Transitions - Ch. 11

As Buffy packed her own suitcase, she was overcome, suddenly, with the conviction that nothing she brought would be right, that she'd embarrass Giles in front of his family, and that everybody would think she was some stupid, slutty, ignorant, little American bimbo. Every blonde joke she'd ever heard in her life flooded through her head. She took everything out again and spread it across the floor.

Yuck. She hated every single item of clothing she owned. God, what had she been thinking?

She sat cross-legged in the middle of the piles, wanting to cry all over again. Nobody would like her. Nobody would want to talk to her. She'd never been further away from California than Illinois, where her Aunt Eileen lived, and the thought of flying all the way to a foreign country terrified her.

She was going to stick out like a sore thumb. What did English girls wear?

Buffy thought of icky Gwendolyn Post, who'd rated a perfect ten on the drab-o-meter. And Moira, in her Emma Peel track-clothes and ultra tailored suits. If she tried to dress like Moira, she'd look like a little kid wearing her mommy's clothes.

She hated her name, too. English women were actually named things like "Gwendolyn"--which was a mondo ugly name, for sure, but at least didn't sound frivolous--or Moira or Sarah or Diana. British people were so gonna make fun of her. She just knew it.

Forget this, Buffy thought, and took Giles's bag down instead--but the minute she opened the closet door she got struck by a massive case of tweedophobia, and she'd rather have staked five hundred vampires, than had to deal with his socks and underwear. They were perfectly decent socks and underwear, all folded or rolled up neat and tidy in their own dresser drawers but they scared her.

She glanced over at Giles, napping peacefully on the bed with the pillows piled on top of his head--which she'd figured out was pretty much his usual sleeping position. What should she be packing? What stuff did guys actually need? Judging from that pile o' possessions he'd brought along for that one little camping trip he'd taken back in the fall, Giles was pretty much a something-for-every-occasion type guy. She was sure to forget half the stuff he'd want later.

And Buffy didn't even want to think about shaving materials, or other guy-toiletries. For different reasons, neither Angel nor Hank-the-Wonder-Dad had prepared her for this kind of thing.

When someone knocked on the door, Buffy welcomed the interruption the way a drowning person would welcome a life-ring. She peeked through the peephole--Willow and Xander again. Oh, thank God.

Buffy let them in immediately.

"What's up, Buffy?" Willow asked the minute she stepped in through the door. She seemed to have abandoned hope on the whole fried-hair issue and gone instead for burying the damage under a red-and-yellow knit hat. "You look...okay, you just look." She dumped her backpack onto the floor, beside the book-box mountain.

Buffy slouched across the living room to sprawl on the couch. "We have to go to England."

"Is that us 'we' or you guys 'we?'" Willow sat beside her, tucking up her legs and fussing with one of the straps of her tomato-colored overalls.

"We guys we. Giles and me."

"You're leaving the Hellmouth? Both of you?" Willow's eyes widened.

"Giles's mom died. Just kinda one more thing for him, poor guy. He got sort of un-Gileslike for a minute there."

Will's face got the saddest little look, while Xander appeared confused. "Giles's mom's still alive?" He slumped on the zig-zag chair.

"Not any more. That's kind of the point."

"Well, yeah," Xander said. "Was alive, I mean."

"And that's not the weirdest," Buffy said. "His son called to tell him. Giles's son." The more she thought about it, the stranger that made her feel.

"That was nice, wasn't it?" Willow gave a gloomy little smile. "Of Sebastian to call, I mean. It's late there, in England."

Sebastian? Buffy thought. Willow knew?

"Isn't it just weird," her friend continued, "How much Seb sounds like Giles? I mean, the first time I talked to him, Giles was standing right across the room, not on the phone, and I kept thinking that he was playing a joke on me--though that would have been so totally not-Giles to do--and that he was throwing his voice, or something."

Seb? Buffy thought. The first time?

"You knew Giles had a son?" she asked her friend, feeling unreasonably miffed, as if Giles and Willow had somehow conspired to keep secrets from her. "How come you knew and I didn't?"

Will gave her a different Willow-look, the one Buffy thought of as the "surprised chipmunk." "Uh--Buffy--I kinda asked? Like when he first got her? You know. Before you came."

"Asked?" Buffy said, as if the thought had never occurred to her. Which it hadn't. There was a concept: she could ask Giles things--and he might even answer. It seemed to have worked for Willow.

"It was just the usual stuff," Will assured her. "Like where he grew up, and did he have any kids, and what did he do before he came here? Just stupid questions. Not Watcher/Slayer issues or anything. `Course I didn't know he was a Watcher. I just thought he was a librarian."

"And?" Xander asked.

"And what?" Willow answered.

"He told you it was personal, right?" Buffy said hopefully.

"No, he said he grew up in Salisbury, about five miles from Stonehenge, but that he'd lived in London most of his life. He told me he had one son, who was an Anglican priest, and that for a long time he'd been an archaeologist, himself, but then he was a curator for the Museum. Which sounded kinda capital lettery, so I figured he meant the British Museum. 'Cause that's the big one. In London." Willow looked up at them. "You know this stuff, Buff." She grinned a little, again, at her unintentional rhyme.

