TITLE: Fade To Black 5/10
AUTHOR: PhenDog
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Buffy, Giles, or anything else except my beloved computer named “Slate.” (Obviously I don’t own them, or I’d own a lot more than Slate and you’d have to pay to read this.) The Buffyverse belongs to Joss, ME (yes I know, old joke), and a whole bunch of alphabetical TV networks, ‘specially now that it’s gone into syndication. Please don’t sue, I know I don’t have permission. Bad me. All my money went to bootleg X-files and Buffy episodes and Slate doesn’t want to leave me!
FEEDBACK: PLEASE!!! Lay it on me at PhenDog@hotmail.com Good feedback will be treasured, printed, and taped on my wall. Flames will be treasured, printed in large typeface, matted, framed, and hung with care on my door for all to see. Either way, you’ll be encouraging me to write more! Constructive Criticism treasured above all else.
Xander popped his head in, and Buffy looked up from the book she was reading. He was unsurprised to find her here, keeping watch, as ever, over her Watcher. It was amazing the rather understanding hospital staff hadn’t just pulled up an extra cot for her. He knew they thought she slept here often; they’d commented on walking in and finding her in that condition, holding his hand, though he knew many of those times she’d not been asleep at all. Instead, she’d been with him.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“What’s up?”
He sighed. “Dawn had to walk all the way home from school again today, because you forgot.”
Buffy’s eyes grew wide as she glanced up at the clock. “Oh my gosh! Is she upset? I didn’t even realize how late it was…”
“She’s fine, but…” he paused before pushing on. “Buffy, I understand. I really do, but you can’t live in this hospital forever and miss out on life out here in the real world. Giles already is; he wouldn’t want you to do the same.” It had been almost a month since the accident, and in the weeks since Willow had shown Buffy how to enter his mind, Buffy had been doing so at every opportunity.
“I know,” she sighed. “But I’m all he has.”
“Look, Buffy, I know I’m not the one who should be telling you this, but…”
“Xander, drop it. I’m not just going to leave him alone.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
“Good. Then don’t.”
She pulled out the ever-present crystal and clasped it to Giles’ hand, watching in satisfaction as it swirled with blue. “It’s time to visit him again, anyway.”
Xander shook his head, not wanting to argue, as she ignored him and began the chant under her breath that would take her into her Watcher’s world once more. Meanwhile, he found himself studying the still form that occupied the bed, looking far less than human with the various equipment and paraphernalia. Startled, he realized that he no longer thought of it as Giles…instead, it had simply become the vessel in which the man was so unfathomably trapped. He had no doubt that Buffy surely felt the same way—after she saw him healthy and vital every day with each visit. It was the only way to reconcile the dichotomy between the man they knew and the unfamiliar thing that occupied his place now.
With that thought, he forced himself to really look at the physical presence of the man who had been his guide in so many things, who had cared and given a damn, when no one else had. Even as Buffy slumped forward at the completion of her spell, Xander took in the pale, unhealthy, and almost grey cast of the Watcher’s skin, the way it sagged where it once had been filled out with muscle and fat. The cheeks were sunken and the skin under the taped eyes looked bruised. The hair was greasy, the sponge baths not sufficient to adequately resolve that, and longer than it should have been. Mentally, he made a note to ask one of the nursing staff if something could be done about it. The one thing he noticed more than anything, though, was how old Giles looked. The man had always been the adult of the bunch, but he’d always been one of the group as well, accepted as part of the youthful inner circle that seldom allowed such outsiders; now Xander was forced to notice all forty-nine years lying heavily on him, made tenfold by the stress of the latest ordeal.
He tried to ignore the painful itching, signaling the now familiar feeling of holding his grief in…first for Anya, and now for Giles. He would allow the tears to come, but alone, privately.
Xander walked over to Buffy’s slumped form and put a gentle hand to her back, sweeping aside her hair. “Good luck in there, Buff. Give him my love, too.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This time when Buffy opened the door, she found herself vaguely disoriented—it looked like the old high school library, but in a lot of ways it didn’t either. For one thing it was a lot bigger. For another it was far better decorated, with furniture that had never seen the wear and tear of student abuse, and a rather interesting collection of tasteful art and artifacts adorning the walls and brand-new alcoves. It was familiar, yet comforting and refreshing, as well.
