Title: A Mile In His Moccasins 22/26
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.

That evening, while they awaited the arrival of Mrs. Wilmot, Buffy and Giles caught Dawn up on what had been going on. She took the news of her sister's new romance calmly.

"I knew that already," she said. "You guys have been sleeping together since Giles got here. It's about time you said something."

"We weren't..." Giles sputtered. Then his eyebrows raised and he gave a silent laugh. "Alright, we were, but not like that, Dawn."

"We only just figured it out last night," Buffy clarified. "So are you cool with it? Think you can stand to have Giles around a lot more?"

"You're not gonna go away again, are you?" Dawn asked.

"I'll have to for a short time, to tie up loose ends in England and get all the red tape cleared away so I can stay here legally, but after that, I intend to stay...indefinitely."

"So are you guys getting married or what?"

Buffy and Giles looked at one another, twin expressions of startled confusion on their faces.

"I - I don't know," Buffy said at last. "I hadn't really thought about it. What about you?"

"I...hadn't really thought about it either. Did you want to?"

"I dunno. You want to?"

"Well I suppose we could, if you like."

"But we don't have to," Buffy added hastily. "I mean, it's no big deal if we don't."

"No, no, I suppose it isn't. People do stay together without it, don't they?"

"Yeah. Like...okay, I can't think of anyone, but I know it happens. Not that there's anything wrong with getting married."

"Nothing wrong with it at all."

"Except when it doesn't work out. That can get ugly."

"Oh yes, very ugly, as you say."

"Like Mom and Dad. I don't want that to happen to us."

"So is that a yes or a no?"

"Did you ask yet?"

"I think I may have done."

"Um...okay."

"So that's a yes?"

"I think it was."

"Well, then, that's settled."

The pair hugged gently. Dawn rolled her eyes.

"If anyone ever asks you about the proposal, make something up," she recommended. "They'll never believe this."

*****

Xander and Tara stood leaning against the wall at Sunnydale airport outside the area for passengers and personnel only. Just beyond the turnstile they could see a coffee bar, but there was no way to reach it. They had no idea how much longer they would have to stand there, waiting for Mrs. Wilmot to arrive. Rock, paper, scissors and thumb wrestling had long ago worn out their power to amuse. At last they had turned to reciting lines from movies and guessing the source.

"Um...laugh while you can, monkey boy," Tara said.

"The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension. Duh!" Xander returned. "You can't go home again, but you can shop there."

"Was that your quote, or are you being extra Dada today?"

"In the words of Grandpa Simpson, a little from column a, a little from column b. Didn't you ever see Grosse Pointe Blank?"

"Wasn't that about a hit man?"

"No, it was about two hit men. And a girl. And Eighties rock. And the humiliation of high school reunions. Your turn."

"Okay...his recipe for duck a la banana goes with him to the grave."

"Now who's being Dada?"

"Didn't you ever see Four Weddings and a Funeral?"

"Please! As if! That's a chick flick, and I don't do chick flicks."

"What makes it a chick flick?"

"If it's got Hugh Grant in it, or there's a wedding in the title, that pretty much makes it wrong for a man to see it. Or if it stars Susan Sarandon."

"So The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a chick flick?"

"Ah, no. See, that's Susan Sarandon in her pre-Thelma and Louise period, so that's alright."

"So a movie about a man who can't understand marriage is a chick flick, but one about a mad scientist in women's underwear building a muscle man as his personal snugglebear is manly?"

Xander took a breath to answer, then paused.

"You've changed, Tara."

"I - I have?"

"It's not a bad thing. Actually, it's a good one. I like this Tara. You're confident now, but you're still nice. It's cool. Not that you weren't cool before, just...it's easier to get to know you now."

"Well, I think I learned a lot with you guys. It's hard to hang with the Scoobies and stay too shy."

"I think there's something about Buffy that brings out the inner exhibitionist. Okay, in my case, that didn't take much, but you should have seen Willow in the old days."

"Shy?"

"The shyest. Almost as shy as you used to be."

There didn't seem to be much to say to that, so Tara stayed quiet. The silence stretched out, but not uncomfortably. At last, Tara stood straighter and craned her neck. Xander followed suit, despite the fact that he didn't know what he was looking for.

"What is it, Tara?"

The girl grinned and pointed.

"There she is. Mrs. Wilmot." She waved wildly to her friend.

Xander peered in the direction Tara was waving. He started slightly.

He goggled at the woman. She was very short, and very nearly as wide as she was tall. Her thinning hair had obviously been dyed that vivid shade of red and was permed within an inch of its life. She was dressed in black polyester stretch pants and an oversized chambray shirt with the American flag sequined over the breast pocket. She strode firmly, her small, wheeled suitcase following obediently in her wake.

"That's your herbalist friend? Are you sure?"

Tara rolled her eyes and moved closer to the turnstile.

"Mrs. Wilmot!" she called. "Over here!"

The strange little woman smiled broadly when she saw Tara and hurried over, wheezing as she went. With her free hand, she was already opening her pocket to draw out a cigarette. Xander could now see nicotine- stained fingers and worried anew.

