Transitions - Ch. 12

Through the kitchen window, Buffy could see her mom standing by the counter as she read the paper. In one hand, Joyce held a mug that she didn't seem to be drinking from, the other turned pages listlessly. She wasn't reading after all, Buffy realized. Just pretending. Going through the motions.

When Buffy knocked, Joyce looked up.

Buffy could see her mom come on guard. Funny, really, what the Hellmouth taught you--or not funny at all--to be suspicious of anyone at your door, even if the person seemed to be someone you knew, because that trusted friend or relative could've turned into something evil since the last time you saw them. You could lose people in a way that was so much worse than just dying. Dead was dead, but vampires put on your loved one's face, and came back to laugh at you.

Joyce had grown up in the Midwest, in a small town in Iowa. Her family hadn't moved to California until she was halfway through high school. Suspicion didn't come naturally to her. She liked to trust people, and welcome them graciously into her home, not eye her visitors distrustfully and thrust a cross into their faces.

Buffy knocked again, guessing she'd lost the right to just waltz in any time she wanted. The minute that realization hit her, she wanted to cry.

Her mom opened the door. "Buffy," she said, "I didn't expect you."

"Yup." She felt nervous. With her mom, she felt nervous. "It's just little ol' me."

"Did you lose your key?" Joyce paused. "This is your still your home, honey. You can still come and go as you like."

"It's really nice of you to say that, Mom." They traded looks, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. Buffy hated how sad her mom's looked--though she tried to tell herself Joyce would've looked just as sad if she'd been off living in the dorms.

"How is...Mr. Giles?"

"That's kinda why I came over." Buffy felt even sadder when she saw the look of hope that flashed across her mom's face. "Can we, um, come in, Mom? Xander gave me a ride," she added, apropos of nothing.

"Come--? Oh, sorry." Laughing a little, Joyce stepped back from the door. "Silly me. How are you, Xander?"

Xander had a deer-in-the-headlights look. "Ah-- Umn-- Me, Ms. Summers? Um, I'm fine."

"Can I get you something to snack on while Buffy and I talk?"

"Uh, thanks. That would be nice. Thanks."

When Xander had been installed at the counter with a bowl of cheesy popcorn and a Coke, Buffy and her mom went through to the living room.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, not exactly looking at each other except for little sideways peeks. Buffy fidgeted. Joyce sat a little too still, studying her manicure.

"I thought we were okay," Buffy said to her, after the quiet had stretched on to the point of ultimate discomfort.

"Don't you think we are?" Joyce's voice was a little too high to sound quite natural. "We are, honey." She paused. "I didn't expect you tonight."

"I forgot my passport."

"Your--?" Joyce's face got really pink, then paper-white as she struggled to swallow what she really wanted to say. "Are you going on a trip?" she asked, in a tone of obviously faked interest.

"We have to go to England."

Joyce muttered something that Buffy didn't quite catch.

"I'm sorry?"

Her mom turned a look on her: a look so eye-blazing it would have made even Moira cringe. "So much for your Sacred Duty, I said."

Buffy couldn't think what to answer.

"You'll invoke the Sacred Duty to get out of going to a good school, or making something of your life--but you'll let Mr. Giles steal you away from me when he's ready to go back home." The desperation showed clearly in Joyce's face: she didn't mean any of it, but at the same time, she couldn't stop herself. "So much for being the Chosen One then."

Buffy knew she shouldn't react. She should consider her mom's real feelings, and suck back her instant response--which was blind, blazing anger.

She crossed the room so that she could keep her back to Joyce, and started digging through the drawer where she'd remembered seeing her passport. Sure enough, there it was, a slick little blue-covered book. Her social security card and birth certificate were in the same drawer, so she took them too, tucking everything into her purse. She tried to think if there was anything else she needed, but the thoughts wouldn't come--she felt like she had no memory.

Is this how Giles feels now? Buffy wondered. A sick feeling had moved into the pit of her stomach, and she was half afraid that she was going to throw up.

"I hate your choices in men," Joyce said, and if Buffy hadn't been so upset, she might have described her mom's tone as a snarl--it was worse, even, than the tone Joyce had used the night she found out about the Slaying, and told Buffy if she walked out the door, she shouldn't bother coming home again.

Buffy wandered back to the kitchen, not feeling her feet. Her fingers seemed numb too, and she felt cold all the way through, shivery with it. "C'mon, Xand," she whispered--the best volume her voice seemed willing to provide, "Time to go."

"Buffy--" Joyce called after her.

Buffy didn't want to, but she turned. She really, really hadn't wanted to see her mom's angry face glaring down at her--but she wasn't a coward. She looked.

