Giles has had enough of his charges being enveloped in mysterious glowing energies.
He's lost both of them right after the other.
First Buffy, off that harrowing tower, into a growing chaotic ball of near-bleeding realities and universes. And Willow, ever so slowly—to his everlasting shame and regret—to the same magics and power that had seduced him as a young man.
Both his fault. If only he had been faster or smarter. Gotten to Ben sooner. Stepped in when Jenny had. . . .
If only he had stepped in.
And then, that awful, wonderful phone call at the end of last summer. One—if he were honest with himself— he had secretly hoped for, and as soon as it came, dreaded. He hadn't been wrong to say to Willow what he did that night in the kitchen; he had only meant to say it to himself.
It's all been his fault, really. But here they are. Both Buffy and Willow learning to live again, and doing it on their own, stronger than their worst selves. Stronger than the emptiness that once threatened to consume them both.
He feels helpless, watching the two of them trapped in Osiris' red glow. But he's never bothered to find out the details of the ritual they used to resurrect Buffy . . . never wanted to. What little he knows, vague and by allusion, has been enough to terrify him into wanting to know as little as possible. In this case, ignorance is bliss.
He curses himself for it now, of course. A man in his position can't afford ignorance; the world depends on it. His world depends on it. And it appears to be going up in strange, red flames. So of course his first instinct is to panic. But then he thinks of something Ms. Harkness said to him before he left.
"Remind her to trust herself, Rupert."
Trust.
It's this thought that gives him pause when every inch of him screams to run forward and intervene. The hard-earned lessons for both of them from this summer rise to his consciousness. How carefully and measuredly Willow attended to her lessons; the meditations and hours of focus. The way she was almost . . . grateful to slow down and take the basics seriously. The spirituality and connectedness of all things seemed to ground her to something larger than herself. This time she trusted the process and found value in it. She was broken but he saw her painfully glue herself back piece by piece.
Suddenly, Giles realizes what Willow has just asked. For trust. And Buffy has given it, without question or hesitation. It's something he has given Buffy, something she's earned years before. Something Willow, in her turn, is slowly rebuilding.
Giles realizes then that he does trust her. He trusts both of them. So, despite the still very present fear and uncertainty, he stands back and Watches.
Well if this isn't going tits up fast, Spike thinks.
He isn't made to thwart gods and destiny. Matter of fact, he'd said bollocks to the concept when he left his mortality behind and went to go screw destiny a new one. Didn't expect irony to be the one to screw him over in the end. Becoming the second vampire with a soul, after that ponce, all for the fated enemy of his kind. Well, looks like even in death he can't escape being love's bitch.
It'd serve him right if the girl he goes and gets his soul over dies. Again.
Last year it nearly killed him. God or not, he's not going to stand watching this time.
Right.
Spike takes a determined step forward, but is stopped by someone grabbing his arm. It's the bloody Watcher. He glares. "Get. Off," he grits through clenched teeth.
At least Rupert has the decency to look as haggard and terrified as Spike feels. Doesn't stop him from wanting to punch him, chip or not. He'll take the pain. Anything'd be better than just... watching. He moves to yank his arm away and continue.
"No!" Rupert shouts above the howling wind and magics. "We mustn't interrupt! Whatever process has begun, to interfere now could cause irreparable damage."
"Irreparable damage? Worse than what, dying?!"
"Trust them," is all Rupert says in response. And god, it kills him to do it, but Spike takes one look at Buffy, aflame with determination and faith, and steps down. Part of him flares with frustration and regret, but mostly he finds himself at ease with a strange sense of certainty that things will be fine. This is Buffy, he reminds himself. Of course he trusts her; she's a bleedin' hero.