Chapter 6
Desires
AN: Sorry again for the long break. Just for the context - this chapter takes place right before Christmas in Season 3 of Buffy, with references to Band Candy, Revelations, Lover's Walk and Amends. There are plenty of time-jumps or reminiscences that may slightly affect the flow of the story, but I hope you'll still be able to follow.
"Smell is the most powerful memory trigger there is." [Rupert Giles, I Robot, You Jane]
Sunnydale
Pop.
Giles woke up in the morning, though not as usually to the sound of his alarm clock. There was a faint smell, a very weak trace of fragrance creeping around him, filling up his nose, a fragrance he knew, or rather remembered... there were raisins... and oh dear, like on a trigger he saw himself burying his face in Helen's hair. His eyes shot open again. After a few seconds of sitting motionless on his bed, he ran a hand through his hair, then feeling his fast heartbeat he slowly took another deep breath... and almost immediately another picture emerged in front of him, her brown loose curls were dancing around her chin, reflecting the candle light, his eyes wandered over to her small cello-like lips, and he could hear the fourth movement of Cajkovskij's Manfred inside his head.
As he was sitting in the library later that day, he kept thinking about that smell. He couldn't imagine how it got into his apartment. Helen had taken all her clothes. He had found a scarf stuck between the cushions on his sofa, but that was weeks ago. Perhaps the cleaning lady found something else, he thought, then a bitter smile appeared on his face when he realized how it must have been. Of course, the cleaning lady. It must have been some of her cleaning agents, or perhaps a candle. She was at his house yesterday and was most probably trying to make it smell all festive there, with the Christmas only a few days ahead. He would have to talk to her.
He rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie as he had a feeling of suffocation and even took it off, which would later cause Willow to throw one more scrutinizing look at him than she usually did.
He tried to concentrate on the work in front of him, but the day seemed to be gone now. The experience threw him out of his balance again. He was angry with himself, furious even that he still hadn't got over her, that he still felt hurt at the notion that Buffy was back and she wasn't, he was angry to realize that some part of him was still hoping that she would return. This is intolerable, he exclaimed in the afternoon when he caught himself – despite staring at the manuscript on his desk – as his thoughts were drifting away towards Helen. No, it seemed everyone else was coming and returning except for her. There was a new slayer in Sunnydale since a few weeks, a girl named Faith, very different than Buffy, and he needed to take care of them both now, especially after Gwendolyn Post turned out to be not only a fake watcher, but also one of a very evil sort. Angel was back too. Giles was still digesting that fact. He was very angry with Buffy too for keeping it secret from them, from him especially, and he hasn't quite forgiven her just yet, even though he knew he may have overreacted a bit and part of that anger he felt had nothing to do with her or Angel. At least he still pretended to be sulking a little because of it – at least for a while it made Buffy feel guilty, and a remorseful Buffy was an obliging and humble Buffy that made him fear less that she would do something else behind his back.
A few days later Spike, or William the Bloody himself decided to grace Sunnydale with his presence once again and turned up on one night, pathetically desperate to make Drusilla love him again, so much in fact that he took Willow and Xander to help him with that. At least Giles was on a short trip in the Breaker's Woods by that time and didn't have to set his eyes on the vampire, as Spike was already gone again when Giles returned. Thankfully it all went by without anyone being seriously harmed, although he heard Cordelia suffered some injuries and had to spend a few days in the hospital. Also, he noticed after some time that neither her nor Oz were coming to the library anymore, but before he could ask either Willow or Xander, he would again forget all about it. He thought that teenagers were strange creatures and decided not to spend too many thought on things he probably wouldn't understand anyway.
To crown the many happy returns, and to once again be the source of an overall chaos and to wreak havoc in all Sunnydale (as if they didn't have enough of those) – Ethan flouted the ban Giles had threatened him with a year ago and returned, this time to help a mysterious someone, whose identity the Scoobies have yet failed to determine, to collect a tribute for the demon Lurconis. Giles' face would still turn red and he would take off and clean his glasses every time he'd think back of all the events of that-uh... unfortunate night. He had hard times to look Buffy straight in the eyes for the next couple of days, as every time he did so, he would find some new resemblance with Joyce he hadn't noticed before. And Joyce he got to know only too well on that night. He was thinking of whether he should perhaps go to see her and try to apologize, but when he shortly met her at the parking lot with Buffy on the next morning, he knew that neither would he bring himself to do that nor was it really necessary as Joyce seemed to be as eager as himself to forget and shake off any recollection of their-uh... encounter.