"Just so you know, Mom." It took everything she had just to talk with any volume at all. "We're going to England because Giles's mother mom died. I'll be gone a few days, maybe a week." Buffy shook her head. "What did you think?" She wanted to feel angry, but she didn't, just sad and a little bit lost. "What did you think? That we were pulling up roots and going to the mother country? That's not fair to me--and it's not fair to him either. He's given almost his whole life to this stuff. And believe it or not, I don't just pick and choose."

Joyce's face completely blanked out, as if the effort of fighting the conclusions she'd jumped to had given her a total personality wipe.

"I'll see you when I get home, Mom," Buffy said, wanting and not wanting to run back to her mother and give her a hug. In the end, she didn't-- just ushered Xander out and shut the kitchen door behind them.

"Now that had a certain harshness." Xander gave her a look. "Buffy, are you gonna barf?"

"No," she answered--but she did, over by the bush where she and Joyce had buried Patches the Cat before his unscheduled encore.

Xander held onto her, even though he did look grossed-out, and he gave her a wad of crumpled tissue to wipe her mouth with afterward. Ninety per cent of Xander's brain may have been obsessed with sex and food, but the remaining ten per cent was more than enough to make him a good guy. Xander could be brave--heroic even--and other than Will, Buffy didn't think she'd ever have a better friend friend. Giles, especially now, fit in a slightly different category.

"Let's go," Xander said, in protective mode. He opened the door for her, and made sure that she got in okay. Buffy leaned her head against the back of the bench seat, staring up at the stars.

Some nights, when they patrolled together, Giles had told her their names, and the stories behind them. A lot of those nights she hadn't really listened but, despite all the times she'd called him stuffy or boring, she'd still loved the sound of Giles's voice. In the old days she hardly would have admitted it, especially to herself, but sometimes when she was most scared she'd close her eyes tight and think of Giles talking, telling her about Orion, or Gemini, or Cassiopeia's Chair.

Now she wished she'd listened better, in case he didn't remember the stories anymore. She'd have liked to be able to tell them back to him and, maybe, have the sound of her own voice give him comfort.

"Whatcha thinking?" Xander asked.

"About the constellations," Buffy answered.

"Deep thoughts, huh?" He stopped the car for a red light.

"Giles used to tell me about them. You know. All those Greek story-things."

"Myths."

Buffy laughed a little. Somehow Xander hadn't said the word right--he'd sounded like Sylvester the Cat. "Do you think the stars look different in England, since it's on the other side of the world, kind of? I've seen movies, but I can't imagine what it will be like. I can't imagine the people--I keep thinking they'll all be Watchers, even though I know better. Or like--I don't know--the Spice Girls?"

"It's like up north, Giles said--like around Seattle or Portland, only not so mountainy, and with fewer trees. And lots and lots of old stuff. Not just old old, but old. He said London has people living there from all over the world. And I guess they're like people anywhere." Xander glanced at her doubtfully. "But all I can see are Watchers too--like a whole country full of Gileses and Moiras and Wesleys."

"That wouldn't be so bad, I guess."

Xander pulled into a parking space behind the Gilesmobile, in front of Giles's building. Wesley's poor abused van had been parked about three cars ahead. "I'd be kinda scared of it, though," Xander said. "Like everyone would know what fork to use but me. I'd be the dumb guy using a spoon."

"And all around me they'd talk Latin at each other, and then laugh," Buffy said. "So I wouldn't know if they were just making jokes or laughing at me."

"Definite Latin fear." Xander shut off the engine, but neither of them moved. "You'll do okay. I mean, hey, you lived through the Ascension--you can deal with Giles's family."

"And if any of them turn into snakes, we can blow them up. Thanks, Xand--like this is helping."

"I tried." Xander started twirling the keys on his keychain. "It's gonna be okay, right, if I stay tonight?"

"Just don't come into the bedroom, okay?"

Xander got out of the car fast, backing up the stairs. "Stop. Uh-uh. Don't go there."

"Consider yourself warned." Buffy grinned at him, evilly, feeling almost herself again. "Consider yourself warned bigtime."

"Bordering on information overload," Xander told her--but he laughed.

Buffy couldn't hear anything from outside the door--of course not, in the Casa de Quiet--but the minute she turned the key in the lock and let herself in, it sounded like a war zone. Wesley and Willow looked like seconds for a pair of particularly determined duelers, and Moira and Giles, typically, were going head-to-head.

"Now, kids," Xander called out, "If you can't play nice, you'll have to go home and go to bed."

Giles muttered something, and withdrew to the end of the couch. Moira shot him an "if looks could kill" look, and stalked toward the door.

"I'll give your love to Seb," Giles told her, sounding just a little bit sniffy--as if he meant to tell her, 'see how mature and rational I'm being--unlike you?'

"Quite," Moira snapped, getting an unusual amount of feeling into the word. "Willow, are you with us?"

