AN: 2nd chapter! I hope you enjoy it! Please review and tell me what you think.
Also, if you don't care for lyrics of songs in stories... that is precisely why I put them at the end! So that you can skip over them if you like. But if you find the song on youtube or whatever and listen to them while the story is playing - I think it may make your reading experience more... emotional? I dunno. It certainly made writing this much more personal for me.
Take It All - Adele
Don't You Remember - Adele
Fall 2002
"Rupert! You don't have to babyproof everything! There's the collapsible cot for the living room if anything." Olivia laughed, her hand over her swollen belly, and watched the tall man reach behind the desk to baby proof an already blocked off outlet with a plastic plug cover.
"We can never be too safe. I read that babies put everything into their mouths. If that's true then – Oh. What's this?"
Giles pulled out a fat little envelope that had just fallen to the floor against the wall from behind the desk. He flipped it over, saw his name in familiar feminine handwriting and a return address in Sunnydale, California, and stood up swiftly, catching his head painfully beneath the desk.
"Are you alright? What is it?" Olivia leaned against the desk and gazed curiously at the package.
"It's from Buffy." Giles had gone quite still, still stooped down with a handful of plastic outlet covers in his hand, eyes transfixed on her handwriting.
"Is it? I though she hadn't tried to contact you since you left. Oh, look." She pointed one long finger toward the date stamped near the postage stamps. "She sent this months ago."
Giles said nothing, trying to swiftly tear the envelope open, but had trouble with the bubble wrapped, tamper proof innards and had to use a pair of scissors that Oliva handed to him. He shook the envelope's contents onto the desk. A cassette tape. He shook it again and then peered inside. No letter. No card. Not even a hello. The feeling of exhilarating hope and happiness that he hadn't admitted building in his chest, slunk back, until he saw the small, handwritten label on the cassette: "To Giles. All my love, Buffy."
Take It All - Adele
Don't You Remember - Adele
"Hi Giles. It's me. Buffy me." She let out a nervous breath. "I wrote you a very long letter, but I'm kind of embarrassed to send it, what with all the grammatical errors and horrible handwriting. I already recorded some songs that I wanted you to hear on this tape (I hope you liked them), so I figured, why not record my letter, too?" The pages rustled in her hands. "Well, here goes nothing," she muttered.
"Dear Giles," she read cheerily. "How are you in ye merry olde England? I hope that since you've been back that you've had many scones and gallons…" she paused, then said, almost to herself, "or is it liters? Cups - no quarts? Anyway. Gallons and liters of your favorite strong tea. English breakfast, right? I know that you've written to or called Dawn, Willow, and Xander once or twice. They mention you sometimes, but I think they're afraid to talk about you around me. Or maybe you told them not to, I don't know. I'm sorry I haven't called. Your number has been stuck to the fridge for a while, but I could never work up the courage to dial it all the way. I'm doing alright here back in Sunnydale. A lot has changed since you left. I'm not sure how much you've heard, so I'll go over the basics before I get to what I really wanted to say.
"Willow's moved out and staying with Xander. She's re-enrolled at UCSD and dating Tara again. They're taking it slow and she's staying away from casting, which is," a shuffle of papers interrupted her sentence, "all of the good. Xander has been way busy what with getting some very grown up, responsible adult type supervising positions on his construction projects. Anya and Xand have been going through a lot since he left her at the altar. It was bad. I didn't know she had the capacity to be so heartbroken… and I can blame her at all, but Xander says he still loves her and wants to be with her. She's a demon again, by the way. It's all very dramatic. We don't all hang out as much anymore since everyone's been busy lately. Willow, Xander and I try to stay out of Anya's hair when we can. I train in the back some days, but just-hanging-in-the-Magicbox kind of days are sort of over. We still do the research thing sometimes, but it's no more Scooby gang headquarters. And now, my home isn't much of a replacement.
