TITLE: WARLOCK 14/14
AUTHOR: vatwoman
DISCLAIMER: JOSS WHEDON, MUTANT ENEMY AND FOX/UPN OWN
EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE ‘BUFFY.’ NO INFRINGEMENT
INTENDED. THE CHARACTER OF KOVACS IS MINE.
FEEDBACK: YES PLEASE, TO VATWOMAN@Y...
It was cold sitting out on the porch, but Xander didn’t care. He’d rather be out here than be inside where his parents had been having the mother of all fights: still, at least they’d stopped throwing things. His mom’s aim had gotten pretty good over the years. She rarely missed now, even when she was drunk, something his dad had never figured out; he’d start a fight in the kitchen where his mom had weapons aplenty to hand and she’d let him have it. Guess he’d be going to the nearest yard sale tomorrow – mismatched crockery was a speciality of the Harris household. <That’s ok, it’s not as if I was planning on doing anything tomorrow>
Lightening crackled across the sky.
“One, one thousand. Two, one thousand Three, one thousand. Four …”
The muffled sound of thunder broke into his counting. Just over three miles away. <Getting closer, then> As if in cue the rain hardened, bouncing off the shingles on the roof of the porch deafening for an instant before it steadied to a sound as loud as the thunder should have been.
Xander got up out of the porch swing and stepped across to the rail. The rain was warm on his hand. It tasted warm, too; funny, given how cold the air was.
More lightening. “One, one thousand, two …” <What had Giles told him?> He screwed his eyes up, trying to remember the conversation: Restfield Cemetary and the town’s last night of thunder, four months ago. <Oh, yeah> He smiled at the memory of he and Giles sitting on the steps of the Barron family vault, under the overhanging roof, sheltering from the rain whilst Buffy pummelled the latest newbie vamp. He’d counted out the thunder then, too, but that time Giles had laughed and told him that they didn’t count thunder that way where he came from.
<I miss him. I miss him and I don’t know if I should be grieving for him>
Four days now. Four days since Giles had disappeared and Xander felt like his life was on hold. They seemed to be waiting for someone to call it. Buffy. Ms Calendar. Who had the right here, the Slayer or the lover? He didn’t know. Willow didn’t know. So they waited, lives on hold: and he’d stay here, on the porch, watching the rain, until someone told him that it was okay to get on with his life.
He looked up at the sky as it was lit by another arcing flash of light. “Hey, G-Man, you listening?” He smiled and began counting out. “One hippopotamus. Two hippopotamus. Three …”
>>>>>>
The house lights flickered again – as they’d done with every flash of lightening – causing Willow to glance up nervously from her computer screen. The storm seemed to have been rolling around for days … ever since Giles left.
She refused to believe that he’d died. <No way! No sir! Dying without saying goodbye? Too un-Giles-like. Giles doesn’t just … he wouldn’t just …> She chewed her lip. She hadn’t thought about it a lot, but sometimes … them dying. She’d always imagined Giles would go in a ‘stiff – upper – lippy – kiss – me – Hardy’ sort of way. Or maybe like something out of Shakespeare; the principal character ‘s dying and still manages a five minute monologue before the sword thrust he’d taken to the heart actually kills him.
The research was going nowhere. She’d thought maybe there was something she could do. Something she could find among the books they’d scanned that would tell her what had happened to Giles, but if there was, she couldn’t find it. Four days now. <I don’t even know what I’m looking for> She’d started with the light, then the blast, then the earth scouring wave that had rolled over them … and had found nothing. <Giles would know where to look>
That thought had been running through her head ever since she’d sat down at her screen: Giles would know where to look. <Cos he always does> Every book. Every manuscript. She’d watch him sometimes, whilst he researched. She’d watch him read a book, slowly and carefully, close it and then sit there with his eyes shut, brow furrowed in concentration. She’d seen him once sit like that, completely motionless, for fifty-two minutes, then get to his feet and walk deep into the stacks to return with the answer to that day’s problem, in the form of two sentences in a 13th century religious tract written in medieval French.
<Giles would know where to look> But he wasn’t here and so it was up to her … and not getting it done wasn’t an option. <Cos this is Scooby stuff and, hey, founder member!>
The rain was falling harder again, lashing her bedroom windows. She couldn’t remember the last time it had rained this heavily for this long. The overflow drains were overflowing, turning roads into rivers. The days had been almost as dark as the nights. Maybe this rain was something Hellmouthy? She sighed and began a new search of the database. <Giles would know where to look>
>>>>>>
“What’s the time?”
