Transitions - Ch. 45

Giles stared at the iron-bound door, not sure exactly what it was that he felt--shock, he supposed, and a bleak horror and--more than either of those--an overwhelming, unexpected sorrow. He drew off his glasses, pressing his hand to his eyes. To lose an enemy felt oddly like losing a friend.

"Giles," Buffy said behind him. "How come they let Ethan go? Is there, like, some sort of 'Get out of jail free card' for bad magic people?"

"No, Buffy," Giles answered, hardly recognizing his own voice.

"Then, how come..." She touched his arm gingerly, then drew her hand away. "You're really upset. Why are you so upset?"

Giles drew her over to the window, where the sun brought out the gold in her hair and the sapphire blue in her eyes. So lovely, she was, her face turned up to his with an endearing expression of trust. He hoped beyond hope that she'd not heard the words Ethan said to him, or if she had, would not think too deeply on their meaning.

"They shan't let Ethan go, Buffy," Giles told her, pitching his voice low so that the others might not hear. "They will...er...make use of him, and then he will almost certainly be killed."

"But..." Buffy began, then fell silent again. Giles found himself turning from her, resting his elbows on the wide windowsill, his head in his hands. He felt a nearly overwhelming urge to weep, but his ability to produce tears seemed to have gone the way of his fear.

"But," she tried again, "You hated him."

"Every day of my life, for the past twenty-five years."

"Then why are you wigging?"

"I am not...wigging. Buffy, please." He felt, for want of a better word, devastated, as if something had been torn out of him. And yet, this was Ethan. Ethan! Why should it matter? Why wasn't it good riddance to bad rubbish?

"Well, I'm sorry that I'm annoying you." He heard her take a step backward, and even that tiny separation stabbed at Giles's heart.

"Buffy," he repeated, weakly.

"You sound annoyed. Or something. God, Giles, I just can't figure you out."

"You're not annoying me," Giles told her, quite incapable of explaining his emotions, yet desperate for her to understand him.

"Then excuse me for thinking you did. Sound. Like that." Suddenly, she was shouting at him, "How am I supposed to tell what's going on with you, when you're turned away from me like that? And I'm thinking you know what's going to happen to us, but you're not sharing."

"Do you truly want me to share?" Giles whirled, glaring down at her even though his vision blurred, until he might have been viewing his love through a gauzy curtain. His anger transmuted into something else--not anger, precisely, but a burning despair. "Do you? Or shall I just continue to be falsely comforting?"

The moment he spoke the words he regretted them bitterly. He'd no call to be cross with her, far less to be cruel. He'd no business to lose control as he had. He ought to have told all of them at once, he supposed, no matter how much he didn't like to.

"You're not being very, you know," she answered, just as hotly. "Comforting, that is," Buffy added, in a lower tone. "Mostly, right now, you're making me wig too." Her eyes moved, studying his face, and she stepped close again, her hands reaching up to brush his cheeks. They came away wet, and Giles realized he'd been weeping after all.

"You really need me not to be like this, don't you?" she asked.

Giles nodded, unable to say more.

"I'm not gonna say I feel bad about Ethan, 'cause I don't." Buffy's arms encircled his neck, pulling him down to her. Her soft cheek pressed briefly to his, and then her lips brushed his mouth. "But I feel bad that you feel bad, whyever that is. I love you," she whispered.

Giles put his own arms round her, and held her close, burying his face against her shoulder.

"I don't wanna die wondering what hit me--so please explain?" she said quietly, stroking his hair, rubbing lightly on the back of his neck, one of her usual gestures, which he found, as always, indescribably comforting.

Giles half lifted her up to him, and kissed her tenderly but thoroughly, the first time he had done so before others, her lips soft against his, her mouth sweet. He wished that there was a place they could go to, just the two of them, so that he might once more love her, touch her, worship her, before the madwomen came for him--for, he knew, that moment would certainly come.

"And I love you, Buffy," he murmured, drawing her closer still to him, her head pillowed on his chest. He rubbed her deceptively soft shoulders, drew his fingers through her silken hair, trying to memorize her by touch. "I... I will..."

"I think you'd better tell us all, Dad," Sebastian said.

