so...what do you say?"
Giles sighed again. Would he ever have to make a decision in his life that did not result in a broken heart?
"What kind of man would I be to deprive you of it?" he said with difficulty.
He could practically feel Buffy's spirit smiling at his back. It felt pleasantly warm, like the sun on a clear spring afternoon.
"There you go," the spirit said. "Now you never need to see me again."
"Yes, well, I'm not exactly sure that I'm happy about that."
"You will be. What's done is done, Giles. We're going out on a high note, you and me."
"I'm glad."
"Me too. One more thing, though. Uh...I know I never really got the chance to say it. I should have said it, but I didn't...there was never really a good time. Then again, we lived in Sunnydale. That was *always* a bad time. But anyway, what I wanted to say was that I...I l--"
"Don't, Buffy. You don't have to if you don't want to. I know you do."
"I do, Giles. Really. You were like a father to me. You were a pain sometimes, but aren't they always? Dads, I mean. But I do. That's the important thing."
"I do, too. Like the daughter I could never have."
There was a moment of silence. It was comforting, like a hug, and Buffy's spirit broke it by saying, "Well, Giles, I think I'm gonna go get some sleep now. You should too...you don't look too well."
"Point taken," Giles said gently. "Good night, Buffy."
"Good night, world."
When he finally turned around in his chair, she was gone, if she had ever been there at all. He closed his diary and, without another thought, went across the room to the hearth and threw the book into the blistering fire. As he watched the pages crackle and sputter, hours and hours of work turning to blackened ash, he heard her voice one last time.
"Now just let go."
And he did.
He never saw Buffy again. He was never, contrary to her assertions, "happy" about it.
But as long as SHE was happy, wherever she was, then it really did not make much of a difference.
Author: Spirit in the Night
Fandom: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"
Setting: After"The Gift"
Feedback?: You'd better believe it. Send me lots!
E-mail me!: maccagal_618@hotmail.com
Disclaimers: They belong to Joss Whedon, I'm not making a profit off of them, blah-blah-bliddy-blah. People usually write something funny here, but I think I'll skip it. :o )
Rating: A light and fluffy PG
Summary: Buffy's troubled spirit drops in on Giles
He kept a well-organised diary, as many Watchers of the past had been inclined to do. But there was one difference between Rupert Giles and his predecessors: He was going to tell it all. He would make sure that all of Buffy Summers' adventures as the Chosen One were very carefully documented. Not one detail would be left out. The Master, Adam, Angel, Zackary Kralik, Faith, the Primitive...all of it.
Even the "final battle." Damned if Buffy was going to die without a legacy.
Finally everyone was going to know how brave she had been, how exceptionally, stubbornly, bullheadedly brave. Everyone would see in just what ways she had "saved the world...a lot." Years from now Watchers and their Slayers would extract this diary from the Council's archives and marvel at her courage. They would live by her example.
This was what Giles felt he owed her.
Since the funeral he had not stopped writing, had not left his condo for days. He *certainly* had not slept. How could he? His hand ached terribly, but not nearly so much as his heart. Besides, he did not care. It was amazing how much he remembered, dating all the way back to the day he had first become properly acquainted with the articulate, precocious youngster. God, she had seemed so innocent...she had never BEEN innocent, of course--she had never enjoyed that luxury--but her strength had been refreshing. Truly a welcome challenge.
Naturally, though, Giles had had no earthly idea who was dealing with. Buffy had always preferred to do things her own way, and that was what everyone was going to find fascinating. They might also say that it was her rebellious nature that had gotten her killed, but there was more to it than that. If they read, they would know.
The grandfather clock chimed five times. The sun would be up soon. Giles was not much interested, however. The sun came up EVERY morning. It happened every day, thanks to Buffy.
"Don't you think you should take a break?"
Giles stiffened. His pen stopped scratching across the paper for the first time in roughly seventy-two hours.
"Leave me alone," he said through his teeth.
"Get yourself some coffee or something. You've been up all night."
"Go away."
"Whatcha writin'?"
Giles heaved a terrific sigh. Dropped the pen, which had over the past three days become a treasured part of his hand. He placed his glasses onto the pages of his diary and buried his weary face in his open palms.
"Why can't you leave me alone?" he asked pleadingly, his voice muffled.
"I'll leave you alone when you let me go."