Angel looked up at the still dark sky. “A little after 5.”
“It’ll be light soon.”
“I’ve got a while yet.”
“Good.” Buffy leaned back into Angel’s embrace, pushing her head further into his neck. He tightened his arms around her. “Vamps’ll be on their way home now.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” The rain fell all about them obscuring the headstones. Heavy drops came off the canopy above their heads, but neither noticed anymore. They’d been patrolling for four nights now in this rain and neither noticed anymore. “This rain is something Hellmouthy, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so, Buffy.”
“I think so. Giles would too and he’d know where to look it up.”
Angel rubbed his cheek across her hair. “Maybe Willow can look?”
“I guess.”
He grimaced. The colour had gone from her voice and the energy that made her Buffy had disappeared. She fought by rote and her lifelessness concerned him greatly. Giles was gone and Buffy was following him.
“Angel?”
“Yes?”
He steeled himself for the question he knew was coming; the one she’d asked him every night since Giles had disappeared.
“I can’t feel him anymore. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know.”
“If he’s not, then where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
She was quiet for a while and then asked, “Have you known any other Watchers?”
“A few.”
“After you became Angel?”
“Yes.”
“What were they like?” She sat back a little so she could see his face. “Were any of them like Giles?”
Angel smiled a little. “I don’t think there’s ever been a Watcher like Giles.”
“Yeah …” Buffy’s smile echoed his for just a second and then it fell away. “… but he’s gone now.”
“Buffy …”
“No.” She shook he head. “He’s gone and we’ve … I’ve … got to accept that. Do you think the Council will send a replacement?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.” She stopped, frowned, and then finished in a fierce voice. “But it won’t be Giles.”
“No.”
Buffy turned all the way around and pressed her face against his chest. “I miss him, Angel.”
“So do I.”
The rain fell all around them, obscuring the headstones.
“D’you think this rain is ok?” She asked him.
“I don’t know. How about we ask Willow?”
She thought about that for a second or two. “Yeah …”
>>>>>>
“Rupert?” Jenny called out and then she was awake and remembered that calling for him was useless.
The clock on the bedside table said 5.30am. School days she’d be getting up in an hour, but this was Saturday and she’d been dreading this. The bed beside her was cold. Her hand, stretched across it, rested where he would lie.
She was obsessing, she knew it. Everything was where he’d left it. She walked around his home like a ghost, leaving no imprint of herself. She followed the same path, walking the same route from front door to kitchen, to bathroom, to living room, to bedroom, so that everything that was him remained him.
The first night he’d been gone she’d lain on his side of the bed, face pressed into his pillow, breathing him in. In the morning she’d rolled away, horrified at what she’d done, that she’d risked losing even the most intangible piece of him. And then the memories had come flooding back. The way his morning persona entranced her: his eyes would immediately seek her out and darken in passion and joy when he found her. These were his most unguarded moments. He would smile, sleepy and warm, and kiss her, and hold her to him, and laugh softly, and slip inside her, and come with her, delighting in their love.
She remembered the first time she saw him: the archetypal ‘stiff Brit.’ She hadn’t been able to resist it – deflating his ego – to find that none if it was ego. That realisation had made her look at him again with clearer eyes and in doing so she’d found the contradictions that he’d so carefully camouflaged: the obscenely expensive cologne splashed on a body toned by Slayer training, that was hidden beneath crumpled shirts and battered tweed; the pierced ear with no earring; the absolute tone of command that occasionally escaped the confines of good humoured exasperation. She loved his contradictions, loved everything about him, and she wanted him back, but now he was dead.
There. She’d admitted it.
She closed her eyes on the empty bed beside her. She’d seen the house, with him inside, enveloped in a fierce, cold, blue white light and disappear in a concussive blast that had scoured clean the earth around them: four nights ago. And she’d felt him in that blast – all pure, unwavering, purpose and goodbyes.
She rolled onto her back. The rain pounded off the roof. ‘Angels’ tears’ she once heard rain called. She didn’t believe anymore in gods and angels and the power of ultimate good: odd, given that she believed in the power of ultimate evil.
Time. She just needed time. Time and she’d get past this.
5.45am. The rain hardened, a thunderous drumbeat of sound. Rain had been part of his life, not hers. Rain had made him smile.
Getting up, she put on a robe and went downstairs. The air was chill with the rain. Thunder boomed outside and a crackle of light threw the apartment into momentary light. She shivered. She could hear the rain lashing the courtyard outside the front door; drawn, she opened it. It was still very dark outside, the storm keeping the morning light away just as it had for the past few days – days that had been as dark as her thoughts.