He gave up. It was only four o'clock in the afternoon, but he felt he couldn't concentrate at all. Besides, he had forgotten a book at home he had intended to work through. That hasn't happened to him in a long time, but on that morning with all the strange smell in the air he must have packed his briefcase only half-heartedly. And now the Scoobies were all gibbering about their Christmas plans and he simply had enough. He abhorred the thought of that particular holiday this year, he wished someone would simply cancel it. For the past over twenty years he had always spent Christmas alone. And he had never minded. In fact he had enjoyed it before. He used to look forward to spending a few days at home, reading new – or old – books he hadn't had the time for earlier. He would buy a bottle of wine or whiskey, depending on how extravagant he would allow himself to be, and he would lock himself at home, reading from dawn to dusk, drinking tea during the day, and the whiskey in the evening. This year he would be alone too, alone again rather. Last Christmas he had been on his own as well, but in expectation: painfully he remembered the yearning he had felt on that evening before Christmas when Helen left to spend the holidays in England, but he knew she would be back, and he saw the anticipation in her eyes as they were both looking forward to it.
At home he threw his briefcase on his small desk, then his eyes wandered towards the bookshelves. Within seconds he spotted the volume that had been the excuse for leaving the library so early today. A strange, almost sullen groan escaped his lips, and then he realized that instead of being relieved at the fact that he could continue the work he had begun he was actually annoyed, irritated about it. That would never happen to him before, and it disturbed him. This must stop, he thought. Breaking with his habit not to drink before eight in the evening he got himself an empty glass from a cupboard in the kitchen, then poured himself some whiskey, and with another sigh he walked over to the said shelf to pull out the book and force himself to work. The smell from the morning had almost evaporated, disappeared, though as he passed along the piano its faint trace hit his nose and he stopped there for a brief moment. It stops now, he gave himself a determined nod as if to encourage himself. Months had passed now since Helen's leaving and he couldn't go on like this. He needed to concentrate, to be a proper watcher again, especially as now he had to take care of two slayers. He even felt partially responsible for the whole Band Candy affair, thinking that if he had been up to his usual standard, in a clear state of mind, it might never have happened, he would have noticed much sooner that something was going on, he would have recognized Ethan's handwriting well ahead of time. Yes, it ends now.
Knock, knock. He didn't look up from his book, even though he still wasn't reading it, what with his whole concentration being used up by thinking about how from now on he would not think of Helen anymore. The knock was odd though. After over two years of living in Sunnydale and working in the library he was able to distinguish the door-knock of every person ever likely to pay him a visit. Buffy's loud, energetic, even urgent hammering, Xander's lazy three taps before he would burst in without invitation anyway, Cordelia never even bothered with warning anyone of her coming, Willow's shy, careful knocks, or the anxious knock of the neighbour next-door that would occasionally accept a book delivery for him and bring it in the evening. This knock, however, was like nothing of the above, and yet - he thought he might have heard it before. Puzzled he didn't move. The visitor too seemed to wait longer than would be usual for a close acquaintance. When the knock sounded again, Giles slowly rose to his feet and with a reluctant step moved towards the door. When he opened it, he stared at the smaller red-haired man in front of him and it took him a few seconds to place the face that was partially hidden in the shadow. When he did at last, his face showed no emotion, though he was more than baffled to see young Charlie Weasley at his doorstep again.
"Mr. Giles," Charlie greeted him with a friendly, warm and kind smile, "good evening."
"Mr.-uh... Weasley," he said dryly at last.
"I hope I haven't disturbed you at-eh... anything?" Charlie asked, a little insecure. "I was hoping that at this hour you two might be at home already."
"Me too?" Giles asked frowning.
