TITLE: Beauty 3/7
AUTHOR: Lily2332
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Giles tries to deal with seeing what happened to Buffy.
DISCLAIMER: They’re not mine, don’t sue.
The image of her face was forever burned in his mind. It was all he could see as he stood in the graveyard, looking out into the darkness where his slayer had run.
If a vampire had stumbled upon him at this moment, their fate would’ve been a dire one indeed, for Giles held all the frustrated fury of a man unable to protect the woman he loved.
"Buffy!" He bellowed into the night, realizing the futility of his call before it even left his lips.
He had to do something. Find Buffy. No, she couldn’t even look at him. Or was it that he couldn’t look at her? He shook his head in agonizing disbelief, not able to discern which was the truth.
<"You did this, Giles!>
The words rang in his ears, over and over. It made no sense. How could his slayer possibly think that he would ever… His breath was torn from him in the instant that he realized. A phantom knife twisted in his gut as the pieces all fell together. He had done this to her.
Where could he go? Home was out of the question. Going to Olivia now, even more than before, seemed like an unforgivable betrayal. He thought of what he and Olivia had been doing around the time of Buffy’s ordeal, and made an audible sound of despair. After Buffy had left that day, he’d been distracted, wondering if he’d done the right thing. Olivia, being a woman, had guessed immediately what had taken his attention from her. After all, it didn’t take a genius to notice that from the moment the blonde had come strolling through his front door, he’d been undone.
Giles felt ill as he remembered how she suddenly couldn’t keep her hands off of him. Once she’d taken him into the bedroom, he’d forgotten all about his slayer. And all the while Buffy had needed him.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn’t know what to do. Who was there for him when he was in trouble? No one. He suddenly envied Xander, Buffy and Willow. They knew that no matter what, they could come to him and he would have a solution for them. Safety. Always the mentor, never the protégé. Normally he regarded it a privilege, but tonight the burden was heavy.
"One more, please." Giles slurred, pushing his empty glass across the bar. The glass went further than he’d intended, compliments of the countless drinks that’d preceded this one, and went crashing to the floor.
The bartender, not as easygoing as Xander, scowled at the mess but still set about filling his request.
"Hurry up there." Giles grumbled, leaning forward on the counter with both elbows. Not for comfort’s sake, but to support his weight and keep him from toppling onto the floor. The liquor, while enough to subdue his body, had not proven strong enough to subdue his grievous guilt.
The barkeep studied the man as he served him, watching him knock back the drink in just a few seconds. It was a rare occasion at this disreputable establishment that anyone came in sober, much less anyone who looked like this. Clean and articulate. At least he had been when he’d arrived. Now, he looked amazingly similar to the rest of the clientele, complete with the incoherent muttering, and the hopeless look in his glazed eyes. He stared into his empty glass, a grim look set on his face. He was obviously somewhere else, and possibly drinking to stay in that place, or to escape it.
Giles couldn’t escape it. As much as he tried, the feeling of complete helplessness stayed with him. There was nothing he could do to help her. What had been done couldn’t be undone, of that he could tell just by that one look he’d had at the damage. But why did he have to be the one who’d caused it?!
"Are you all right?" The bartender couldn’t help but ask.
Giles looked up with bloodshot eyes that were not his own. "What?"
The man grew nervous. "Well, you just sounded like you were in pain just now. You were kind of moaning…"
The watcher glared at the man, clenching his jaw. "I suggest that you leave me bloody well alone from now on." He snapped, suddenly seeming even more threatening than the regulars, adding. "Unless you’re pouring." He gestured towards his again empty glass.
As the comforting liquid poured into his glass, his thoughts drifted to his slayer again. She’d looked so…he couldn’t think of a single word. So many things at once. Expectant, terrified, ashamed. Of all the things he’d seen on her face, the shame had been the worst. She had nothing to be ashamed of. He was the one who should be punished. The shame was his alone. It tore at his heart to remember, but he didn’t deserve to forget.
He felt defeated, weak, and underneath it all, rage boiled at whomever had done this unconscionable thing. But he knew with satisfaction that he would kill whoever had done it. It was a fact, and it might not happen tonight, (it was pretty bloody unlikely to happen tonight but it would come to pass.
The room rang out with catcalls as the door opened. The bartender looked up, knowing instantly that this woman who’d just come in was here for the man at the bar. Her clothes were expensive, her face bore little makeup. Not very common traits in the women that normally loitered around this place. He caught her eye and pointed at Giles.
She approached him carefully. You never knew what old Ripper would be like when he was drinking, but she wasn’t prepared for the pathetic man she saw.
"Rupert." She sat on the stool next to him, leaning over to better see his face. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you."
Her face was not what he needed to see at that moment. In fact, he’d been wondering if he could ever even stand to see the wretched woman again. Of course, she’d done nothing wrong, but she was in a way as responsible for what’d happened to Buffy as he was. She was the ultimate reminder of his failure as a watcher.
He stubbornly ignored her, instead asking for another drink. She put her hand over his glass.
"No." She said. "You’ve got to be kidding, Rupert. Surely you’ve taken enough alcohol to drown whatever it is that’s troubling you…more than enough, I’d say."
Her voice sounded patronizing and he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He wouldn’t be able to hide the outright disgust he felt. Her hand reached out to cover his, but he pulled away clumsily.
He laughed bitterly. "You’re one to talk." He said, pausing a moment. "How many drinks does it take to get you through a day, Luv? Or do you lose count around lunchtime?"