Buffy and Xander both shook their heads. Willow stared at them.

"Giles never tells us anything," Xander said.

"All I did was ask." Willow paused. "Sebastian's really nice."

Buffy wanted to feel betrayed--but knew it was really the opposite. She could've asked anytime: if Giles had told Willow this stuff, he would have told her. What a slap in the face to have never even asked, when he'd always shown such interest and concern for her--not just Watchery concern, either. Had he thought she didn't care? Hadn't she cared?

"Am I like the worst person in the world?" Buffy asked rhetorically--rhetorically being her big word of the day.

"Oh, no, Buffy," Willow answered in an earnest voice, those little worry-lines showing across her forehead. "No." Then, with her guilt-face on, she added. "See, I thought you knew. You two being so close. And all."

"Why's he bothering to go, is what I want to know?" Xander put in. "It's not like he was tight with his family or anything."

Buffy turned on him, and Xander nearly cringed.

"Not you too, Xander! I can't believe you guys know this stuff!"

"Well..." Willow said, obviously trying to console her. "You were kinda busy. With the Slaying, and with Angel, and all."

"Oh, that makes me feel better." Buffy slumped lower. "I'm pathetic. I can't even pack. I said I would, but I can't. I don't know what guys need. I don't know anything." She felt herself sliding into a good wallow. "I can't even figure out what to pack for myself. And I still have to buy the tickets."

"Oh, I can do that!" Willow brightened, digging into her backpack for her laptop computer. "And I can pack, too. For Giles. I used to pack for my dad all the time."

"Yeah, Will," Xander said, "But remember--Giles probably doesn't need any pocket protectors."

"Ha ha, Xander Harris. Very funny. And for your information, my dad is not a nerd. Well, not really. Most of the time."

Xander looked at Buffy, mouthing the word "nerd." Willow smacked him on the side of the head.

"So," she continued. "The most important thing is your passports. You do have a passport, right?"

Buffy's jaw dropped. She hadn't even thought. But she'd gotten one the summer after her sophomore year, when she and her dad were supposed to spend a week in Tokyo. The trip fell through, the way Hank-trips tended to do, but she still had the document. At her mom's. And wasn't Joyce going to love hearing that Buffy and Giles were running off to a foreign country together?

"Damn, I have to go fetch. I forgot it at mom's."

"Go, then." Willow gave her encouraging smile. She loved planning things. "Get your passport, say goodbye to your mom. I'll pack Giles's stuff, and give Moira and Wesley a call about Hellmouth coverage, and you can do your own packing when you get back, 'kay?"

"You're the best, Will."

"I'm the best too," Xander put in. "I'll give you guys a ride to the airport tomorrow." He paused. "If I can camp out on your couch tonight. You know me: not Early-Riser-Guy."

Buffy watched the way Xander deliberately kept his expression nonchalant. He hadn't told Willow, then, about the sitch with his parents. He obviously didn't want her to feel sorry for him, which made Buffy sad. For people who were as tight as they were, and loved each other as much as they all did, they sure had a lot of secrets. Buffy knew she needed to talk to Xander, friend-to-friend.

"Xander's Uncle Rory got grounded again," Will explained, sounding a little disapproving--then she brightened. "But I've decided I like Uncle Rory's car.

"Can you give me a ride, Xand?" Buffy asked. "'Cause, you know, I'd walk, but I still have a ton of stuff to do. Plus, if you're there, and you come in, mom'll feel bad about yelling at me."

"You, Ms. Summers, have a sneaky mind," Xander informed her, but he fished in the pockets of his oversized pants for Uncle Rory's car keys.

"You guys--" Buffy glanced from Willow back to Xander. This was just regular stuff for them--no big. What really amazed her, though, was they way they'd go hunting monsters with her the same way they'd offer rides or packing. How stupid had she been, to think she'd ever be alone? She had her mom--even when Joyce was mad at her, or disappointed--and she had Xander and Will. And Giles. Always Giles.

She was going to do better. She was. She was going to be the best. He'd see.

Even as Buffy thought that, she knew it wasn't even necessary. As long as she was honest with him, and reasonably true to herself, he wouldn't care--she didn't have to prove anything.

"I'm gonna run upstairs for a sec." Buffy gestured, the ring flashing on her hand. Xander blinked, looking surprised. "To say 'bye.'"

"No hurry." Xander moved to the couch, stretching out. Xander wasn't even as tall as Giles, but he always seemed to have more than his own share of arm and leg. Buffy could never figure out why his shirts and pants were always too big--who were they made for, anyway? Will, by contrast, made a neat little compact shape sitting cross-legged, now, on the floor by the coffeetable, tapping on her computer keys.

Buffy ran upstairs to the bedroom, and pulled a pillow or two off the stack. "Hey, sleepy," she said to the back of Giles's head. The little shaved space was filling in nicely, she noticed--you could hardly even see where the stitches had been. "I have to go over to mom's, to pick something up. You gonna be okay?"

