Title: England and the Afterlife 4/7
Author: Saint Buffy
Feedback: I'll make it easy for you: `Dear Saint B, I really enjoyed this fic.' Now cut, paste and send.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue

Whatever her life becomes, whatever heights she reaches, whatever prizes are won, she knows who she is now. She can't even say it, although a voice somewhere inside her has been whispering terrible words ever since she fell to her knees on the cliff top, overwhelmed with who she had become.

Sometimes she can look at all this quite rationally. She can see the progression from good to arrogance; from good to evil. She can see the way in which it was all inevitable, that hubris demands justice, that justice demands penance.

She can see Tara in her mind without the world dissolving around her at the image. Sometimes she can look people in the eye.

But between these times, when she feels like it's night even during the heat of the day, she can hardly move without something overwhelming. Love, grief, guilt; somehow they become tangled in her mind, tangled into an overwhelming confusion of something she can't speak, can't get out of herself. At these times, she longs to be able to go back to her mother, to have her mom hold her and her father give her answers. But she's long since learnt that her mom loves a Willow so far from her own; that her father has answers for a world she left six years ago.

At bad moments, moments when she wishes she had swallowed the world with her grief, she wonders if Tara could have loved her. Because the person she was then was blind to the truth of the person she is now. At these bad moment, she wonders if they all still love her like they say. It seems as if it is all a huge hypocrisy of guilt and anger masked as abiding love. Because how can they. How can they still love her, not only after all she has done, but when she doesn't have even the smallest love for herself.

Buffy pushed the door open quietly and peeked in. Willow sat by the window, as usual, hands folded neatly in her lap, staring blankly out of the apartment. Buffy shut the door and turned back to the living room.

"How is she?" Giles asked in a low voice as she sat back down at Xander's glass dining table.

Buffy shrugged and gave him a look, feeling that no words could possibly come near. He nodded, eyes full of understanding.

She still had difficulty meeting Giles's gaze sometimes. And it seemed to follow her, worriedly, whenever she was in the room. She expected him to be angry whenever their eyes did meet; she almost wished he was. It was easier to face someone else's anger than your own.

Spike- now there was someone she really didn't want to think about, but he had told her, after she came back, that every night when she was dead he dreamed of saving her. At the moment, in the nights following the apocalypse, Buffy felt something of the same. Every night since it happened, she found herself going over the day when Giles came back. In her mind, she didn't leave him when Willow sent that fireball after Jonathan and the others; in her mind, when Anya told them that Giles was dying, she begged the demon to give him a message, one she couldn't quite frame. She clawed her way out of the ground and ran back to him. She left Dawn. She killed Willow. She stayed with Giles and Dawn, Xander, Jonathan and the other one all died.

Anything but the reality of what had happened. When Anya told them- when she said that- her mind had refused to accept that he might soon be dead. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism, designed to keep her going. It didn't feel like that. It felt like cowardice, it felt like she had abandoned him, again, when he needed her. Giles- his life had been so important, not just to her, but to the world. He had such wisdom, courage and strength, and yet just days ago he lay in a ruin, dying, with only a demon for company.

Buffy couldn't hide a shiver and her hand reached out convulsively to grasp at Giles's wrist as he loosely held a mug of tea. He looked up in surprise.

"Buffy?" he asked. She could feel his blood pulsing comfortingly, warmly, through his wrist.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, unable to say anything else. He smiled at her, releasing the mug to grip her hand back. His fingers were warm.

"Thank you," he said softly, eyes searching hers. She looked back, looking for any trace of the blame she herself felt. There was none.

"I don't deserve you, you know," she said, trying to keep her hand steady in his.

"Nonsense," he said shortly, calmly, but his grip on her was just as fierce.

Willow watched from the bedroom door, her throat burning. She grabbed hold of the doorframe and hung on, feeling weak, feeling sick. In front of her, neither of them noticed, staring at each other as if they were the only people on earth. She remembered that feeling. She watched them for a long moment then moved back, closing the door again behind her.

The front door opened. Xander came in, followed by Dawn, who was talking in a low voice.

"…The red one. But, I dunno, maybe the blue one would have suited her better, but she really liked the red, so I figured-"

"How was Janice?" Buffy asked in a low voice, standing up. Giles felt the warmth of her hand leaving his with an almost physical ache and hid it by curling his hand into a loose fist. Xander crossed the room quickly to check on Willow.

"Great," said Dawn. "She said I could stay over, but Xander said there was a meeting, so…" She came and sat down at the table. "What's going on?"

Giles was silent. Buffy waited until Xander sat at the table before she started to speak.

"We need to talk about what happens next," she said.

"How was she?" Xander asked in a low voice, nodding towards the bedroom.

"Okay," Buffy replied. "We talked a bit… the weather, what she wanted to eat. Then Giles spoke to her for a while before she went back to sleep." Giles gave a grim smile, sitting forward at the table.

"Actually, I…" he began. He cleared his throat. "I made a few suggestions, and Willow agreed to one," he said carefully. Xander sat up.

"Well, what?" he said.

"I could take her back to England with me," Giles said.

Buffy watched him, in shock. He had said he was going back to England, so calmly she couldn't believe it.

"The coven have said they will take her in for a while, to, er, assist her recovery. They have experience in these things…" Giles sighed. "Frankly I think they are the only people who can truly help Willow at the moment, or at least, ensure she doesn't become a danger again."

Xander said something, but for the life of her, Buffy couldn't hear him. She was still staring at Giles. Would he be coming back? When would he be leaving? Suddenly his eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. Their gaze held until Dawn spoke.

"Rehab?"

