Title: The Surrogate 19/19 (epilogue)
Author: Jacqui
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Buffy, Giles and all other assorted Buffy candies belong to Joss Whedon, WB and ME. Elizabeth, and everything from her world, belongs to me (the real me, not the 'grr aargh' ME).
Notes: This has been a long, hard, but very interesting and certainly fun, road to travel. In some ways it's kind of sad to leave this series behind. It's finally over. I needed to close this series.
Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this whole series to Solo84, Gabi and Jay. And lastly to you, the reader.
Feedback: Give me a happy, for old times' sake. wily_one24@yahoo.com.au
Some days I like to wake up early, walk for what seems like forever in the quiet streets. In the first few hours of sunlight it's as if the people aren't the only things that lie asleep, it's the houses too, the trees, everything sleeps as I walk past them. Or so it seems. I know better, I have to know better. I usually walk for an hour, sometimes two, which is nothing to sneeze at for a man of my age.
A man of my age. Buffy will laugh at me whenever I say that. I'm only as old as the person I feel, she'll grin at me and then rest her hands delicately on my hips. Even after so long I can barely believe that she is here with me, with our daughter. No matter what she says, though, I can not deny who I am. I stand in front of the mirror after my shower, a towel wrapped around my waist.
There is no hiding the gray that has seeped into my hair. Even the hair on my chest, which Buffy loves to run her fingers though, is now peppered with gray. It hurts me to think of it, but at times like this I cannot help but wonder just how long I have for the world, or Buffy.
The two of us are living on borrowed time. It makes me shudder to think what Chloe will do when we're gone. I am so engrossed in my morbid thoughts that I don't notice the figure that has joined me in the bathroom until I feel her hand on my back.
"Hey Daddy Giles. You didn't wake walk me."
Her sleepy voice is soft, small and precious, it holds the faintest glimmer of accusation. She loves it when I wake her to come on my walks. It's our special time together, our wake walks.
She's so tiny, so small and fragile that I can barely believe she doesn't break whenever I pick her up, or crush her into a large hug. At five years old, I cannot remember a time without her or without Buffy. I place my hand on either side of her hips and lift her so that she sits on the bench. Her thin little legs dangle out of her nightie.
"Sorry, Clo. You needed to sleep."
She pouts, but looks at me with laughter in her eyes. So like her mother, so painfully like Buffy. She lathers her hands and holds them out, I lower my face to her reach. Her tiny little hands massage my cheek and neck. This is another of our little rituals. I love it. She loves it too, I can tell, the way she holds her mouth, so intent on concentrating as she runs the razor over my skin. So determined to do it right and not hurt me, she never does, as if she could.
"What would you like for breakfast? Don't say pop-tarts."
The laughter leaves her eyes as she picks up the face cloth, ready to finish the job.
"I'd like you to make Mommy Giles stop crying."
My heart freezes.
"What's wrong with Mommy Giles?"
We use the nicknames, so special, just between us. She doesn't know, we haven't told her yet, one day we will, but she seems to understand regardless. So much ingrained knowledge in such a young mind.
"I don't know. She woke me up when you were gone, she came into my bed." Her eyes are wide and her silvery voice sounds slightly afraid. "She was crying really hard and she held me really tight. Will you make her feel better, Daddy Giles? Please?"
I lift her down to the floor and kiss the top of her head.
"You go downstairs and turn on the cartoons. I'll see what I can do. Willow will be here soon to take you to school, okay?"
As my daughter walks down the stairs, I walk into her room. Years ago Buffy and Elizabeth had stayed here, things had been so different then. It is rare that I ever see Buffy in so much pain anymore. She lies on the bed, in all its pastel pink glory, hugging her knees to her chest and sobbing hard, her face to the wall.
"Buffy?"
Slowly she rolls over, her legs first, followed by her waist, her shoulders and lastly her face. Her eyes cry out to me, begging me to ease her suffering, she holds out one shaking hand, reaching for me. I immediately go to her, pulling her into a sitting position, as I spoon myself in behind her. I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me.
"She's dead, Giles, Elizabeth is dead."
The words hurt her to speak, it is as if they are attached to her body and someone is ripping them from her. I can barely believe it.
"Are you sure?"
Her sobs come harder and shake her violently. Her hands come up and frantically cover my lips, keeping them closed, I kiss her fingers. There is nothing I can do, nothing I can say. Even now, after all the times she has tried to explain to me what it was like, I will never know what had passed between the two.
"Hold me, Giles, just hold me. Never let go."
The End.