"This is my last night in 1630 Revello Drive. I sold the house. Didn't get as much as I'd hoped. Dawn's living in L.A. with dad. We had a pretty bad scare with a demon, a psychotic episode, a holy-crow-I'm-totally-crazy, inducing demon, a few weeks ago, and before that she and Willow had gotten into a car accident - nothing too bad, just a broken arm and wrecked car. That was what started Willow on her cold turkey-ness on all magics. I felt that Dawn would be safer away from all big bad trying to get big sis. Not to mention my complete failure to look out for her." Her voice wobbled on 'failure,' but she continued to read. "I helped her move last weekend. She put up a fight at first, saying she'd rather be in Sunnydale with all of us and all the danger, but I finally talked her into it. Dad's not going to be around much for her, surprise there," another page turn here.
"But he has a lovely housekeeper named Maria that promised me she'd watch out for Dawn and make me tamales when I visit. She'll be going to a really good school for smart rich kids. She's excited about their language and culture exchange program. They trade rich kids from Europe for rich kids from California for a semester at a time if they meet all the requirements. I think I'm excited for her, too, you know? Dawn's really going to have a lot more opportunities than I ever did.
"As for me, Dad is pretty mad at me for not coming to him before things got bad financially. He's spoiling the munchkin, but kind of punishing me. He's sending just a little money to help me scrape by. Which is fine. I'm 21 now and not in school, I really should be supporting myself. The money for the house went mostly to bills and whatever was left over was enough for me to put a deposit down on a little studio on the edge of town.
"The apartment's a tight fit and some of the neighbors aren't all that wholesome, but it's got all the things I need. I quit my part time job at the Doublemeat Palace," page turn, "looking for a new job, now. The money wasn't worth the way that place made me feel. Slaying is the same old. The biggest pains in my butt recently have been Warren, Jonathan, and Andrew – the evil semi-genius trio. I'm working on them.
"That's all the news." Buffy was quiet for so long that Giles though the tape had stopped .
"And. I want you to know that you were right to go. As much as I hate it that you're gone – you were right. I needed to learn to stand on my own. I didn't know it for a long time and it was so, so hard without you." Buffy's watery voice cracked a little and she swallowed audibly, composing herself again.
"But I'm trying my hardest, now, to make things better, to be a better Slayer. Every day since you left I think about you. At first, it was kinda mean and angry thoughts, but pretty soon it was 'What would Giles do' or 'I wonder what Giles would think' or 'I bet Giles has the answer to that one.'
"I want you to know that I've failed a lot recently." Page turn. "I've done things I'm ashamed of. Neglected my friends, my family. Threw myself a great big pity party, but I think things will be better now. Dawn is a little lonely, but she's so excited about her new school. Willow and Xander are happier lately, more carefree. And I think that it's a good thing that I'm finally taking care of myself.
"So, you were right to leave me.
"Before the whole Glory thing, before Adam or the Mayor or Angelus, I knew. I knew that you would always, always be there. You, Watcher mine, would be with me until the day I died. And you were. I am so very sorry that the last things we spoke to each other that night were in anger. I don't think I ever told you that.
"Giles, I will always be grateful for having known you and I'll always be," a shuddering breath here, "unworthy of you. How can I put this? Before I met you, I was a beam of raw oak. Forgive the Xander-construction-man speak. I was raw, but strong. You shaped me with your hands and your knowledge into what I was – which I guess in Xander speak would be a very quality piece of furniture, sturdy and useful, not," pages rustling again, "easily broken. Other people wanted to put their mark on me, graffiti me up, paint me to their liking, claim that I was theirs, that they grew the tree I came from so I belonged to them, but underneath all that, I am still what you shaped me into. When mom died, the rug I was sitting on was pulled out from under me. I was all upside down and topsy turvy. You lifted me up and put me back on what I thought was solid ground. I guess maybe it was just sand.
Glory happened and after all that, I went to furniture heaven, Ikea maybe. Where they spruced me up and made me complete again, the way I was with you." Page turn again.
