Title: Gift of a Future 14/?
Author: Gileswench
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome.
Praise abjectly sought.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy,
etc., etc., etc. I just let them have all the fun Joss
won't. I own nothing except my twisted mind which you
really don't want. Please don't sue.
"Beverly," Picard protested half-heartedly as the redhead rained kisses on his face, "We really ought to go back now."
"Do we have to?"
"I'm afraid so. It's nearly dark, and I don't think we're going to find the robot here."
Beverly groaned slightly and laid her head on the captain's shoulder.
"Does it make me a bad officer if I don't care very much about finding a runaway robot?"
"Don't make me put you in the brig for dereliction of duty," Picard joked."I shouldn't like an audience of prison guards when we meet."
She pulled back slightly and smiled at him.
"I wouldn't want any audience at all," she said. "So I guess I'll have to break out of my cell."
"Dr. Crusher! This is mutiny."
"Not yet, but I'm working on it."
Beverly rested her forehead against Picard's as they both laughed. A moment later, Picard gave a light squeeze to Beverly's waist.
"We really ought to go now," he reminded her.
"I know," she agreed. She took a long look around the room, with its charred walls and fire-damaged torture devices. "Jean-Luc?"
"Yes, Beverly?"
"I really hope you're not going to call this 'our place'."
"Perhaps we can find another place and pretend it's ours."
"Oh, I don't know," came a voice from a corner. "A little music, a few candles, a bottle of wine...really, I think this could be a very romantic place."
Q snapped his fingers and suddenly the room was aglow with candles and a gypsy violinist serenaded enthusiastically in Picard's ear.
"There now," Q prompted. "Isn't that better?"
Picard shrank from the violinist and glared at his nemesis.
"Q," he growled. "What do you want?"
"Oh, I don't know? A loaf of bread, a jug of wine and...someone to share it with, perhaps?" He looked at Picard's hands, still around Beverly. "Am I interrupting something? Go on, don't mind me."
Q continued to gawk frankly at the captain and his lady. Beverly carefully extracted herself from Picard's embrace.
"I think the mood is already broken," she said.
"Is it something I said?" Q asked innocently.
"Q," said the captain in a warning tone.
"Oh all right." Q snapped his fingers again and the violinist and candles disappeared. "I just thought you might want to know that there's trouble at the mill."
"What mill? I don't have time for guessing games."
"You certainly don't, Jean-Luc. Your Lieutenent Commander Data is causing all manner of trouble and, as captain, you are responsible for the actions of your crew. So get going and get captaining!"
The entity snapped his fingers once more and Picard and Beverly found themselves in the middle of the Magic Box.. All eyes turned to them.
"How did you guys do that?" Dawn asked. "That was so cool!"
Picard straightened his jacket as he gathered himself.
"Well," he said at last. "What seems to be the problem?"
*****
"What do I want?" Giles asked in a slightly bewildered tone. "Right now, do you mean?"
"That'd be a start," Buffy teased him.
"I - I don't really know what to say."
"Have you ever played Anywhere But Here?"
"I'm fairly sure I haven't."
Buffy smiled to herself.
"I didn't think you had. All you do is you say, if you could be anywhere in the whole world with anybody you want, where you'd be, who'd be with you, and what you'd be doing. Will and I used to play it all the time."
"Buffy..." Giles demurred.
"I'll even go first and show you how it's done," she offered. She thought seriously for a moment. Giles almost laughed at the expression of concentration on her face. At last she smiled again and spoke. "I'm in Paris, at a little sidewalk cafe on the left bank with a handsome, tall, European guy. We're drinking esspresso and eating croissants and he's telling me I'm his entire life and he'll never, ever leave me. And he doesn't. Leave me, that is."
"Not even to go into the next room?"
Buffy considered for a moment.
"He can have five minutes off once a week, and a day every once in a while when I want to go shopping."
"That's very generous of you."
"You're not wrong about that," she grinned back. "Okay, now it's your turn. Where are you?"
Giles gazed into the distance. It was a long time before he spoke.
"I'm by the beach. I've rented a place and brought you along - all of you. The whole Scoobygang, as it were, lovers and little sisters included. You're all swimming and picnicking...being young. And we're all safe. No vampires, no demons, no Hellgods, no graveyards, no bloody destiny. Just sun and sand and warmth. And perhaps a good book or two, but nothing to do with prophecy. I'd like that very much, I think."
Buffy looked at the ground. Her brow furrowed. Giles jostled her slightly with the arm he had around her shoulders.
"Buffy, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," she lied quickly. "Just trying to imagine you in a swimsuit. It's not working."
"I'll give you a hint; it's not tweed."
"But I bet there's at least five layers to it, isn't there?" Buffy frowned at him. "Giles, why did you say the beach? You hate the beach."
"I do not hate the beach," he protested. "Much," he amended in response to Buffy's steely gaze.
"As long as I've known you, you've always complained about how the weather here is always sunny and it's too hot and not English enough. So why did you pick the beach?"
Giles removed his arm from around Buffy and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Because you like it so much. All of you. You seemed to spend almost every day there last summer."
Buffy regarded her Watcher oddly.
"Giles, did you...I know we never really invited you, but you knew it was only because we didn't think you'd like it, right?"
When Giles didn't immediately answer, Buffy stood and continued.
"Besides, the whole point of Anywhere But Here is to say where *you* want to be, and what *you* want to do, and you said where Willow and Xander and I like to be and what we like to do. You're playing it all wrong."
"I didn't know there was a wrong way to play it," Giles said mildly as he stood.
"Well you found one," Buffy retorted. "Trust you to be the one. Y'know, for someone as stuffy and British as you are, you aren't good at following the rules to anything."
"Unlike a certain Slayer of my acquaintance?"
"I'm the kid. And the American. I'm supposed to be the one who gets out of line."
"How exactly is it out of line that I want to keep you safe and happy? I rather thought that was what I was here for in the first place."
"Because you get paid to do it. Because you didn't get a choice."
"I did have a choice," he reminded her gently. "For nearly two years it was entirely my choice. I chose to stay. I chose you."
Buffy looked at the ground. Her body tensed at his words.
"Don't say that," she ordered.
"Why not?" Giles barked. "Why should I not say what I feel? You poke and prod me to tell you what I want and when I do, you blow up at me. Why? Would you prefer I didn't care about you at all? Was I supposed to say I wanted to be in England, alone and unmolested by the people I care about most in the world? Did you think for one minute I could imagine my life without you in it?"
All at once, they found themselves in a lush, blandly yet tastefully decorated penthouse apartment. Both were dressed in designer clothing and held glasses of wine. Buffy's hair was swept up into an elaborate tumble of curls and her makeup was twice as thick as anything she'd ever applied to her own face. Giles wore contact lenses instead of his glasses, his hair was artistically tousled, and his silk shirt was undone halfway to his navel. There was saccharine music playing in the background in a very minor key.
"What the - " Buffy began.
"Oh dear lord," breathed Giles.
"Welcome to another installment of As The Stomach Turns," came a stentorian voiceover. "Last week, Rupert told Buffy he wanted to be with her forever, all the while completely ignoring the fact that a mere six months ago he was contemplating leaving on a jet plane to Timbuktu. This week, Buffy told Rupert she's looking for yet another brainless boytoy who will leave as soon as he's had his way with her, allowing her to be heartbroken without the worry of actually caring that the particular fellow is gone. As we join our story, Buffy and Rupert share a glass of wine and whine at each other some more."