TITLE: Strange Places 5/6
AUTHOR: Jaydn Michelle
DISCLAIMERS: The characters of Buffy, Giles, Ethan and co. is the property
of Joss Whedon - only borrowing them.
"How did you know I used to be a Watcher?" Giles - The Wish.
It wasn't like before - fleeting glimpses of a world she had never experienced - a Buffy with a radiant smile. It swirled around her like a cess-pool of imagery, certain scenes plucked for her benefit:
…Giles' gentle strength as he carried her into a science lab. The ripple of magic and a part of Buffy wanted to scream, //No, don't. Not for my sake//, but it was already too late. Catherine Madison spitting like a viper as a vortex rose up behind her.
…bemused merriment and his arms were folded, "Xander was right. It worked like a charm," the pandemonium of a school production seen in the background.
…standing by a grave-site as he comforted her, his words falling in a gentle lie.
Further images, faster images…the spur of resentment as Giles walked with an unknown Slayer, heads bent together as he coaxed life and enthusiasm into her eyes. Kendra's laugh falling like music.
A scene that seared across her senses like molten fire. Giles facing down three vampires with a silent rage and a flaming baseball bat. Buffy *knew* that look - had seen it on her own face in a world different from this.
Giles had gone out there to die, taking as many of them as he could - and it was 'Anne's' fist that slammed into his face, her arms tight around his chest, pleading with him to stay.
There were other faces too, a girl with red hair and an innocent smile. A lanky youth with a quick wit; but the images kept skittering away, and Buffy thought perhaps, that it was by design.
That it was easier *not* knowing those two…that they might be dead in her own world, or worse. Too many, too quick, too fast, and Buffy was left reeling when it slowed to a stop.
The bare confines of a training room. Whisper of cloth and the soft pad of bare feet as they shifted back and forth. It was like a dance, simple elegance in the give and take. Anne was holding back, Buffy knew, but not in any way that mattered. This contest wasn't about strength so much as speed, and in that at least, her opponent could hold his own. The level of concentration was tangible, and Buffy sat down to watch.
Inevitably it was Anne who won, but even so Giles lasted longer than she would have suspected. He was dressed casually, and physically at least, he had more in common with the Giles Buffy had first seen in her own world, so long ago.
Anne's grin was quick and triumphant. Her hair was short, shadows under her eyes, something about her demeanour that screamed *older*, *wiser*. "Yield?"
"Completely."
And her smile took on an edge of consideration, as if the choice of words meant more to Anne than Buffy could devise. "Good."
"Spike's kept you in good shape."
The words were innocently spoken, yet Anne's head snapped upward. Her eyes narrowed: "You knew, didn't you?"
A derisive snort: "I'm not completely blind, Buffy, and it's long past."
"You could have said something. Your tongue has been sharp enough on past occasions. Why didn't you lecture me then?"
Giles tilted his head, reclined against the wall, "My tongue, as you so eloquently put it, is also experienced…" Giles froze, suddenly hearing the double-entendre in his choice of words.
Anne, from across the room, flushed, and Buffy almost fell backwards laughing.
"Er, sorry, I only meant that some things are best learnt alone. My advice wouldn't have helped at the time, most likely it would have hindered, or worse, been completely ignored."
A weighty silence and Buffy watched them curiously.
Anne nodded, gliding forward, and Buffy could see the intent written across her face: "I made a mistake a number of years ago."
Giles' brow furrowed, "Sorry?" He straightened, moving out of his easy slouch, her body scant centimetres from his own.
"I told you once that I can't do this without you. It's not true, I can," and her smile was melting soft as she leant into him, "…I just don't want to."
Pause of breath as she kissed him, searching tenderness and a soft promise.
Buffy saw the hesitation, Giles completely still, and then his hands settled on her waist, lifting her up, pulling her close; hand resting behind her nape as he deepened the kiss.
There was peace between them, savagery, want, and Anne melted against him, boneless, content. The weary joy of someone who had found home.
Soft murmurs and Buffy suddenly turned away, cheeks branded red. There was something *beyond* the awkwardness of her current situation. It felt like jealousy.
Moving forward she slipped out the door, and found the boy waiting for her.
He jerked his thumb back disinterestedly: "They going at it?"
"Like bunnies." She could ignore the thickness of her voice, the driving urge to pound something into dust, because it wasn't *her* Giles, it had never been her Giles.
"What happened?" Buffy's voice was low. "How come I never met him? In my world?"
The boy smiled faintly: "Giles made a number of enemies when he was young. His father was a well respected Watcher, and for the most part, that afforded Giles a degree of protection, especially when he came back to the fold."
"So?"
"Giles' decision not to inform the Council of your whereabouts was a point sorely contested. The Council doesn't forget…or forgive lightly." The boy stretched, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "The bond between Watcher and Slayer is a tricky thing. Watchers can only feel a Slayer on two occasions, the moment she is Called to duty, and before that; during the initial pregnancy. Nine months to travel the world and find her, and in the centuries before modern convenience, those nine months were remarkably short," the boy's eyes twinkled. "When Giles didn't hand you over, the Council was left bereft of a Slayer, and they wouldn't know *where* you were until the moment you were Called. They didn't approve of Giles' decision, and in our world, the voices of dissent were loud. Giles remained a Watcher until you were Called, and then he informed the Council of your whereabouts. The closest Watcher available was dispatched to find you…"
"Merrick."
"…and Giles was fired on the spot. It didn't stop him from going to Sunnydale though, to do what he could."
Wheels were turning, and Buffy closed her eyes. "That didn't happen in this world?" and her arms encompassed the shop.
"No. Merrick was still sent to find you, but upon his death, it was Giles who replaced him."
Her fists were clenched.
He was supposed to be her Watcher, pre-destined, and the Council had fucked it up royally. There was nothing that Buffy could target her anger on; just the silent knowledge that Giles *belonged* to her and the Council had spirited them apart - and for what reason? To make an example out of him.
Anger, resentment, a hollow ache - the boy took a step back at the animation that crossed her face, her eyes spearing through him: "Who are you?"
"Does it really matter?" - friend, enemy, occasional lover - "I died in your world long ago."
Buffy's jaw clenched, pacing away like a caged cat. "Why are you doing this? Why are you *showing* me this? What possible use could it serve?" She wiped at her eyes angrily - the first track of tears - the emotion unfounded, rising deep from the pit of her stomach. Buffy couldn't recall the last time she had cried.
The boy's expression was not unkindly: "In our world, Giles freed a van load of humans, at risk to his own life. Something he does on a nightly basis." The boy hesitated, cleaning his nails judiciously, before adding. "He got caught…and you saved him."
It was that first explanation in the factory that struck at her. Following the boy's logic as violence and mayhem exploded around them, his young voice strangely unaffected:
(Giles nullified the last wish…none of it ever happened…Cordelia Chase never died…you never left Cleveland)
Her skin turned cold.
She had never left Cleveland.
Blind panic as she swung on the boy, words broken and sobbing. Buffy knew not what promises or threats she invoked, only the raging certainty that she needed to be somewhere, and needed to be somewhere *now*.