"I mean the both of you," Charlie corrected him and smiled again nervously. "I'm bringing along an invitation for you both, to a certain-eh... event," he spoke in a happy manner, making a meaningful pause before the last word. He felt he probably came at a wrong moment and hoped now that the reason for his call would at least be considered excuse enough.
"Both... of... us?" Giles repeated, now bewildered even more.
Charlie raised his brows, wondering already whether he should just leave and come back later as the older man seemed to be somewhat off kilter. There was no sign of Helen.
"Yes," he said reluctantly, "should I-eh... perhaps come some other time? When you're both here?"
"Both?" Giles asked once more, and even he himself realized now he must have appeared like being on drugs or something, repeating everything Charlie had said so far. But he did not understand at all what the young wizard was talking about.
Charlie looked at him more closely now. It would almost seem that the watcher had been confunded with a confundus charm, but he couldn't imagine who here or why would do such a thing. Or maybe it was something else entirely, maybe Giles was simply high, maybe he and Helen had been smoking some odd things or dabbling into some intoxicating potions for fun. After all, who knows what people like a watcher/librarian and a teacher/potioneer get off on these days, he thought. "Yeah... ehm... where is Helen?" He asked, cautiously peering over Giles' shoulder into the living room.
"Helen?" Again all Giles was able to say was the echo of Charlie's words.
And then, for a moment, he thought, and his heart suddenly began to beat faster as the flicker of the irrational hope arose in him – that it all may have been a bad dream, that Helen in fact was about to descend the stairs from his bedroom any second now, the same bedroom where he could smell her the whole morning. He turned momentarily to look around his place, then his eyes paused at the staircase, half expecting her to appear indeed to greet her friend.
"Helen?" He slowly asked Charlie anew, as if trying to win some time for the reality to come to its correct terms again and the bad dream to finally dissolve.
"Look," Charlie shook his head slightly and rose his hands apologetically, "maybe I'll just-eh... come later, when you're both-eh... here... in more than just one sense of the word," he murmured and was about to say his goodbyes.
"She's not here," Giles interrupted him, gradually recovering from the confusion – and the disappointment. "She... had left," he said slowly as he realized this obviously would be news to Charlie, "it's been... months now."
Now it was Charlie's turn to be stumped. And embarrassed.
"I would have thought you knew," Giles added, not bitterly, not as a reproach, simply expressing his own surprise, and at last he let the wizard in.
Charlie hesitated for a second before he entered the apartment.
"I-I am sorry, I-eh... didn't... know," he spoke at last, feeling a little uncomfortable and thinking hard about what could have possibly happened and whether he shouldn't just leave before he would say something wrong.
Giles motioned towards an armchair, then disappeared in the kitchen for a moment and fetched another glass. He offered Charlie some whiskey, which the latter eyed with some reluctance as he didn't usually drink that sort of thing, but he accepted it in the end.
"When-eh... when did she-eh...?" Charlie asked.
"Sometime in July, end of July," Giles replied calmly. July 20th, in the night, without a word.
Charlie seemed to be thinking.
"So you haven't-uh... seen her... since then?" Giles asked.
"No," Charlie said thoughtfully. "I came to invite you both..." He noticed the question in Giles' eyes. "Ileana and me, we're getting married, in Romania, in Sighişoara as a matter of fact. Knowing that Helen lived there for some years I thought I'd come in person, I thought she'd be looking forward to seeing it again... I had no idea," he said again flustered.
Giles merely managed a weak smile to say that it wasn't Charlie's fault, nor was there a need to apologize. "So she hasn't been in touch with-uh... anyone?"
"No. Or I wouldn't know. But I haven't been really at the Burrow since August-... wait, I did see her then," he remembered suddenly and Giles felt again his heartbeat quicken. "At little Fred's birthday party, in late August... so it must have been after-eh...," he looked at Giles.
"... after she left here, yes," he finished for him.
For a while neither of them spoke, Charlie felt slightly out of place while Giles wasn't sure whether he wanted to know: "How-uh... was she? When you saw her?"
Charlie thought for a moment. The reason he had forgotten about it before was because they had barely talked to each other on that afternoon. "Hard to tell... We didn't chat a lot, apart from the short exchange of greetings and general inquiries. She seemed her usual calm and quiet self, but then, I don't know her all too well I admit."