Giles made a vague sound, not in any way awake, that she took as assent. Buffy rubbed his shoulder gently, loving the firmness of his muscles beneath the soft cotton of his PJ's--loving him. A warm wave of desire moved through her, and if it hadn't been for Willow and Xander waiting downstairs, she would have woken him up then and there.

Her Giles would never be ashamed of her, no matter what his family thought--he wouldn't care if she seemed too American and silly to them. He loved her, and that was that--he wasn't the kind of guy who put qualifiers on his love. And if she forgot to pack something--well, they had socks and undies in England, too.

Buffy lifted another couple pillows and bent down to kiss the back of Giles's neck. He made another vague noise--a happy one this time.

"Just you wait 'til tonight, Mr. Giles," Buffy murmured in his ear. "Just you wait."

Giles woke suddenly to the sound of scuffling in his closet, and muffled, feminine curses.

He sat, yawning hugely, but feeling close to rested--he'd a vague memory of Buffy's voice telling him to wait for something--and he rather hoped he knew what he was actually meant to wait for. He quite hoped that it was soft and golden, and that it smelled and tasted lovely.

His hand had subsided to a low, dull ache--perfectly tolerable, and his vision, for once, had apparently decided to oblige him by remaining singular--it was only when he got overly tired, that it seemed to go otherwise, these days.

"Buffy, is that you?" he called out.

"No, just me," Willow's voice replied. She emerged, looking somewhat disheveled, a bright, knit hat pulled down low over her ruined hair. "Hi, Giles."

"What are you doing?" Giles asked mildly, unable to understand what possibly reason Willow might have for scrabbling about in his closet. "Playing hide-and-go-seek, perhaps? Or did Buffy press-gang you into doing my packing? Which function I am perfectly capable of performing, by the way."

"No." Willow laughed. "Or yes, I guess, to the second part. If you do your own packing, we'll both have to lie." She came to perch on the edge of the bed. "You look better. Are you better?"

"I think I am," he said. "I'd a bit of a trying day. But I am."

"Good." Willow laid a consoling hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry about your mom."

The tenderness in her bright young face made him strangely emotional.

"One does--" Giles found that he needed to clear his throat. "One's duty."

"Tough guy."

"Oddly enough, by way of contrast, Buffy called me a 'big mush-head.'"

"That's because she loves you."

Giles smiled. "And where has Buffy gone to?"

"To her mom's. For her passport." Willow's eyes flickered, watching his. "I love you too," she said suddenly, "In a daughtery, friendy kind of way." She paused, then said quietly. "I'm gonna miss you guys so much while you're gone."

"I'd like you to be extremely careful, Willow."

"You know me."

"That is to say, careful magically."

Willow shrugged.

"I mean that seriously, Willow."

"Like you currently have any right to order any carefulness, Wild Magic guy?" Her grip tightened a little on his arm, and her voice trembled slightly. "What would we have done without you, Giles?"

"You're young and resourceful. Gone on perfectly well, I suppose."

Willow shook her head slowly. "Giles, you really don't get it."

"No," he answered, finally. "I do understand. But one is always stronger than one thinks. I hardly expected to come back, even with your help, and Buffy's."

"Would it have been worth it?" Again, Willow regarded him, honestly wanting to know.

After a moment, Giles nodded slowly. "A hundred times, for her. A thousand. I suppose, realistically, that I wouldn't actually die without her--but I should certainly die for her. Not merely once, but again, and again."

"I love Oz," Willow said thoughtfully. "But I'm not sure if I would. I'd like to think I would. Realistically, I'd like to think I'm selfless--but I'm not. Not hardly. I mean, I was glad you guys traded that box-thingy for me. Even with everything it cost afterwards, with the Ascension and all, I was glad."

"I was too," Giles admitted, "Because I cared more for you."

"Have you gotten everything back?" Willow asked suddenly.

"Willow--"

"No, Giles, you can tell me. Promise, cross my heart, I won't pass it on to Buffy. But tell me the truth?"

"No," he answered finally, not meeting Willow's eyes. "Not all. Only a very little, really. Bits of my childhood, a great horrid swathe of my youth. Snippets of learning, certain events--but many of them very distantly, as if they were something I'd watched a long time ago, on television, or in a film. Some of it, I'm sure, shall return. Other parts may...well, er, perhaps they may be gone forever."

"And me?" Willow asked. Once more, those limpid green eyes gazed up at him. "Do you remember Xander? Do you remember me? 'Cause I'm scared you're being nice, and just pretending."

Poor child, Giles thought. My poor Willow. He touched the soft curve of her cheek, her skin always so much smoother than he expected, like a very young girl's.

"If I've forgotten everything else," he told her, "I will always remember, and cherish, my family."

"Oh." Willow looked crestfallen, and Giles wondered what he'd said wrong.

The realization dawned suddenly. "By which I meant the people at home."

"Oh," she repeated, even sadder.

"In Sunnydale," he told her, "For this is, now, my home. And you, Willow, and Xander, and my dear Buffy are the ones I count as my family."

"You love us as much as Sebastian?" Willow asked, still seeking reassurance.

"Yes," Giles answered, "Even so much as Sebastian."