It was also a bit odd to see her friends, particularly as she knew them now—Willow with her hair longer and Xander, bulkier and missing an eye—sitting at one of the tables as well. Their habits, as they sat apparently researching the latest big bad, were distinctly the ones they’d adopted in high school. Willow was intent on her reading, one leg tucked beneath her in the chair as she ran a finger along the page. Xander, meanwhile, seemed to be achieving a lot less, fidgeting frightfully and tapping a pen. Buffy approached them as he looked around impatiently and sighed, but, like all of her other experiences with the people that found their way into the scenes, both of them ignored her when she greeted them. She knew they’d continue to do so until Giles himself took noticed of her presence.
Spying a familiar book on the table, she snagged it, trying to remember exactly where she’d seen it before. The memory that assaulted her was instant—the twinge of fear at the unknown threat, concern over Olivia’s opinion, and an overwhelming sense of pride in his Slayer and the rest of the Scoobies for the relative ease with which they were handling the situation. Reading the title, she realized it was the book of fairytales which contained mention of the Gentlemen, and frowned slightly. It and the memories that accompanied it were out of place here as were the physical manifestations of her friends, all belonging to a different time than the room in which she now stood. That indicated strongly that this was something he’d constructed, but if so, where was he?
As if in answer to her thoughts, the door to his office suddenly opened to reveal her Watcher as he stepped through.
“Buffy?”
Immediately Willow and Xander looked up, acknowledging her presence now, their awareness of her so unquestionably tied to his. “Hey Buffster,” Xander called out as her other friend tossed her a wave and grinned.
Buffy looked briefly down at the book she was holding. The memories and impressions she’d been getting from it vanished as they always did when he was present in the scene with her, and she was grateful. The thoughts she’d received this time may not have been the slightest bit painful, but it still felt like an invasion of something intensely personal. “Hey you. Sixteen hours,” she informed her Watcher, giving him her now standard greeting, which included an estimate of how long it had been since the last time she’d entered his mind, as Willow and Xander returned their attention to their books.
Giles issued a curt nod, noting that it had apparently taken a bit longer to recover than the several times before. “You did overstay quite a bit last time, didn’t you?”
Buffy blushed, remembering the panic she’d felt when she’d finally looked down at her watch during the previous visit and realized she’d gone over the safe time by about twenty minutes. “It was a lot of fun though.”
“I’m glad. I’d love to be able to show you more, but I’m afraid it’d be something that’d be rather difficult to construct on purpose. Far too detailed. Places like this take long enough.”
When she’d walked in on him the last time, he’d been preparing displays at the British Museum, lost in the scene and unaware of her presence until she’d startled him into awareness. When she had, he’d relented to give her a tour of the Egyptian exhibits—at least the exhibits as they had been displayed ten years previously—before they’d run out of time. Buffy had found herself pleasantly surprised by just how interesting and engaging he could make it all seem, and really was quite wistful it hadn’t lasted longer. It was nice to drop in on something truly special once in a while.
“So hey, where were you?”
“My flat in Bath actually. I’m still trying to see if I can remember anything that might be of use in this situation,” he admitted, explaining why he’d once again bothered with a research setting. “I’d put together a rather impressive collection of newspaper clippings and felt the need to snag one, rather than bothering to create it all over again.”
Buffy looked at him with surprise. “So you can do more than one of these scenes by yourself?”
“Yes, though I’m afraid that I have to start from scratch every time I ‘lose’ myself, so it really isn’t worth the effort to bother too much. I’m afraid the flat is a bit, er, underdeveloped at the moment. Honestly though, I never really thought about the fact that they might stick around as actual presences when I moved between them.”
“Apparently, they do.”
“So it seems.”
“Er, hey Buff. Not to interrupt, but you remembered the snacks, right?” Xander asked, plaintively.
“Xander,” Willow hissed, chiding him for interrupting. “Can’t you ever think of anything else?”
“But a growing boy needs to eat…” he whined.
She looked at him appraisingly. “How much are you planning on growing, exactly?”
Giles frowned and the two figures almost seemed to blink for a moment before going back to quietly studying, quietly ignoring the other two figures in the room.
“Cool! You created them, too?” Buffy asked, approvingly.
“Yes, though I’m afraid they’re a bit flat and stereotyped personality-wise.”
“And, er, time-line challenged. They act like they’re still teenagers.”
His lips twitched. “Well it is the library.”
Buffy hid a giggle. “Sorta. Still, you’re getting better at it.”
Giles nodded, accepting her statement. It was true. The last time she’d seen one of his attempts at creating other characters into his realities, their movements had been jerky and their speech stilted, able to move and talk only with his extreme attention—literally nothing more than life-sized puppets.