"How do, Miss McClay," the woman muttered around her cigarette as she pulled the girl into a bear hug. She pointed to Xander. "That your young man?"

"No, he's not."

"In fact, I'm marrying someone else entirely on Saturday," Xander hurried to explain. "I'm just a friend. Xander. Xander Harris."

Mrs. Wilmot shook her head.

"That's too bad, Tara honey. He's good looking. So, where's the patient?"

"We'll take you to him," Tara said. "Oh, and there's a slight complication I should probably tell you about, but not until we get to the car. People around here, they wouldn't understand."

"Can I take your suitcase?" Xander offered.

"Thank you kindly, but if it's all the same to you, I'll keep it myself," Mrs. Wilmot insisted. "I don't let nobody but nobody touch my medicine cabinet. Let's go, children. Time's a-wasting."

She marched out the door with Tara and Xander following behind. For a moment, Xander worried he'd be blinded when they got out the door and the sun hit the huge Old Glory sequined to the back of Mrs. Wilmot's shirt. He waved away a plume of smoke from her cigarette when she stopped to light up.

"I really hope she knows what she's doing," he muttered under his breath. "And what the hell is Giles gonna make of her?"

*****

Buffy, Giles, Dawn, Willow and Anya sat in the living room nervously awaiting Mrs. Wilmot's arrival. Conversation was at a minimum among the group. Buffy kept an arm around Giles as much for her security as his. The fact that he leaned against her in front of their friends told her just how worried he was. If this didn't work, they knew there were few likely possibilities for a cure. Willow's research had turned up nothing in the conventional medical community.

When the kettle began to whistle, Willow headed for the kitchen to make some tea. Dawn followed saying something about getting out some cookies. A moment later, Dawn stuck her head into the room to ask Anya to help her. A few hand gestures and raised eyebrows later, Anya got the hint and left the room. Buffy smiled wryly after her.

"That was in no way unsubtle," she observed. "Those guys should never consider a career in spydom."

"Still, they meant well, one assumes."

"One knows. How're you doing? Really?"

"Really? I feel as if I might be sick."

Buffy smoothed his hair and held him a bit tighter - but not too tightly.

"Need a bucket?"

"If I need to, I imagine I'll be able to make it to the toilet."

They sat quietly for a moment. Buffy stroked his head the way she had always found comforting when her mother had done it for her. Giles felt his stomach settle a bit. He took a deep breath and pulled back.

"You gonna be okay now?" Buffy asked.

"I think I'll manage."

He squeezed her hand gratefully, then grimaced when Buffy winced.

"Sorry. I'm afraid I don't know my own strength."

"It's okay," she told him as she flexed her injured hand. "It takes getting used to. You've really done a pretty amazing job of not breaking stuff...most of the time."

Just then the door opened and Tara and Xander led Mrs. Wilmot into the room.

Buffy tried not to let her heart sink at the sight of the strange little woman, but lost the battle when Mrs. Wilmot lit up a cigarette and sat heavily in one of the armchairs.

"So you're her and she's you?" Mrs. Wilmot asked.

Buffy and Giles looked at one another, then at their visitor.

"Um...yeah, that's about it," Buffy replied. "Um...look, not to be all bossy, but...the smoking? We...don't have any ashtrays. Sorry."

"Oh don't worry about that, honey," Mrs. Wilmot said with a wave of her pudgy hand. She rooted around in a pocket of her suitcase and pulled out a small aluminum tray. "I always carry my own, just in case."

Buffy and Giles exchanged a worried look. They turned as one to Tara.

"Could we talk to you a minute?" Buffy asked. "Alone?"

"Um...sure."

"We'll be right back," Giles assured Mrs. Wilmot as he and Buffy ushered Tara out of the room.

When they got to the kitchen, Willow was just putting the teapot on the tray.

"So, Buffy? What do you think? Can she help?"

"We're not sure yet. Tara, I don't want to make you think we aren't grateful, but this woman...I have to ask..."

Tara smiled.

"She's a little off putting, I know, but she really knows a lot. If you just give her a chance, she can probably help."

Buffy looked to Giles.

"What do you want to do, Giles? They're your peepers. Think you can trust her with them?"

Giles leaned back against the counter and put his hands in his pockets. He frowned at the floor for a moment. At last he looked at Tara.

"Has Mrs. Wilmot ever dealt with anyone with my particular condition before?"

"Not exactly, but she helped people who were losing their sight from other things. She couldn't cure them all, but even the ones she couldn't save their sight entirely kept their vision a lot longer than the doctors expected. I think she can at least buy you some time."

"How much time?"

"I don't know. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe even a few months. Or she might be able to cure you entirely. I really don't know."

"Has she ever made things worse? I don't mean to be rude, but I have to ask."

"Not that I've ever seen or heard. She won't take cases she doesn't think she can help with."

Giles nodded and looked at the floor again.

"Since it would seem that this is my only option for the moment, I'll take it."

"Okay," Buffy nodded. "We try it. But I don't want a housefull of smoke. She takes her cigarettes outside."

*****

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