Giles nodded absently. It was foolish of me to think I did.
"There was a lot going on, a lot of guests, and I arrived rather late, and then spent most of the time dodging my mother's attempts to convince me to return to England for good," Charlie said, glad he came off the delicate topic. "If she had it her way, then all six of us would be living within ten miles of the Burrow and lunching together every Sunday. Imagine the horrors... Though it is worth a while witnessing Fleur and Angelina at one table, usually they're in each other's hair during the second course at the latest... But, mum won't give up, in fact I think she finds it endearing in a way, familial."
Giles only met Molly Weasley the once, but somehow he could imagine her so well as she was trying to keep her offsprings close, refusing to accept the inevitable – that they were one by one leaving the nest. He thought it must have been hard for her, probably harder with every next child.
"… what's worse, - father used to be on our side, but now she managed to turn him… I wish they'd just stop it."
Giles took a sip from his glass, he seemed to have regained his composure entirely. "Well, they're-uh... parents. Don't be too hard on them."
For a moment he paused, he could almost see Helen sitting in the armchair opposite to him and glaring at him as he said it. She would scold him now for speaking such wisdom while he himself hadn't been able to talk to his parents again since over twenty years. Maybe...
"So you're-uh... getting married then. Congratulations," he said warmly after a brief and awkward pause and Charlie grinned.
"Yes, I've fallen too, as my youngest brother put it."
Giles smiled. "When is the big day?"
"In about thirteen weeks, end of March, no special meaning there, although mum wanted us to wait until May, but that was the only weekend where neither of us had any assignments already, but-uh... we're not superstitious or anything, so March is as good as any other month," Charlie said lightly.
"Hm," Giles nodded slowly and his eyes looked blank for a moment, "my parents married in March," he said, and the mellow tone of his own voice surprised him.
"... and have been living happily ever after I presume," Charlie finished for him.
"So it would seem," came a quiet reply. Perhaps... maybe it was time he called.
They talked for another hour, Charlie mostly was telling Giles about the two dragons Kinga and Sándor that he and Helen had seen when they were visiting last spring. As the clock was striking ten Charlie slowly got up to his feet.
"So, I should be going. I'd like to be at the Burrow before sunrise," he said.
Giles got up too. Charlie stepped from one foot to another, not sure how to leave. When he finally made a step towards the door, he said cautiously without looking Giles in the eyes, but rather addressing the ground under his feet: "I-eh... may run into Helen during the holidays, maybe George would have invited her for Christmas dinner, if he knows where she is...," he turned at the watcher at last, but Giles wasn't saying anything. "Do you-eh... want me to-eh... not tell her that I saw you?" He asked nervously.
"Why?" There was a slight defiance in Giles' voice, but he managed to keep it down as he added: "She was the one who left. I held no secrets from her."
Charlie was not entirely sure that he quite understood the connection of that statement with his question, but he nodded anyway.
Giles was fighting an inner fight as Charlie proceeded towards the door. The young wizard was almost at the doorstep when Giles' voice made him turn around. "Mr. Weasley," there was an urgency in his tone that made Charlie furrow his brows, "could you-uh..."
Yet when Charlie's eyes met his, Giles make an odd sigh, the corners of his mouth twitched into that tired smile that was carrying only faint traces of the bitterness he had been feeling over the past few months and that had been fading away, and he shook his head weakly, "nothing."
He saw in Charlie's eyes that he had guessed what he had wanted to ask, for he waited for a second longer to see whether Giles would change his mind. He wouldn't. He wouldn't feel better knowing where she was. "You have a safe journey home," he said to Charlie as he held the door open for him.
Stepping outside Charlie turned around once more, saying hesitantly: "Given the circumstances – I'll understand if you won't come, yet I – and I'm sure Ileana as well – would be glad to see you at our wedding... so-eh... know that you'd be very welcome if you decide to come."
"Thank you," Giles smiled and bowed his head slightly. "I really appreciate, and give my best regards to your fiancée as well. However-uh, given the circumstances I-uh... would probably feel out of place."