Lightening flashed across the sky once more, turning the rain silver before her eyes, as it obscured like a veil through which she saw the small courtyard fountain only dimly.
The shuddering coolness of the air hit her, making her pull his robe more tightly around her. Lightening strobed again and the static in the air made her skin crawl. She could smell the rain, the slight ozone odour of it, mixed with the smell of the earth: wet and musty. She wondered if this was what Britain smelled like; washed, but somehow grounded. The tears came then, tears she’d denied herself for so long now. She stepped out into the rain, raised her face to the sky and let the angels’ tears mix with her own. Soaked by the deluge, the tears became sobs; of loss and of despair.
“Rupert!” The keening cry was shouted to the heavens and answered by a clamour of thunder. The lightening followed almost immediately, directly overhead, freezing the moment in a brilliant blue white light …
… and he was there in front of her, staring at the sky just as she had been.
“Rupert?” The hesitation in her voice was matched by the start-stop of her move towards him.
For a long time he didn’t move, then he closed his eyes and smiled as he let the rain wash down his upturned face. Finally he turned his gaze on her. “Hello, Jenny.”
The matter-of-factness of his greeting made her gasp, a sound she immediately muffled incase the unexpectedness of it should make him disappear again. He held out his hand to her and she felt her heart lurch. <I can take his hand. I can take his hand he’ll be real. I can take his hand and he’ll be real and I can hold him here>
His grasp was as she remembered it – warm and strong – his big hand engulfing hers. The calluses were the same, the knobbles of his knuckles the same …
… and she was in his arms, enfolded against his chest, his heartbeat a different thunder in her ear. His hands crept into her hair. “God, you’re soaking!” He held her away from him so that he could look at her, smiled, and then kissed her, a hot, wild, passionate thing.
Breaking off, she looked up at him in wonder. He looked so different. It wasn’t just the fact of his having no glasses, or that his wet hair was curling wildly, it was if he was newly made into the world. He was practically glowing.
She touched his face. “Rupert, what happened?”
“A game. A trade-off. I turned his sponsor against him. Provided it with a little amusement and in return it provided me with some control. “ His face darkened. “Even so, I nearly killed you all.”
“The blast.” Jenny nodded, understanding. “I felt it. It was so strong. I felt you in it. You disappeared. Where have you been?”
He blinked slowly and the raindrops on his eyelashes winked at her with the slowly brightening sky. “There were things to discuss. A price was demanded.”
“But the trade-off …”
“… is never an equal one, not with these creatures.”
“What did you give it?”
“A piece of me … a piece of what makes me, me.” And then because he’d taken in for the first time the fact that they were where they were, he asked. “Why did you leave? How did you get back here so quickly? I thought … I thought I wasn’t gone long … ten minutes … fifteen at the most …”
She framed his face with her hands and when she spoke it was with the gentlest of voices. “It’s been four days.”
“Oh …” They stood there with the rain beating down on their heads. So many emotions passing across his face. Across hers. He passed a fingertip, whisper soft, over the lines on her brow. “You must have been worried.”
She nodded. “And then some.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Kovacs is dead, isn’t he?”
Giles took a deep breath, “I hope so … for his sake.” And knew that deep in his soul, he was lying.
“What will it do with it?”
Hecate – he knew Jenny was talking about the demon goddess. “It’ll use it. It’ll use it to call me to its side. Someday.”
And he saw a look of pure determination settle on her face. They were in this together, it said. Whatever was to be faced, they would face it together. “But not today, right?”
A helpless smile started to form on his lips <I love this woman so much> “No,” He agreed, “Not today.”
“Ok … good.” She breathed in and out, twice, quickly. “That’s good.” The next indrawn breath was a deep one and cleansing. “So, is this you?” She rolled her eyes up to the sky and waved a hand to indicate the relentless rain.
He let his smile broaden. “No, but I can stop it if you want?”
Eyes brightening, swallowing heavily, she laughed. ” ‘Want me to change the weather for you?’ New pick up line, huh?”
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Is it working?”
“Might be.” The pretend-coy response slipped out automatically before she realised that she didn’t want to play this game. She stepped into him, curled her arms around him in a tight hug and spoke in a voice so close to a whisper. “I was sure I’d lost you.”
He cradled her head and tilted it back so that he could look into her eyes – and gave her his promise. “You’ll never lose me.” He kissed her. “Come on …” He tossed his head towards his front door. “… let’s get in out of the rain.”
END
5th June 2002.