Title: The Quality of Pain 1/3
Author: Sandra Pascoe
Pairing: B/G
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters don’t belong to me – I’m only borrowing them for a while … don’t suppose you’d consider letting me have Giles on a sort of timeshare basis?
Notes: This fic was inspired by the simply delightful song "End Game" on Anthony Head’s "Music for Elevators" album – the story popped into my head whilst I was listening to the song. I should warn you that there is a little bit of angst in this fic…
Setting: Season 6 (sometime after "Tabula Rasa")
Spoilers: Some Season 6 – nothing too extreme though!
Summary: After a few months in England, Giles returns to Sunnydale…
Rupert Giles pushed his way through the throng of people, his face set in a grim frown as he studiously ignored the joyful, noisy reunions taking place around him. The airport seemed particularly crowded and it was some time before he was finally outside, taking deep breaths of the slightly fruit-tinged air that he’d missed so much. That’s not all I’ve missed, he thought, tightening his grip on his case as he glanced around for a cab. So, why didn’t you tell them you were coming, he asked himself, what are you afraid of? Afraid? I’m afraid of hurting them … afraid that they’ll expect me to stay … expect me to put everything right. I can’t do that … not this time. Finally locating a cab, Giles settled himself in the back and stared blankly out of the window. One thing to do, he thought, I’ve got one thing to do and then I leave … for good this time.
In order to be as discreet as possible, Giles had booked himself into a hotel on the outskirts of Sunnydale. He glanced around the small room and sighed. Well, he thought, it’s only for one night. Opening his case, he located a couple of stakes and a small bottle of holy water. Slipping them into various pockets, he left his room and jogged quickly down the staircase. As Giles left the hotel, he glanced up, frowning at the dark sky. Not that you could really call this dark, he mused, not with the plethora of streetlights. Maybe I should go back … do this tomorrow morning. No, he thought, I have to do it now and it seems somehow appropriate that it should take place at night. As he walked, he glanced around with interest, noting how absolutely nothing had changed … it all seemed exactly as it was when he’d left. Should I have expected anything different? It all seems so … normal. Giles slowed slightly, aware that the odd passer-by had recognised him but not caring. Stagnating, he thought, that’s what I was doing. I was used when needed and then locked back in my box until the next time … and then it all changed. I was needed too much … used as a very convenient hook upon which were hung the problems and cares that … that … it wasn’t my place to deal with. Giles thrust his hands into his pockets and sighed. It wasn’t meant to happen like this.
Giles paused as he reached the open gates, swallowing nervously and glancing around. If I’m going to meet them anywhere, he thought, then it’s going to be here. He took a deep breath and stepped through the gates, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. Giles moved quickly and easily around the gravestones, his eyes searching restlessly. He stopped suddenly as he saw the fresh grave, the large assortment of flowers moving gently in the soft breeze. He walked forward mechanically, as if in a daze, his eyes never moving from the mound of earth in front of him. Giles dropped to his knees, reaching out a shaking hand to turn one of the cards over to read the inscription.
"Buffy, you were the best friend anyone could possibly have. You deserve peace. Love always, Willow."
That was all it needed. The final confirmation, the culmination of all his fears and nightmares. It’s true, he thought, this really is the end A small part of him hadn’t believed it, couldn’t accept that she’d died once more. Not now, not when there was so much left unsaid, so much left unspoken. When Willow phoned him, Giles had felt as though the whole world had ended … for the second time.
"I couldn’t do it," he said softly, the tears running freely down his face, "I’d buried you once … I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t watch them put you in the ground like … like before. That’s why I didn’t come … I couldn’t come to the funeral … couldn’t do it all over again."
Giles bent his head, the sobs tearing through him. The painful, heart-wrenching sobs of a man who never allowed himself to let go; a man who had finally reached his limit; a strong, resolute man who had suddenly found himself completely overwhelmed by emotion, who had taken more than he could possibly bear. A wealth of memories flooded through him and it seemed to last an eternity … each memory causing a fresh flood of tears, the torment and grief growing ever stronger. The memories didn’t blur; they were still fresh and new, as though they'd only happened yesterday. So many memories: their first meeting, when he’d come face-to-face with this fresh-faced young girl who didn’t want anything to do with the destiny thrust upon her; Buffy punching him when he tried to face the Master in her place; both of them kneeling on the ground outside the burning factory, holding each other and sobbing, her soft entreaty ringing in his ears: "You can’t leave me – I can’t do this alone."
"I did though, didn’t I?" He said softly as the sobs subsided. "I left you … left when you needed me the most … and look what happened. If I could change the past, if I could go back, then I would in a heartbeat. There are quite a few things I’d change."
Giles took a deep breath and settled himself more comfortably on the ground beside Buffy’s grave.
"Not you though, love," he said almost fondly. "I’d change myself. You see, when you died … the last time you died … well, it seemed as though a part of me died as well. You were gone … and it was so hard being here. Memories of you were everywhere … not least with that damnable robot they had me training. That’s when I finally realised, you see. Oh, I’d suspected for a long time but your death made me face up to a few things. I left for England because I simply couldn’t face being here without you."
Giles sighed heavily and shifted once more, running his hand gently over the mass of flowers.
"Then they brought you back," he continued, fixing his gaze upon one flower and frowning. "I didn’t really believe it … not until I saw you standing there … and felt your arms around me as you hugged me with such force. I promised myself then that I would tell you … but something held me back … a look in your eyes, a slight catch in your voice when you spoke. You tensed or walked away whenever I reached out a hand to you … I thought you’d realised, thought you found it … found me repulsive. You really had no idea, did you? You clung to me emotionally though, used me to sort out your problems … I meant what I said. I really was standing in your way. As long as I was around you’d never face up to your responsibilities, never be the best you could be. I should have tried harder though … I should have told you … maybe it would have given you the spark you needed … even if you had laughed in my face and pulled away from me." Giles took a deep breath and raised his head, gazing out across the still, silent graveyard. "So, have you worked it out yet? I can almost hear you going ‘ewwww’ and turning your nose up. It doesn’t really matter now. It’s too late but I’m finally going to say it. I love you, Buffy … I will always love you."