"You *know* I can't do that, Buffy."
"Well, if you don't, I'll keep coming back like this," Buffy's spirit said. "It might not always be at the most convenient times, either. I mean, you'll have a hell of a time explaining me to dinner guests."
"I see you haven't lost your sense of humour."
"You've obviously been thinking about me a lot," Buffy's spirit said from behind him, ignoring his remark. "That's why I'm here. You know that, don't you? You've seen me twice already. Third time's a charm, they say, so are we gonna settle this now?"
Giles did not say anything.
"Okay, then," the ghost said. "So why don't you just tell me what you're writing. I've asked you before, but you haven't answered yet."
Giles smiled bitter sweetly.
"The greatest story ever told," he replied quietly.
"You're gonna have to come up with a new title. That one's taken, I think, and people will get just plain confused. So what's it about?"
"Well...it's about a little town that sits atop the mouth of hell. A little town with the highest murder rate in the entire world. A girl and her friends sacrifice their normal lives to try and change that, and greatly succeed, for the most part. It's quite astounding, actually."
Buffy's spirit was very quiet for a moment. And then she said, the ghostly, sapphiric voice barely above a whisper, "Oh. I see. That's it, huh? Well, for one thing, I didn't sacrifice a normal life. It was sacrificed FOR me. Willow, Xander, Tara...fine. They made a choice. I didn't. So you'd better write up a new summary for the book jacket."
"Of course I understand that. I--"
"Good. For another thing...you need to move on, Giles. If you keep doing what you're doing, writing that diary, I'll never go away. And it's not like I'll be dropping by for friendly chitchat over tea and krumpets. I'll haunt you. I'll get restless, and I won't be able to control what I do. We're talking 'Poltergeist' here. Do you want that?"
"In some small way."
"You'll hate me."
"Buffy, there's no way I could possibly--"
"You will. You'll hate me, and it'll drive us both crazy. That's too big a price to pay for the recognition I get from your little story."
"But they need to know."
"PLEASE listen to me, Giles!" Buffy's spirit cried. The voice was suddenly and dangerously close to tears. "You don't owe me anything, okay? I'm tired! Just let me rest! I need a little peace and quiet, and I can't get that, not even in *death*, because you keep bringing me back here! Don't you think I deserve a break? After all this time?"
Giles said nothing. He stared at the loosely drawn words in his diary, the focus of his attention for days. But Buffy had been the focus of his attention for years, and continued to be. She would always be his priority.
"Is that really what you want?" he asked.
"More than anything. I've always wanted rest and relaxation, and now I've finally got the chance to enjoy it. This is the last favour I'll ever ask of you, so...what do you say?"
Giles sighed again. Would he ever have to make a decision in his life that did not result in a broken heart?
"What kind of man would I be to deprive you of it?" he said with difficulty.
He could practically feel Buffy's spirit smiling at his back. It felt pleasantly warm, like the sun on a clear spring afternoon.
"There you go," the spirit said. "Now you never need to see me again."
"Yes, well, I'm not exactly sure that I'm happy about that."
"You will be. What's done is done, Giles. We're going out on a high note, you and me."
"I'm glad."
"Me too. One more thing, though. Uh...I know I never really got the chance to say it. I should have said it, but I didn't...there was never really a good time. Then again, we lived in Sunnydale. That was *always* a bad time. But anyway, what I wanted to say was that I...I l--"
"Don't, Buffy. You don't have to if you don't want to. I know you do."
"I do, Giles. Really. You were like a father to me. You were a pain sometimes, but aren't they always? Dads, I mean. But I do. That's the important thing."
"I do, too. Like the daughter I could never have."
There was a moment of silence. It was comforting, like a hug, and Buffy's spirit broke it by saying, "Well, Giles, I think I'm gonna go get some sleep now. You should too...you don't look too well."
"Point taken," Giles said gently. "Good night, Buffy."
"Good night, world."
When he finally turned around in his chair, she was gone, if she had ever been there at all. He closed his diary and, without another thought, went across the room to the hearth and threw the book into the blistering fire. As he watched the pages crackle and sputter, hours and hours of work turning to blackened ash, he heard her voice one last time.
"Now just let go."
And he did.
He never saw Buffy again. He was never, contrary to her assertions, "happy" about it.
But as long as SHE was happy, wherever she was, then it really did not make much of a difference.