Will gave Giles a quick pat on the arm and smiled nervously at Buffy and Xander. "Coming," she squeaked, then told Xander, "Pick me up, okay? I wanna ride along tomorrow."

The door closed behind the three of them, leaving Buffy, Xander and Giles alone.

"Well," Giles said. "That was--er--bracing."

"Yeah, I had a good time too."

"Buffy threw up," Xander said, and Giles went instantly into concern-mode.

"Are you all right?" He moved to her at once, touching her shoulder lightly, just the way he had in the old days. "You aren't becoming ill, are you, because we can certainly--"

"Giles, I'm stressing, that's all. Just let me pack, and then we'll go to bed, okay?"

"I--er--that is Willow. Umn, took the liberty."

"You couldn't stand it, and you packed." Buffy smiled at him, shaking her head. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Nothing I wanna hear about!" Xander exclaimed, hurrying toward the downstairs bathroom. "I'm not coming out until you've gone away."

"You're sure you are quite well?" Giles touched her hair, running his hand over her cheek, his thumb along the curve of her mouth. "Because we can cancel, if need be."

"You nervous too?" Buffy asked him.

"Terrified." Giles pulled her to him, rubbing her shoulders and her back until Buffy relaxed and felt almost sure things really were going to turn out all right. Leaning against the warmth of his body, encircled by his arms, how could she feel otherwise?

"You're not starting something you can't finish, are you?" she murmured into his chest.

"Oh, I think that I can be relied upon. I'm quite well rested, after all. And a bit keyed up." Giles turned, her hand closed warmly inside his as he led her up the stairs. Buffy followed willingly.

"So, that's what you're calling it now? Keyed up?"

Giles only smiled, glancing back at her with a bit of a glint in his eyes--they'd turned a rich, dark green for the occasion. He took the remaining steps backward, not willing to look away from her, any more than Buffy was willing to turn her eyes from him.

"Just a sec," she told him, when they stood beside the bed. She hurried into the bathroom, brushed her teeth thoroughly, and ran a comb through her tangled hair. She emerged to find Giles still standing where she'd left him, waiting and watching for her.

"You are quite sure you're all right?" he asked, in a soft, throaty voice.

"You worry too much about me." Buffy rose on her tip-toes to kiss him, and Giles returned the kiss thoroughly, then stooped a little to kiss her throat, the touch of his lips sending shivers down her back and across her chest, hardening her nipples.

"Now." Giles knelt, his eyes returning to hers, even as his fingers worked the buttons of her shirt, then unclasped the front of her bra--he was good, she thought, to be able to manage it one-handed.

Also one-handed, he unsnapped her jeans, pulling down the zipper slowly, teasingly, parting the fabric across her abdomen. He kissed her over the navel, his tongue dipping into the hollow, then lower, following the almost-invisible line of golden hair, stopping just above the far more definite line of her panties, where he kissed her again, in a horizontal row, the slight raspiness of his evening stubble prickling her sensitive skin.

Buffy reached down to stroke his hair, careful of the tender spot at the back of his head. At Giles's urging, her jeans slid down over her hips, and her panties followed. His hand cupped her bottom, steadying her as she stepped free.

Buffy stood before him less than half clothed, her shirt hanging open. She could feel his breath in her hair, his hand caressing her lower back, her buttocks, the backs of her thighs. Again, it returned to support her, rocking her a little backward as his tongue delved in between her legs, between her lower lips, all that warmth from his breath and those light flickering touches on her clitoris making Buffy quiver all the way down her spine.

She started to go down, but Giles supported her, lowering her body to the area rug beside the bed. Not even looking, he groped for a pillow, sliding it beneath her so that Buffy's hips angled slightly upward. He kissed her on the inside of her right knee, then all the way up her thigh, his tongue flicking out here and there so that she quivered all over again--then the same kisses trailed their way along the left side, until he reached her center once more.

Giles traced her opening, touching her nowhere else, then moved up, just a little--long, slow, delicate touches, every one of them carrying her right to the brink but never quite over, his eyes locked onto hers over the golden curve of her mound. On and on this went, until tears leaked from her eyes and she actually saw stars--none of those constellations based on Greek mythology.

Giles moved over her, until she lay entirely in his shadow, and Buffy knew he was reaching for the nightstand drawer. His trousers and his boxers went down, revealing him to her--the shaft that fit her so perfectly, in its nest of dark hair. He rolled on the condom--an ordinary one, neutral-colored.

"But I liked the green," Buffy managed to laugh, still half crying.

Giles smiled, lowering himself again, his chest rubbing against her breasts, his lower body against her hot, open core. Buffy pressed hard against him, so close, so close, but not quite there.

Slowly, Giles slid inside, and the moment he filled her, she came.