"When I came back it was as if I had been dropped from a hundred feet in the sky down into an dark ocean, full of friendly animals that wanted to cling to floaty little me, pulling me in different directions, tell me how happy I should be to be back on land when everything was completely flooded. I had no place to stand, nothing to keep me from drifting into pieces. I was drift-wood Buffy. Then you walked through the door and I found my anchor. No. Wait." The papers crinkled. "That isn't right. Not my anchor. My lead. Like on a surfboard. No. Then I'd be the surfboard. Compass! No- that's a ship." She muttered under her breath and shuffled through the pages of her letter.
"Okay, never mind. That metaphor went in a weird direction. I'll just stop reading from the letter and tell you the gist of what it says from here out. My home is sold to someone else, but, weirdly, I don't feel nearly as lost as when you left. You were my safety net, kind of my home, for so long. On some level I knew that I was taking advantage of you. I must have known how much I was using you, but I can't seem to wrap my mind around that thought. All I knew was that you cared. You loved me. I know you never said it, but I could feel it. I could see it in the way you looked at me, the softness in your voice, the way you always reached for me.
"And I wish with all my- No. No wishing. I mean, if I could-," she sighs. "What I'm trying to say is, I love you. In so many ways and on so many levels, I love you Rupert Giles. Please, please forgive me for all the hurt that I've done to you. I'm not going to beg you to come back to me. I won't even ask politely- at least, not until I find my way back to solid ground. If I never see… If you decide to stay permanently in England and if I never make it over the pond because- of some reason or another. If I never see you again, please don't forget me, Giles. Remember me the way I was, not the way I came back." Buffy's unsure voice had gone soft and quiet.
"But hey!" her voice was suddenly chipper again. "If you wanna visit, I'm not gonna say no!" She laughed nervously, the sound sweet, but hollow.
"It's funny. Writing it all down- and, I guess, reading it out loud- is kind of a relief. I miss being able to just tell you things, you know? I know this whole 'mix tape' thing is super corny, I actually used to make a lot of tapes for my friends at Hemery, but I don't have a computer now to make you a CD. I hope that you listen to the songs on this tape. She's a beautiful singer, but listen to the words, ok? Really listen. The first one is called Take It All. Parts of the lyrics remind me of how you must have felt and a bit of how I feel. The second song is Don't You Remember… It's been my favorite lately.
"Anyway. Um, don't feel obligated to write or call or anything. I'm sure you're busy… And Giles? I really hope that you find happiness back home in England." She paused and then very quietly whispered, "Love you. Bye." The papers rustled for the last time and the click of the stop button could be heard just before the white noise of blank tape.
Winter 2002
Buffy stumbled into her tiny studio just past three in the morning, locking, bolting, and chaining the door shut behind her with one hand, leaving streaks of blood beside each lock. The girl hissed as sharp pains wracked her body. "Stupid evil demon," she grumbled, easing the few steps to the little bathroom and her first aid kit. "How the hell did he find a vampire that looked just like Hugh Jackman? Dumb, nerdy Warren. Stupid Wolverine costume. Stupid strap on claws. Weren't even retractable." Buffy lowered herself gingerly onto the edge of the closed lid of the toilet.
She paused, trying survey the damage under the bare fluorescent light. Yep - clothes are definitely for the trash this time. The plain jeans, tshirt, and jacket combination had once spoken of practicality and wearability, if not fashion, but now spoke more of rags and stains. Scratches littered her body in groups of parallel lines, some shallow, like the ones on her torso and arms, and even on her forehead. But the vampire had gotten a few good hits. There was a frighteningly deep wound to her thigh, long and curving, but only sluggishly bleeding and there were three puncture wounds to her right shoulder. She felt nauseous and slightly clammy and cold.
"Oh, Buffy, you did it this time," she murmured to no one in particular. With a deep breath that stung, she slowly bent down to open the large tackle box beneath the sink, her once tidy bun of golden hair falling haphazardly over her eyes. She touched the front latch and the box sprung open, revealing bandages, thread, curved needles, gauze, tape, scissors, splints, unopened syringes, bottles of medicine. All things Buffy couldn't get to because she felt the unfortunately familiar feeling of losing consciousness as black spots began to cloud her vision and the world spun dizzyingly.
