Title: Permission 1/2
Author: Jacqui
Rating: G
Disclaimer: All Buffy characters belong to Joss Whedon, WB and ME. Don’t sue, I own nothing but the neurosis in my head.
Timeline: Towards the end of "Passion", I played with the ending a little.
Comments: Does the love between two people really need the permission of another? Sometimes...

Feedback: Don’t make me beg (unless that’s the sort of thing you’re into, in which case, I probably shouldn’t know . Should I continue this one?

The human subconscious is a cruel thing.

Sometimes, in rare moments, it may seem to be kind, generous; even merciful, but on reflection the true nature shines through. We go through life with the assurance that the one person who will never lie to us is ourselves. Yet we are the ones who play the most devious games, tell the most hurtful untruths to ourselves.

Rupert Giles stepped over to his front door with a growing sense of satisfaction. The day, having started out quite horribly, was going to end on a much better note. They’d found a spell to reverse the standing invitation Angel had to all their homes and now he was looking forward to a night with Jenny: his Jenny. He let the words roll around his brain, thundering in their beauty: his Jenny.

He noticed the rose with a skip in his heartbeat. It was rare to find someone who knew you, loved you with such intensity. She looked at him and didn’t see the words "English Librarian" stamped across his forehead. Instead she saw inside of him, looked deep and drew out the real him. It was a rare thing indeed.

Opening the door, he let deep voices of La Boheme wash over him. Jenny could always take his breath away. He called to her, but there was no answer. The table in front of him was laden with objects that made him smile. Champagne, chilling in a bucket, two glasses and even roses. She had a red hot passion inside of her that seemed to engulf him deliciously at times.

He saw the letter. He did not let himself recognize the pale yellow color, the thick texture, of the paper. Opening the folds, he read the word "upstairs". It held such promise.

The stairs were decorated with sweet smelling roses and burning candles that gave off a soft, flickering, glow. The music of La Boheme rolled through his mind and danced with his hope. With each step up the thought of those weeks without her, those pain-filled, lonely, weeks ebbed away with the promise of tonight.

Rupert Giles did not feel the champagne, or the glasses, slip from his hands. He didn’t hear them as they crashed to the floor and shattered and he didn’t see the liquid flow down over the steps like some gruesome fountain. But for the rest of his life, he would never be able to smell champagne without pain and he would certainly never let the taste of it pass his lips again.

To him, previously, realization had been an enlightenment; a bright flash of knowledge that he welcomed. Here, now, it was a dark cloud: a heavy sickness that sent dark tendrils of black pain to every fiber of his being. Sorrow opened up its jaws and bit down hard on his heart with thin, sharp teeth. Something bubbled up inside him; a noxious puddle that wanted to scream, scream louder and longer than he ever had. But he couldn’t let it out.

Even in death, Jenny could take his breath away.

The human subconscious is a cruel thing.

* * * *

She stood outside the door, not wanting to enter, but knowing that she had no choice. Some part of him, no matter how deep, some part of him had to blame her. Buffy knew this because she heard her own voices blaming, accusing; never leaving her since she had gotten the call. She could not imagine anyone, let alone Giles, not blaming her for what had happened to Jenny Calendar.

Every moment since Angel had turned, raced across her mind, trampled her heart and froze her intentions into a crystal clear focus. She knew she could kill him now. Not like before, when she had been talking herself into it, convincing herself it had to be done. She understood. She felt it like an amputee who finally realizes that their arm, or leg (or heart had to be cut off.

She opened the door and paused. Giles sat there motionless, his body hunched over and seemingly broken.

"Buffy?"

She looked up at the frail, hesitant, sound of Jenny’s voice. The form lying in the hospital bed looked frighteningly weak and small, the bandages, tubing and machines dwarfed the woman. Giles looked up suddenly, he turned to face Buffy and she couldn’t read his eyes.

"I want…" Again the voice was weak and she stopped to breathe heavily with every few words. "… to talk. To Buffy."

Jenny looked at Giles and pleaded silently with him, he nodded slowly and walked past Buffy. Buffy’s hand paused inches from his shoulder: she wanted to tell him how sorry she was, but something told her this was not the time. The door closed and Buffy turned to face the penetrating, hazel eyes as they searched her.

"Sit down."

"I’m so sorry. I’ll… I will kill him."

"Yes."

It was spoken calmly, without emotion, from the head not the heart. Buffy appreciated this more than she understood. Jenny’s eyes moved from left to right, scanning Buffy for every flicker of emotion.

"On my desk. A disk. The spell. To give him… give him his soul. Burn it."

The words; slow and stilted, descended into her mind like stones sinking to the bottom of a lake.

"His soul? Back?" She spoke carefully, but Jenny shifted, her eyes yelling at her in contrast to her quiet voice.

"It’s too late. You know it. He’s done… too much. His conscious."

Jenny never took her eyes off her. She had always, under tense situations, been able to read people, and she knew now that she had not read Buffy wrong. The girl would do what was right.

"It nearly killed him last time." Buffy let the full realization hit her. "If he came back now, with all that he’d done, he’d…" She didn’t need to finish the sentence.

"That’s not… not what I wanted to." Jenny coughed weakly and Buffy tried not to notice the little flecks of blood. "He’s going to hurt."

Buffy followed her gaze to the door. Jenny’s hand reached out and covered her own.

"Go to him. Don’t leave him alone."

"Don’t talk like that, Jenny, you’ll be okay. Don’t say…" She let her words peter out as Jenny just looked at her.

"You said. To me, you didn’t… want him to… be alone. You said…"

"I know what I said. I’m not the one he needs; he needs you."

"Don’t be foolish. You need… both of you… need each other."

"He loves you."

"You think… you think love… the human heart… is… monogamous? It isn’t. I know how he… how he feels… about me. But I know… I’ve seen him… look at you… his eyes…"

The oxygen tube in Jenny’s nose was filled with a mucus-like blood, little bubbles of air popped through it and her breath came in shallow gasps, but she would not be deterred. What neither of them had failed to notice, what they both left unsaid, was that in all of Buffy arguments she had not said that she didn’t care for Giles. They both knew it.

"You said you… didn’t want him… to be alone… you said... you didn’t want… anyone… to be alone. That means… you too… Buffy… don’t punish… yourself for… this… any of… it. Go to him. Love him."

Buffy smoothed the hair away from Jenny’s forehead and bent down to kiss it. It was a silent agreement between the two. She walked out of the room and nodded at Giles to go in. This time, when he passed her, she could read what was in his eyes.

It seemed like an hour, possibly several, but what was, in reality, ten minutes passed as Buffy sat on a molded plastic chair, her elbows resting on her knees as she cried into her hands. She heard the door open slowly, and close carefully as the beeps inside gave way to alarms. She waited for footsteps to come and join her, she waited for hands to come and rest on her shoulder.

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