Charlie didn't push. Unlike his younger brother he had a better sense for tact and for sensitive matters. He finally wished Giles Merry Christmas and all the best, then turned on his spot and left.
Swiss Alps
Only an hour later after Márkos had given her the task Helen was standing again in her attic room, holding the required book in one hand, with the other hand she was supporting herself onto her desk. She smiled and felt just a little bit haughty after an apparition like that, she wondered whether even Márkos would have been able to pull off such a distance without splinching at least a nail.
She felt momentarily a slight dizziness, yet it was a different feeling than what it used to be and she was rather sure it was not anymore a consequence of her doing magic. Maybe she had got a light cold or perhaps it was still the aftermath of the previous night. She did drink quite a lot of that glogg.
And then there was Giles. Seeing him has wowed her too. A lot. And it has shaken her to the core in a way that wasn't exactly unpleasant though. When she saw him her knees almost gave in. Her whole body reacted to the sight, instantaneously, without a second's delay a shiver of desire, of an almost unearthly power of the well-known attraction went through her, and she still didn't understand how she had managed not to jump up, run and lay down on the bed next to him, then crush him with her body.
He had been asleep, lying on his stomach, his face turned towards where she was standing. And he was wearing pyjamas again. But of course, it was cold now, it was winter, and no-one was lying next to him whose heat would keep him warm even without clothes on. She had watched him for a long while, but when she felt her hands itching for some touch, she collected herself and began to search for the book. It didn't seem to be in either of the bedside tables. She didn't dare to use the summoning charm in case the book was buried under something else and would cause an unnecessary noise while making its way to her. She descended the stairs to look around his living room, and immediately she found herself aching for returning here, for being again a part of this, for calling this place her home. She had forgotten how much she loved it, and it would be hard to describe what exactly it was about it. It was not the nicely worn-out sofa, or the lamp with stained glass on the desk, or the large cosy fireplace. Earlier she always used to feel best and safest at home, among her own four walls, and after every trip and every visit some place else she used to look forward to getting back there. It was different with this place. She had loved every bit of it and every corner, she had felt at home there, and despite everything that had happened there with Rodolphus she still remembered the feeling of being safe there, of belonging there.
After a few minutes of skimming through Giles' desk – there was a pile of handwritten pages, picturing and describing some sort of a cult, priests without eyes – and his bookshelves she found the book at last. She heard some movement from upstairs and froze, her heart was beating loud and fast, but except for a few rustling noises of the blanket there was silence. She exhaled relieved. She took the volume with the golden letters saying De potestatibus infernis diu exstinctis habitis and stared at it for a moment, then – hesitant to leave – she slowly moved towards the staircase and quietly walked up. Standing again in Giles' bedroom, she paused, then moved closer to his side of the bed and whispered: "I'll be back."
Pop.
If Márkos was a little surprised that she got the book so fast, he didn't show any signs of it during the dinner later that day. But he was throwing stolen looks at her to see in what way the visit would have affected her. He had known the book was at Giles' place, she had mentioned it right at the beginning when they talked about the ritual, and the only reason he had sent her to get it now was for her to be sure that she craved for a return to Giles.
"How did it go?" He asked at last as the four of them – Martha, Harry, him and Helen were sitting at a table, hurriedly eating their dinner between serving the guests.
Helen tried to sound as casual as possible when she answered: "Good." She wouldn't say any more, but smiled into her soup.
Márkos on his part managed to suppress a smug, complacent grin. His simple plan clearly worked splendidly.
After dinner, after she and Martha had played a couple of jocund songs together, Helen, much to the disappointment of the audience, excused herself, feeling a little sluggish.
On the next morning she overslept. Martha came pounding on her door and in her cheerful voice that always sounded as if she was laughing at the same time, entirely lacking any trace of reprehension shouted from behind the door to wake her and remind her that she should have been serving breakfast since almost an hour. Still, Helen didn't feel well at all. Her head was droning and when she got up to her feet she almost fell back on her bed from the head rush. Maybe a cold.