“I still find it’s preferable to borrow someone I create accidentally if I can, though, either left over from a scene or that just happens to walk in when I’m not really thinking about it. They’re a lot more talkative at least, even if they tend to be a bit bewildering when I’m actually aware of myself. At times it’s hard to forget they aren’t real.”
Buffy grimaced, recalling some of the various characters she’d met during her trips into his mind. Still, she understood his need for companionship in whatever forms he might be able to find it, and she wasn’t about to belittle or deny him that. Then a thought occurred to her, and Buffy looked away shyly. “Do I, um, I mean, do you ever imagine I’m here, too? On purpose, or, uh, when you ‘lose’ yourself?” She’d never run into herself, save when she’d seen herself fleeing up the stairs toward Glory when she’d found him that very first time, but she realized there was no reason she wouldn’t be a fixture in other scenes as well.
“No, never on purpose. Not when I know the real thing will come to visit,” he told her truthfully, “but in the other scenes…” Giles felt his face redden, recalling many such instances. Most were completely innocent, but sometimes that wasn’t true. Sometimes she tortured him as Angelus had done. Other times she hurt him physically, mentally, or, at the very worst, emotionally, by rejecting him, laughing at him, teasing him, scorning him, or blaming him. Often he lived though her death, both the memory of it, and the hundreds of ways his angst-ridden mind imagined it might happen. Then there were times that were far different—times when they were happy and when she told him the things he’d always wanted to hear from her—he had no doubts in his own mind about what his true feelings toward her might be, even if he never expected to tell her or have them returned in reality. Finally, there were the times they almost made love. These he wanted so badly, but he had always managed to stop himself…to bring himself to awareness in time. It wouldn’t be fair to her. It would be a step that, if he ever allowed himself to go so far, even in the privacy of his mind, could never be taken back. Only with the real Buffy would he ever allow such things to happen, but the real Buffy would never want that, he knew. Not from him. “Yes,” he replied. “You…are a-an important person in my life, Buffy.”
“But how do you know that I’m real? That I’m not just another one of your figment people that you thought up ‘accidentally’? How do you know that this is me now?”
“Honestly? Sometimes I truly can’t tell.” He paused speculatively, asking himself the same question that she’d just asked and trying to articulate his thoughts into words for her. “Though…when you’re here, it feels different, somehow. I can feel that there’s someone else influencing things and the world seems a lot more stable. Besides, when I ignore the others long enough they go away. But you…you don’t go away when I ignore you.” There was a bit of a wry tone to his voice when he said the last.
“How flattering,” Buffy responded with her own light sarcasm. “Willow tried to visit you too, you know.”
Giles looked startled. “She did?”
“Yeah, a few days ago…but she couldn’t find the door. I, um, I guess something deep inside you wasn’t comfortable letting her in.”
He pursed his lips. “I wish I could control that as well. Not that you’re bad company at all, Buffy, but it would be wonderful to hear from the others as well.”
She nodded. “Hey, it’s okay. I understand completely.” Then she sobered, and she reached out a hand to his arm causing him to look up and meet her eyes. “So you can…make them go away now? Ignore it and make it disappear? Even the bad times?”
She watched as he glanced quickly down again, and she caught his expression before he could hide it. “I’m sorry,” Buffy whispered as she gripped his arm tighter.
“No, it’s…well, it’s just that they can be a lot harder to ignore. A lot harder to gain awareness of what’s actually going on.”
“But it isn’t real.”
“No, it’s not. I’m finally convincing myself of that. It does make it better in a way.”
Buffy looked down sadly. “But it makes it worse too, doesn’t it? It means the good stuff isn’t real either.”
Giles was positively amazed by her insight. It was true, but he hadn’t meant for her to know.
“I’m sorry. It must be…like hell,” Buffy whispered and he caught the hint of brightness in her eyes before she successfully hid it again.
Quickly, he tried to reassure her. “No, Buffy. It’s not that bad…really.” His voice was steady and calm, inflected perfectly to what he was saying, but Buffy knew him well enough to detect the slight under current.
The presence of the fake Willow and Xander in the room were completely forgotten, and she pulled him in to embrace him and lean her head on his chest, wishing she could give real comfort and knowing how futile that wish was. “No, Giles, don’t lie just to comfort me. Please. Not now,” she mumbled into his shirt. “Please don’t make this about me.”