"She can stay here until you go to England," Xander said. "That way she won't see much that'll upset her. After that…"

"We'll think about after that after that," Buffy said briskly, standing up. "At least we know what's happening now."

She didn't think she had got her hopes up, but still, they must have been up. She could tell by the spectacular way they had plummeted as soon as Giles told them of his plan to go back to England. And yet he was still acting as if there was nothing wrong, talking normally as he drove the hire car back to Buffy's house, joking with Dawn.

Buffy thought she must have the thing totally wrong. But he had said he was sorry he had left, he said he missed her, and he certainly acted like he was pleased to be around her again, even despite all the worry that surrounded them. It had been nice, even just things like washing up, talking about stuff. Even talking to Willow, dealing with that had been easier with Giles around to talk to.

As soon as they got back to the house, Giles made another phone call to England. Buffy scowled as Dawn talked about some assignment she was supposed to do.

"…So if I write it up, will you check it for me?" she asked. Buffy looked at her, realising she hadn't heard a word of what her sister had been saying, too busy trying to listen in on Giles's conversation in the hall to concentrate on her sister. Neglecting her again. She felt a guilty rush.

"Of course," she said. Dawn smiled and headed upstairs, obviously satisfied anyway. Buffy heard Giles hang up the phone and went through, following him into the living room.

"What is it?" she said as he sat on the sofa with a sigh. She sat beside him.

"Nothing. There's just a few things I need to sort out," he said, sounding distracted. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We'll have to go back earlier than I thought."

"To England?" said Buffy, sitting up slightly. He nodded.

"Yes," he said. Buffy scowled and got up to pace the room. "Buffy?"

"Are you coming back?" she asked. "Why won't you talk about that?"

Giles looked down, pushing his hands into his pockets. "You didn't ask. I didn't think it was important."

"Imp-" Buffy sat down on top of her weapons chest. "Giles, you're my watcher. You're meant to be with me."

He was silent for a long moment. "I hardly deserve that title any more."

She stared. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You died, and-"

"Just because I died doesn't mean you stopped being my watcher," Buffy interrupted, not caring if that made sense. Giles glared.

"That's not what I was going to say. When you- last year, I couldn't save you, and I'm meant to lay down my life for yours. I'm meant to protect you, keep you alive. But I failed."

Buffy looked down at him for a moment, surprised that he was opening up like this, even though she had asked for it. "Giles, it's not your fault I died," she said softly. "It goes with the territory. Everyone was expecting it to happen sooner rather than later."

"That's not what I mean," Giles said, quietly but forcefully. "Being your watcher still means I should- I must protect you. But I wasn't given the chance. All I could do was stand there. You are the world's only hope, and yet you just let yourself-"

"What?" Buffy said, trying to stop herself from yelling. She stared at him, incredulous. "You're pissed that I died." He looked away. "You are, you're pissed at me for dying, I heard it in your voice. Well I'm sorry my death was so-"

"Yes, I am," Giles said, standing up suddenly. Buffy shut her mouth. "I hate it, but I am. I am in awe of the sacrifice you made, I understand why you did it, and, and I admire you for it, but I…" He took a breath. Buffy noticed he was trembling. Shaking his head, Giles met her eyes. "You left me." His voice was bleak. "You died, and I…"

"So you wanted me to know how it felt?" Buffy said, voice icy. "You left me back?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Giles snapped.

"Then why? Especially if you knew how it felt!"

"I wasn't dead this year, Buffy. Despite what you may think, England is not the afterlife!"

"Shut up!" Buffy yelled at him. "How could you? I've told you over and over, I don't know how to- I don't know who I am without you."

"`How could I?'" Giles repeated. He took a step towards her. "How could *you* do it, Buffy? You jumped! I had to bury you, mourn you, live without you. I had to pick up your dead body and carry it away from that fucking tower and I had to stay in this place while it haunted me with every memory I had of you."

She stared up at his face. She had never seen him life this; his expression, usually so calm, now torn up with grief and rage. He took a deep breath, obviously trying to steady himself.

"And it was no better in England," he continued. "Here, I couldn't move without something reminding me of you. Back there, it was as if you had never existed. The people, the places…" He gave a short humourless laugh. "I kept finding myself searching through my things for proof you had been alive. I tried to move on, I tried to… but there was no point. My life ended with yours." He was calmer now, but it was a frightening calm, far from his usual reassuring state. He sat down heavily on the coffee table, clasping his hands, looking defeated, and worse- looking tired. "I can't do that again, Buffy. I'm sorry. I don't have the strength."

Buffy looked away, sitting back down. She had never let herself think about Giles's reaction to her death, but now she knew. She let herself picture him, his grief; it was easier now he had opened up to her. Then she shook her head and looked back at him.

"So you ran back to England," she said coldly. "You can't handle me dying? You should have picked another job. It's not like I wanted it to happen, any more that I wanted to come back and- do it again some time. I need you here," she said simply. "You…" She paused, trying to sum it up, to tell him why she needed him there, but she failed. She just couldn't put it into words.

She changed the subject. "In the Magic Box, you said you were sorry you left."

He looked up. "I was. Before I left, I could see the path Willow had begun to take. I knew you were in pain, I knew Dawn was alone, but I knew you were leaning on me too much and I used that as an out, despite everything else that was going on. I should have waited until things were more settled, but I thought…" He looked away again. "I regret that."

"You said you were sorry. You made it sound like you were staying," Buffy continued. He nodded.

"But I thought that- well. Things were different then," he replied, vaguely.

"But you're not staying," Buffy finished. He met her gaze.

"I don't think I can," he said.

The battle continued in their gaze, his pleading, hers fierce. Suddenly Dawn's voice cut through, calling down to Buffy.

She pushed herself up.

"Try harder," she said, and left the room.

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