She managed to get dressed somehow and go down to the kitchen, but she appeared slowed and became tired after only a short while. At times the room around her seemed to be swaying, and finally Martha who saw that she would be of no use to her today, better sent her back to bed before she would cause an accident either to herself or to the dishes.
Helen slept most of the day and in the evening when she woke up she indeed felt a little better, rested. Márkos however looked at her suspiciously during dinner. He suspected she might have "relapsed" and her sickness might be a sign of a fall-back into her earlier condition, when her body would punish itself for using magic by getting ill.
That it was neither that nor a simple cold Helen realized as a sudden coughing fit woke her up in the middle of the night. She found herself catching for breath in vain for a while that seemed terribly long, panic was seizing her as the air she tried to breath in couldn't reach her lungs. Then another seizure of a heavy cough, but afterwards she was at last able to take a deep breath. She didn't dare to lie down again for several minutes. When she did, her head was droning, as if someone was drumming on her skull. It was a faintly familiar, unpleasant sensation. When another cough overcame her, she could suddenly taste blood in her mouth. Frantically she fumbled for the lamp on her bedside table to turn on the light, and froze when she saw blood drops spread across the back of her hand she had been covering her mouth with. No!
I'm fine. I've been fine. She got out of the bed and quickly walked over to the small basin next to the door. Her limbs felt weak, but she didn't fall. She washed out her mouth to erase the metallic taste, then looked at her face in the mirror. She couldn't see anything wrong, only a few wet hair strings were sticking to her forehead that was gleaming from sweat. This is not happening. It's all well. Just a cold. Or maybe cold feet, but nothing more. And I'm going to be back in Sunnydale in no time. She returned to bed and after a while exhausted fell asleep again. She dreamed about weird things, about some demons and vampires, but in the morning when she woke up, she had forgotten everything and she also felt a lot better. Well, she decided to ignore the occasional vertigos, holding to the motto that you are only as sick as you let yourself believe. She seemed to be doing quite a good job of it until Harry found her on his way upstairs on the third floor.
She looked like she was hyperventilating, throwing her arms around her in panic and desperate need to find a halt when what she really needed was to get some oxygen into her lungs. Harry, who was not easily scared although the noises she was making were horrifying, caught her hand. She shook her head merely and tried to calm down, thinking that it had to be over soon, that any second now she would finally catch a breath. It was hard though not to think of how much this was going to change everything, and not to panic, not to feel like everything was collapsing, like everything had been in vain.
She pointed with her free hand towards upstairs and when it seemed that she was getting better, Harry slowly helped her walk up to her room. There she pulled out a small bag that had been lying under her bed, spilled its content on her blanket and began to search for something. Harry could hear the clinking of small phials between Helen's shallow breaths. She cursed a couple of times, then collapsed exhausted onto her knees. Harry, unsure of what to do, came closer. "Can I help? Do you want me to-"
They were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door and almost immediately the angry face of Márkos appeared in the door. He was foaming. The inn was being flooded by guests at this time of year, who were enjoying their few free days before the Christmas Eve, and Márkos and Martha could need every help they could get – and didn't need to pay for. Márkos looked from Harry to Helen, who was curled on the floor next to her bed, holding her head in her hands as if she wanted to prevent it from exploding.
Márkos opened his mouth to say something ugly, when Harry interrupted him: "She doesn't seem to be very well, sir, I found her panting next the staircase."
Márkos looked back at her with furrowed brows and a grim expression on his face, when she started to cough loudly. Between her grasps for air Harry could distinguish the words I need Poppy. It took him a moment to realize whom she meant, while Márkos was still standing motionless in the door, suspicion and anxiety were both written in his face as he was processing what was happening, whether it was within his powers to act, and what kind of help Helen needed. Did their training go to waste in the end? Was it all for nothing? Was she, subconsciously, still believing that using magic was wrong and this was her punishment, or was this something else? Simply a trivial illness? He'd certainly be relieved...
"Could you...," Helen's curbed voice interrupted his thoughts, "... I... I must see Poppy."
AN: Any reviews would be much appreciated. As much as I love Giles, my worst fear is that I can't keep him in character, so I'd love an opinion. Or share your thoughts on anything else as well.
