WDWG - Chapter 33: Hawkingridge

Gazing out the window of the back bedroom, Giles stood rigidly lost in thought with his right hand firmly grasping his left wrist behind his back. He had no desire to drive over to the estate this morning. He'd last set eyes on it right before he left for university and he never thought he would be in this position: going back and preparing it for sale, and as the head of the organization purchasing it, also having mastery over it.

Early on, it was his rebellion and pain that rejected the house and everything in and around it. Later, as an active Watcher protecting the Hellmouth, as well as his propensity for not doing things by the book, he'd just thought that he would be the one who would die in battle - not his father, and certainly not his sister who would have inherited the estate.

It was a glorious day out, the sun shining, the sky that pure summer blue dotted by the occasional alabaster cloud, mocking the inner turmoil that ground in his gut. Adding to his current state of melancholy was his disappointment in learning that Buffy wasn't pregnant. He'd been strong for her over the last few days, but in doing so he'd suppressed his own feelings after their initial talk and had instead thrown himself further into the research needed to settle the estate. Now the time had come for him to face the demons of his past, and in doing so, his current troubles bubbled to the surface.

He turned and sighed heavily as he looked about the room. On the little table were some swatches of color Buffy must've picked up from the hardware store, light greens and yellows. He hadn't noticed them before, but he usually didn't frequent this room, just passing by it on the way to or from the master bedroom he shared with his fiancée. He picked up one of the swatches of greens and held it up, imagining what it would look like filling the walls of their future nursery, the corner of his mouth tugging in a reluctant smile as he decided he quite liked the color. Setting the square back down on the table, Giles placed it off by itself, separating it from the others.

"Looked for you in the library," Buffy said, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

Placing his hand over hers, he answered, "I... ah... you asked me to fetch your toiletries kit."

"It's okay, Ru," she reassured, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder blade. "The car's all packed."

"Right," Giles began, pulling out of her embrace and absently kissing the top of her head. "We'd best be moving on, then."

Buffy let out a deep breath as she watched him pick up her kit and leave the room. He'd been a man of very few words these last few days, and apart from sharing meals and the household chores, he'd been reclusive, even coming up to bed several hours after she had, which wasn't like him.

Before following him out the room, Buffy noticed the swatch of paint that had been separated out from the others. The manufacturer had called the color "dune grass," and she wondered who actually came up with these ridiculous names. But it had been the color she liked best and she smiled knowing this was Giles' way of continuing to commit to their future when he was about to face up to his past.

XxXxXxXx

The forty-five minute drive over to the estate had been a quiet one. Giles wasn't one to really talk about his feelings and he was grateful that Buffy had left him alone in silence, her attention focused on the passing scenery. Turning off the main road onto the serpentine drive, his stomach churned and he fought down the urge to turn around.

When the neo-gothic manor came into view Giles heard Buffy gasp and he slowed the Range Rover when she settled her hand on his leg just above the knee. The house was formidable, built in the late 18th Century, no doubt to invoke the idea of power and influence that his ancestors had craved as newly invested baronets, demonstrating their increasing influence amongst the aristocracy and common folk alike.

Giles hated it.

Buffy tried not to be intimidated. Greys Keep, while a great manor house in its own right, had been inviting, clearly built with love as someone's home. The building looming ahead of her was built to send a message, one that let visitors know that the inhabitants clearly ruled their surroundings.

"You grew up here?" she asked incredulously.

Pulling up to the front of the house, Giles quietly answered, "It was home once."

After he put the 4x4 in park, her door opened for her and a blond man in his late thirties gallantly held his hand out to help her out of the vehicle.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome, Miss."

Giles joined them and reached out to shake the other man's hand before introducing them. "Buffy, this is Matthew Sharpe, the butler of the house. Matthew, this is my fiancée, Buffy Summers."

"Nice to meet you," Buffy greeted.

"The pleasure is mine," the butler answered. "Welcome to Hawkingridge Manor, Miss Summers."

"Thank you," the awed Slayer responded, taking in the grandeur of the house as Giles put his hand on the small of her back, leading her up the stairs.

Matthew Sharpe followed behind the couple. "Your rooms have been prepared, Sir Rupert, and the guest rooms shall be ready by evening. The meals have been planned accordingly and all architectural documents and the land survey have been placed in the study according to your request."

Having reached the top, Giles turned to the butler and stood straight as an arrow, his demeanor serious, "And my father and sister's personal effects from their homes in London?"

"Have been returned to their apartments in the east wing, Sir Rupert."

"Very good. The east wing is off limits to our guests unless escorted by either Buffy or myself."