She woke a few hours later on the never-quite-clean-enough tile. The morning sun shone rather high in the sky. Groaning, she pushed herself up into a sitting position against the wall. Her muscles ached in protest from lying on the cold floor and the cuts and wounds, already half healed, pulled uncomfortably when she moved. All the blood on her skin and clothes had dried and made her skin feel stiff and itchy. Buffy reached for the scissors in the open first aid kit and began methodically cutting her clothes away..
She really should have called Willow before she had gotten home. "God, I really need to invest in a phone," she mumbled, knowing of course, that there would never be enough money for a land line, let alone a cell. She might have called the witch from a pay phone after such a bloody patrol for some help patching up, but Willow had finals coming up and Buffy hadn't wanted to disturb her study time. Buffy tried not to bother Willow and Xander too much with the slayage business. Not after all they'd done for her while she recovered from Warren. There were three distinct occasions during her recovery that they'd nearly died. What was the point of being the Slayer if her friends died? No, it was better to keep them out of harm's way.
She'd have them over for some of the bigger research type things and she'd occasionally need to call them to pick her up if she'd been injured badly, but she was trying to wean them off of the 'We'll run off into battle to back you up even if it means we get killed' mentality her friends seem to have in abundance. Besides, this was not the first time Buffy had tended to her own near-fatal wounds before, nor would it be her last. Slayer healing pulled her back from the brink more than once since she began to really take responsibility for just herself.
When she was finally down to her underwear and the scraps that were once her clothes lay in a heap in the wastebasket she slowly stood and stretched out her arm into the small shower, turning the hot water spray on. She bent to the first aid kit again and retrieved two pill bottles, two sutures, some thread, the bottle of iodine, cotton balls, gauze, and tape, then laid them out neatly on the narrow sink counter.
Buffy clinically examined herself in a head to toe pattern that was more than a little routine. The mirror showed that she had a few healed scratches on her face, her eyes look a little dilated, but not too bad. She pinched her cheeks, but they didn't pink up right away. Her neck and arms were in relatively good shape, a few bruises and scrapes here and there. Her back felt bruised in several places from being thrown around a bit. The three holes below her collar bone were closed up and she wished she had stayed conscious long enough to clean them out before they hand healed. She rotated the shoulder and felt only a slight pull from the new scars.
Buffy ran her fingers underneath the shallow slice that curved from beneath her right ribs and ended at her belly button. She could see a bit of rib bone, but a butterfly bandage would probably do the trick for that part. Luckily, the Wolverine wannabe vamp had only sliced through some skin and muscle with his then-broken claw. It looked like it would only need three or four stitches for the deepest point of the cut on her stomach. Buffy turned cautiously, trying to avoid pulling her stomach wound, to look down at the deep laceration on her thigh. Any deeper and Buffy knew that she would have bled out. She'd probably need twenty or so stitches on that one. Her skin was covered in dried blood. She had bled plenty, all over really, but hadn't noticed until she passed out from the loss of it.
The shower was finally steaming, so she turned the cold tap on a bit and tested the temperature before slipping out of the rest of her clothes and stepping under the water. Later, when she was dried off, her long hair wrapped in a towel, she cleansed and sewed up her wounds with steady hands, dressing them expertly with gauze. She palmed the two aspirin and one of her mom's old prescription sleeping pills then padded toward the little fridge in her kitchenette. The small bottle of orange juice was thankfully not expired so she downed the whole thing with the three pills, thinking that she'd just have to skip patrol tonight. Buffy managed to just pull on her panties and a white tank top before she collapsed in bed and fell into a deep sleep haunted by dreams of things she could never have and people she would never see again.
There was a pounding in her head that was determinedly pulling Buffy out of her drug induced sleep. She pulled the pillow over her head to muffle it, but it kept on. Sluggishly realizing that the pounding wasn't in her head but at her her door, she groggily slipped from the bed, tugging her top back down over her stomach and shuffled to the peep hole, tip toeing to peer into it through a heavily lidded eye. "Who is it?" she groaned when all she saw was a head of dark hair. The head looked up toward the door, a very serious look on his face, and she gasped. Suddenly awake, she unlatched the three locks and threw the door open.