Olivia recoiled in shock, he’d never mentioned it before, though she knew he’d noticed. She tried again. "Rupert…come home with me."
"No." He growled. "I’m not going anywhere…least of all with you."
Olivia seemed a bit taken aback by the hatred in his voice, but she wasn’t the type to show a reaction. Or the type to make a scene. She picked up her purse, and left without a word.
Once she was gone, the bartender approached Giles again. "Now, if I had a lady like that begging me to come with her, I’d already be in the car." He shook his head, having lost a little respect for this customer.
Several hours passed, though it could’ve been days or minutes for all Giles knew. Instead of numbing his pain, his drunkened state almost seemed to intensify it, so here he sat, focusing on his own wretchedness. It felt good to hate himself, to think punishing thoughts.
A familiar voice startled him out of his reverie.
"Ripper, I’m shocked! You finally decide to come back to your roots, and you don’t even invite me?"
Ethan. Even with his brain functioning in slow-motion, he instantly recognized the voice. Every word he said dripped with sarcasm. He waited for the outrage that he always felt when confronted with his old friend.
But nothing rose to the surface, not even a ripple of anger. Instead, he sat in silence. It was almost a relief to have Ethan here. Someone who didn’t expect anything of him. Someone who wouldn’t fall to pieces at the sight of the esteemed watcher losing control.
<Now I’ve seen it all.> Ethan was thinking as he took a seat two down from Giles. <The Ripper is actually happy to see me.> He grinned, motioning for the bartender. He settled Giles’ bill, raising his eyebrows not at the amount, but at the quantity of liquor that the amount indicated.
When Ethan rose from his seat, Giles looked at him for the first time, waiting for direction. This was, in some twisted form, what he’d wished for earlier. At one time Ethan had very much been his mentor, a bond that, while corroded, would never be completely broken.
Ethan extended his hand, and Giles took it, again surprised. When Olivia had shown up at his door, ordering Ethan to go look after her lover, he’d only done it out of obligation. He owed her one and was happy to settle the bet on this fool’s errand. He’d thought he’d come here, Ripper would tell him to go to hell, and he’d return to his nice, warm bed.
But here he was, helping a very uncoordinated Rupert Giles to his feet. Assessing the situation, he brought Giles arm over his shoulders in order to support most of his weight as they walked. <Bloody hell, he’s heavy.> he thought, making a mental note to ask Ripper if he’d put on a few pounds.
A part of Giles was saying to stop. That stumbling off with Ethan was the worst idea possible. But that part was overruled by his need for adult companionship, and the fact that his sense of reason had been considerably diminished. Ethan grunted as his friend suddenly got a lot heavier.
Giles woke up slowly, his senses slowly accustoming themselves to the unfamiliar surroundings. He was in a large bed with red satin sheets, which he was tangled in. The black bedspread was pushed to the foot of the bed, leaving most of his body exposed. The canopy bed was draped in black fabric and for a moment he wondered if he weren’t in a vampires bed.
The heavy curtains mercifully blocked the sun. Morning sun? Afternoon? Who knew. Then he remembered Buffy. He felt a stab of pain in his chest at the memory. He had to find her. He pulled at the sheets, disentangling himself and getting up, pleasantly surprised to find his head only mildly aching.
He dressed himself quickly. His clothes were in a neat pile next to the bed, and had obviously been washed since last night. He sat back on the bed, trying to sort out what had happened. Ethan. He knew it was Ethan’s room that he was in. He recognized the man’s taste in décor, and tiny bits of the previous night were coming back to him.
"Ah, Ripper. You’re among the living, I see." He didn’t even knock, just strolled in like he owned the place…which, actually, he did.
Giles stood silently, not sure what to expect. Ethan had taken care of him last night. They stood facing one another for a while, both of them aware that things had changed.
"So, where are you rushing off to this afternoon?" He inquired, somewhat snidely. Old habits die hard, after all.
"I must find Buffy." Giles said firmly, sitting down to put on his shoes.
"Oh, yes. The slayer. I never understood why slayers had to be girls. Women. They’re always blowing things out of proportion. After all, in their line of work they can expect a little scratch every now and then."
Giles jumped up, pinning Ethan with all his strength up against the dresser. "It’s more than a little scratch." He snarled. "And don’t you ever talk about her again. You have no idea-"
"Yes, I do, Ripper." Ethan gasped, as Giles tightened his grip on his throat. The watcher thought he saw a glimpse of amusement behind the fear in his old friend’s eyes. He released him, knowing that he owed Ethan after last night.
"You told me everything last night. I thought you’d never shut up." He said. "On and on about Buffy this, Buffy that. About your enormous guilt, about you and Olivia…now that part, I’ll admit, you had my full attention for." He smirked. "You can be quite descriptive when you want to be, Ripper, and I appreciate that."
"You bastard." Giles muttered, heading for the front door. He’d never change.
Before he closed the door behind him, he stopped. Ethan waited, knowing him too well. "Thank you." Giles said through clenched teeth.
"Oh, no need to thank me." His eye glinted wickedly. "What else are friends for?" As usual, his words were mocking, and hinted of more than what he was saying. Giles sighed. Forty five years old, and still playing mind games.
"I’ll be seeing you."
Giles didn’t reply. He set off towards Buffy’s house. He had to see her, and somehow he would convince her that he could help her through this. If she’d let him.