"Yes, Sir. Sir, his Lordship, the Earl of Banbury will be arriving tomorrow morning. His butler rang to say he is due before lunch."

Nodding his acknowledgement, the prodigal son closed his eyes and let out deep breath. Giles felt Buffy's small hand take his and squeeze it in support. After opening his eyes, he looked at her and she gave him a small smile. He answered her with a tight little smile of his own before entering the great house.

Matthew carried on, filling Giles in on the status of the preparations as they made their way towards his father's study. Looking about the hall, he noticed that nothing had changed over the long years he'd been away. The same portraits of departed ancestors continued to cast their disapproving glares towards him, the Greek amphorae still stood sentry along the walls, and the busts of ancient gods and great generals persisted in presiding over the entranceway.

A feeling of foreboding befell the Watcher as he reached the door to the study. Squaring his shoulders, Giles clasped his hands behind his back, standing tall and proud, refusing to let the memories haunt him. As a boy he'd spent countless hours sitting on one side of the great oak desk listening to endless lectures on duty and honor or translating various texts from Greek into Latin and then English while his overbearing father waited for him to finish the grueling assignments. He wondered if the wooden rod was still standing in the corner of the room nearest the desk. His father had used it both as a pointer to emphasize their lessons and a disciplinary tool, and whenever the elder Giles had picked it up, the younger would flinch in terror. He was never struck, but his father would whip it through the air and strike the book in front of him when his mind wandered.

Upon entering the room, Giles noted that his father had made no changes over the years. But then the man who tried to change the Council from within didn't like change for the sake of it and his study had suited him: formal, masculine, and ordered; and while the Giles held no love for the room, there was something oddly comforting in the familiarity.

The men continued to discuss the plans for the weekend and the affairs of the estate for several more minutes when Matthew concluded, "You will find everything you need in here, Sir Rupert."

"Thank you, Matthew, that will be all for the moment."

With the butler gone, Giles locked eyes with Buffy and she walked over to him, embracing him. "What would you like me to do?"

"Just keep doing what you are doing," he answered, pulling her closer. Shifting the attention back onto her, he continued, "I would imagine you are restless after the drive."

"It was only 45 minutes and the scenery was entertaining," she answered and he raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Yeah, okay, I'm a little restless, but I think that I'm picking up on your vibes. How are you holding up?"

Taking in a deep breath, Giles admitted, "It's not easy."

"When you're ready to talk, I'll be right here. You know that, right?"

He kissed her head in appreciation, "I do, thank you."

"I'll leave you to look over those reports Matthew and Gerard left you," Buffy said, knowing he needed a little space to sort out the emotions she saw warring for his attention. "I'm going to go for a walk and check out the grounds, and then later you can show me around the house. Although, by the looks of things, that could take days."

Giles chuckled. "I'll just need an hour."

"I'll come looking for you then," she answered, kissing his cheek before heading out the door.

Finding himself alone, he walked over to the desk and sank into the chair, resting his head in his hands and periodically rubbing his good hand through his hair. His father's papers were still stacked in the upper corners and a fountain pen sat off to the right side: another difference between father and son. Rifling through the papers, Giles found a to-do list written in Thomas Giles' ornate and elegant script. Tracing the letters with his index finger, he let out a small sob, unable to identify the emotion accompanying it. Loss? Grief? Love? Hatred? No, not hatred.

At one time he'd resented how his father had thrusted destiny upon him in the same way that Joyce Summers had resented him early on in his relationship with Buffy. But he realized now that his father, like himself, had only been a messenger, wanting only to prepare him for his role in the fight against the darkness. Duty, honor, responsibility. Christ, what did a small boy know of those things? No more than the young American teen who wished for nothing more than to be normal those early days in Sunnydale.

Giles set the paper down, and let out a wet guffaw as he read one of the items on the list: Meeting 14.00 Travers, self-important git! and beneath that was Dinner 18.00 with Miri, meet at Council office. Noticing the date associated with the events, the day the Council was blown up, he took in a deep breath and let it out very slowly. The Watcher fervently wiped the tears from his eyes. He wouldn't allow himself to break down. Not yet.

Deciding the reports could wait, Giles left the study. As he entered the hall, he gave a defiant glare to his disapproving ancestors, ascended the stairs, and made his way to the east wing of the house, passing several doors before finding the one he wanted. He opened it and entered the room. His room.

The furniture was as he'd left it and his prize model airplanes still hung from the ceiling in the corner of the room, the Spitfire and the Messerschmitt Bf 109E locked in a dogfight. He'd spent so long researching the planes to make sure he'd put them together properly and painted them just right. The rest of his models adorned the tops of the bookshelves that now stood empty. Giles had taken the books off to school with him. Some he still had and others had gotten lost over the years or had been sold while he'd run wild about the more unsavory neighborhoods in London.