Giles stood frozen in the hall, one hand still in the act of knocking and the other hand pulling from his pocket as if to embrace her. "Buffy," he rasped, his expression altered between nervousness, excitement, fear, concern, and suddenly embarrassment as his gaze took her in from head to toe. Buffy herself paralyzed in her doorway, her wide eyes fixed on the face of the man before her, unbelieving, confused, and in shock.
Without a word, she extended a shaking hand toward his chest. Giles watched her face crumble as her hand touched the lapel of his jacket, her eyes wide and watery, bottom lip trembling. Feeling that he was solid she gripped the fabric desperately, her knees suddenly shaky. Her other hand flew to her cover her mouth as a sob escaped her and tears poured unchecked down her pale cheeks. "Are you real?" she whispered, unable to work her voice.
And suddenly she was enfolded in his arms, his cheek pressed to the top of her head. "Oh, Buffy," he breathed. There was so much he wanted to say.
God, he felt so real and he even smelled like Giles. "Are you really here?" she cried into his chest, clutching the front of his jacket with both hands.
"Shush, darling, I'm here. I'm here," his voice was thick with emotion. If she had been a normal girl, he would have been gripping her too tightly against him. She basked in his warmth. She had been cold for so long. Even if he wasn't real. He actually sounded like her Giles, smelled like him, felt like him. But Giles never called her darling.
"No," she wept softly. "Go away. You're not real. You're not real." Buffy took a shuddering breath, but made no move to push him away only gripped his shirt front tighter, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. "Giles! Where's my Giles?" she keened, her whole body trembling.
"Buffy, I'm here. It's me. Please," his begged painfully. "Please, don't cry." He stepped even closer to her as his hands moved in small soothing circles on her back. He could feel her tears hot on the skin of his neck. And quite suddenly, she fell limp in the circle of his arms. Giles, supporting her and in a bit of a panic, quickly lifted her onto the rumpled bed. He frantically checked her temperature and pulse.
As soon as he confirmed that she was merely asleep, Giles tore away his glasses, his hands pressed into his hair in anguish, unsure of what to do. He looked around the room for the first time, shocked at the squalor she lived in, and in such a bad part of town! Honestly what was she thinking - a flat along the docks? He turned to see the door was still open to the grimy, dimly lit hallway and shut it, halting when his hands ran over the dried blood. "Good lord." He rushed over to Buffy, replacing his glasses, taking in her paleness, the dark bags under her eyes, the dullness of her hair, the thinness of her body, the neat stitches on her thigh, and the pink scars on her arm and face. The scars were probably new and would likely fade to invisibility in a few hours, but through the thin white tank top he could observe the black threads of cured stitches in her stomach, the bandages on her ribs, and, just below her collar bone, three puckered stab wounds that he knew would all probably remain as mars upon her skin for a relatively long while due to their severity.
"My god, Buffy. What's happened to you?" Giles murmured, sinking to the floor at her bedside, eyes never leaving her still so familiar face.
AN: Sorry. The angst was a bit much, wasn't it? What can I say - the show inspires angstiness (is that a word? spell check says no.)
What do you think? Honestly? Tell me. I listen. ^_^
And now for the song du jour:
Don't You Remember by Adele
When will I see you again
You left with no goodbye
Not a single a word was said
No final kiss to seal anything
I had no idea in the state we were in
I know I have a fickle heart
And a bitterness and a wandering eye and a heaviness in my head
[chorus]
But don't you remember
Don't you remember
The reason you loved me before
Baby, please remember me once more
When was the last time
You thought of me
Or have you completely erased me from your memory
I often think about where I went wrong
The more I do the less I know
I know I have a fickle heart
And a bitterness and a wandering eye and a heaviness in my head
[chorus]
But don't you remember
Don't you remember
The reason you loved me before
Baby, please remember me once more
Gave you the space so you could breathe,
I kept my distance so you would be free,
In hopes that you'd find the missing piece,
To bring you back to me
[chorus]
Why don't you remember
Don't your remember
The reason you loved me before
Baby, please remember me once more
When will I see you again
AN: No really. Please, please review