Giles obeyed her command and didn’t say a word. Instead, he drew her in closer, letting his chin rest comfortably on her crown, smoothing the familiar vanilla-scented golden mane with one hand as he drew soft circles on her back with the other. He forced himself to enjoy the moment in the arms of the woman who was so precious to him.
In the real world, he’d been obligated to outwardly ignore his true feelings for her, to hide them and suppress them around her, keeping them only for himself, so that they might not endanger what remained of their tattered relationship and increase the risk in both their lives. The thought of her ultimate rejection had always been enough for him to dismiss any thought of pursuing a deeper love for his Slayer, no matter how strong it might be in his heart. But now…now that his entire world consisted of his thoughts and feelings, there were some things he could no longer ignore, even though he knew he still didn’t dare give into them, and each of her visits made it a little bit harder.
In the real world if she had turned him away, he could have gone away, maybe found a way to move on, as difficult as it would be. That’s why he’d left her before, after she’d come back to him a near zombie after being ripped from heaven; it was too painful to be so physically close to her, but pushed away at every turn. Since their battle with the First, he was finally starting to get her back in a capacity that, although not what he longed for, was enough. That was something he wouldn’t have risked losing in the real world, because the chance of return was simply too low, and he knew that. But here…losing her would be literally losing his last remaining connection to the world. The price was too dear.
He waited until his emotions were under control once more before he sighed and released her once more. Softly they reflected each other’s smiles, the expression joyless, but meaningful.
“So, how is it?” she asked, suddenly needing to know, recalling their last several conversations in which she’d managed to pry out of him the fact that things were getting worse; he was ‘loosing himself’ more often and she knew the nightmares and painful memories came for him when he did. She felt guiltily thankful that she’d not managed to walk in on anything worse than the few scenes she had witnessed, which included a funeral for Xander, Willow, and herself, and a pretty vicious fistfight from his Ripper days. Both had been easy to break him out of, but she knew there was always the chance of something far worse. “Have you seen the shadow again?”
“Er no. Not lately…but I feel it, lurking. Every time I ‘find’ myself again,” he said, using the terminology they’d adopted through unspoken agreement, “I can feel it sneaking back, just out of view.”
“You got lost again since I was here last?”
He nodded. “Right after you left.”
“It just keeps getting worse,” she observed flatly.
“Still no progress.” The way he said it, it wasn’t really a question.
She shook her head, feeling frustrated, and knowing that he must feel even moreso. “No.” They’d decided it was definitely some form of parasitic possession or infection, completely non-corporeal and affecting him only on a sub-mystical-mental level. Pure speculation was that it fed off his negative emotions, but only because of the increase of those it appeared to cause in him. Unfortunately, none of that information was the least bit useful in deciding how to deal with the continuing problem of getting him home. The only other attempt they’d made to get him home since their agreement to wait and see had been just as disastrous as the others, worse even, as the impacts of getting pulled back seemed to increase with every failed try.
He looked away as he asked his next question, knowing it would probably cause her pain. Still, it was something which had been occupying his mind quite a lot lately. “How am…um, tell me about my condition…out there.”
Giles looked up as he felt the hand on his face, cupping his cheek. “You’re stable,” she said, then swallowed the lump in her throat. “And they say there’s no sign of infection or, um…organ failure which they seem to think is one of the biggest concerns at this point. But they…there’s a lot of tubes and stuff to help you breathe, and eat, and…other things. And…you’ve lost a lot of weight.”
“Muscle atrophy.”
“Yeah. They say…they say that when you wake up, you might not even be able to walk right away, or even for a while…it’ll take time, but, hey, whatever it takes.”
Embarrassed at what her words meant, and at the possibility of having to rely on his friends for such simple things as lack of mobility would preclude, he started to pull away, but Buffy moved closer, sensing his thoughts.
Her thumb moved to gently stroke his cheek, and she gave him a sad smile. “Sorry…it’s so hard to think about when I come here and find you strong and healthy. This is how I remember you; it hurts to see you like that. I like you like this. Out there, I…I can’t even really see your face, and when I hold your hand, you don’t hold mine back.”
Giles covered her hand, still pressed to his face, with his own, and they looked at each other until the silence grew uncomfortable. Self-consciously, they both dropped their hands and took a step back.
“So,” he asked, dissolving the tension that had formed. “Tell me about ‘out there.’” It was the same question he’d asked so many times before, and Buffy struggled to reply, telling him about a world to which she herself was rapidly becoming an outsider.