Feeling instantly calmer, the Watcher sat down on the single bed and fell back onto it, staring at the ceiling. He was exhausted. The last several nights had been sleepless ones and he'd kept himself busy in the library to allow Buffy to get some sleep, going over the reports time and again to keep his mind from wandering down a maudlin path, joining her only when he could no longer make sense of the data on the pages before him.

XxXxXxXx

Giles woke to the calming feeling of fingers running through his hair. Opening his eyes, he found Buffy sitting next to him and he blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light as the late afternoon sun radiated through the bedroom window.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she greeted as she caressed his cheek.

"Hello," he returned, looking to adjust his glasses properly on his face and finding that they had been removed. "What time is it?"

"Half past five," she answered.

Moving so that he rested his head in her lap, Giles sighed contentedly as Buffy continued to stroke his hair, enjoying her soothing touch. "As late as that?"

"It took me a while to find you. It's a big place."

"Indeed."

"So this is where baby Giles spent his formative years?" Buffy asked, looking about the rather sparse room.

"No, this is where young Giles lived. Baby Giles spent his first three years in another room."

"You'll have to show me later, but first I have something to show you."

"Oh?"

"Yep."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Nope," she answered, a secretive smile gracing her face.

Giles couldn't help but smile back. She was obviously pleased with her discovery and it had been a few days since he'd seen happiness emanating from her eyes. Reaching up he stroked her cheek lovingly.

"Alright then, show me."

XxXxXxXx

Happily leading him out of the house and down the path to the horse paddock, Buffy babbled incessantly along the way about how perfect the day was and how beautiful the grounds were.

When they got within a hundred yards of the fence, she turned to Giles and commanded, "Close your eyes." Giles let out a playful sigh but did as he was told and she guided him the rest of way. "Okay, now open them."

When he opened his eyes, they fell on a chestnut foal prancing around its mother and he grinned merrily.

"She was born a few days ago. Isn't she beautiful?" Buffy said, unable to contain her delight.

Giles kissed her temple and hugged her close, watching the mare and the foal canter in the field together. Breathing in the clear fresh air, he felt more relaxed than he had over the past several days.

"I think our Slayers and Watchers will like it here, architecture aside," the blonde offered, snuggling into him.

"I think so, too," he agreed. "So what has kept you busy this afternoon?"

"Exploring, mostly. There's a great view of the bay from the hill over there, though it's quite windy. I did see some type of bird of prey soaring on the thermals and that was neat."

"Most likely a red kite, but I suppose it could have been one of the many types of falcon or hawk we have around here. My father used to raise a variety of birds to hunt with when I was younger," Giles explained.

"Did you hunt with them too?"

"Yes, it was expected. I even hand raised a kestrel when I was a boy."

"That's pretty cool, Ru."

"She was beautiful, gorgeous on the wing," he reminisced before releasing his hold on his fiancée, remembering the lessons his father had taught him with regards to caring for and training another. It was his first tutorial as a Watcher-in-training, directing his falcon's progress from a fledgling to a talented hunter. "We... uh... dinner will be served soon." Putting his hand on the small of her back to lead her back to the house, Giles clammed up again, his body language rigid.

"Hey," Buffy spoke softly, turning towards her lover. "You okay? What just happened?"

Directing his attention back towards her, he took her left hand in his uninjured one and traced the index finger of his left hand down her cheek, his features softening. "I'm sorry, Buffy, please... bear with me. This... this is-" he stopped in frustration, looking about him, not knowing what to say.

"When you're ready..."

"Soon. I promise. Just let us get through the next couple days with our guests."

She searched his eyes, hers full of concern, "I worry about you."

"I know. Thank you. Just knowing you are here helps tremendously." Giles twitched his lips in a quick smile. "So, you don't like the architecture?" he asked as they started back towards the manor house.

"It's kinda creepy in an ornate and foreboding kinda way," his fiancée answered. "How many rooms does the house have anyway?"

"It's in the same style as Big Ben and Westminster Palace," he defended, though he wasn't sure why. "And there are seventy-five rooms."

Buffy nearly choked. "Geez, Ru!"

"We only ever used about fifteen of them or so," he added.

Shaking her head in amusement, Buffy picked up the pace as Giles followed after her, still holding her hand. He sighed heavily as the building loomed larger with every step closer and he knew it wasn't the shadow of his ancestral home that cast a large shadow, but that of his father and the conflicting memories he faced at every turn, not to mention the tragedies that befell his family.