Giles glanced up. The others were, of course, watching. Even before he'd looked, Giles had been able to feel Willow and Sebastian's green-eyed gaze, and the touch of Celeste and Xander's brown eyes upon him. Celeste had managed to sit up, and the look of understanding and trust on her face nearly undid him. It seemed, more than their companions, that she understood the events that had just transpired.

"Come sit down, Rupert," she said, in a gentle voice, her eyes full of sympathy.

Giles sat, and Buffy took a place beside him, leaning against his shoulder. At first he could not think how to begin, but only sat studying their faces. "Sebastian," he said at last, "What has Moira told you about her family?"

The guys were all sleeping, and Buffy wondered how they could. After all, they were the ones in danger. That's what Giles had said anyway--that she and Celeste would probably just be let go eventually, with a little spell on them so they couldn't say what they'd seen. The crazy witches would keep Willow, but not hurt her--well, not kill her anyway, though they wouldn't feel bad about stooping to a little brain-washing action.

Giles had started blushing when he'd tried to tell what the LeFayes would want from Xander and him. Behind his stammered explanation of "they may wish to make use of our genetic material," lay what really was going to happen.

"Mars wants men!" Xander had blurted, and Giles had given him a look that was both confused and annoyed.

Annoying or not, that's exactly what it was like--one of those cheesy movies where the bimbos in the silver bikinis came to earth and kidnapped guys to use in their own little love-fest. Only the LeFayes weren't bimbos: they were the most serious people Buffy had ever met in her life. They made Gwendolyn Post look like the Queen of Comedy.

They were probably doing that with Ethan right now--which had an definite ewww factor, as far as Buffy was concerned. Such a big ewww factor she wouldn't even let her brain go there. The redheads didn't seem to be picky. When they were done, Giles said, it would be bye-bye Ethan. The same thing would happen with him, and with Xander. Since Sebastian was their cousin, or nephew, or something, he'd probably just get killed. The LeFayes were a little miffed that he'd ever gotten born at all, and he'd goofed up big-time back in the forest, telling them who he was.

Once Giles got going on his story, he didn't leave anything out, and it was like Tales from the Brothers Grimmest. It made her heart hurt to think of all the little boy-babies buried somewhere out back of the House of Ugliness. She felt bad, too, for all the poor guys who'd just happened to stumble their way.

Once she'd gotten put in charge, Giles told them, Moira had taught the others a spell to just not let the boys be conceived, if they were going to be that way about it--and, like, really, how crazy and/or stupid were the LeFayes? Why had it taken them a thousand years to figure that one out?

Moira had given her family orders to leave guys alone, and said everyone should just go out into the world and find themselves boyfriends like normal people--but, of course they wouldn't. They just stayed home and sulked, or something, and now it looked as if they'd started disobeying their fearless leader, picking up where they'd left off while her back was turned.

Giles told them how Moira had run away from this place, Mermorgan Hall, when she was young, and how even the terrible life the two of them lived together as kids in London seemed better than what she'd left behind. All that made Buffy's heart hurt too--and the story made all of them cry, even Xander and Sebastian. Somehow, to hear Giles's quiet voice tell that kind of story made things worse--mostly because he didn't make a big deal of anything, but they could read between the lines--or hear between the words, as the case might be.

Buffy understood him now better than ever before--that quietness, his repression, the way he didn't talk about stuff, and had such a hard time showing his feelings. She couldn't imagine growing up the way he had, or Moira had, and turning out mostly okay in the end. She couldn't imagine that kind of life turning her into anything but a basket case.

Hours had passed since Giles finished talking, and Buffy hadn't been able to stop thinking since then, for all the good it did her. The room was dark, except for patches of silvery moonlight, and Giles moved a little in his sleep, muttering something. He was having bad dreams again, the way he always did; Buffy wished just once for him that he'd have good ones instead. She'd been lying beside him, curled up against his body for warmth, but the wooden floor felt hard and ridgy, and since she couldn't sleep anymore, she shifted carefully, trying not to wake him up by sitting.

"Mmph," he said. "Buffy?" then, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Buffy told him. "Go back to sleep."

His head lay against her thigh, and she stroked his hair, still, after all this time, not able to get over how soft it felt. Tired as he was, he squirmed around a little more, trying to get comfortable, until he faced her, his breath warm on her skin, then dropped right back into a deep sleep again. Buffy rubbed his back, feeling the ridges of the scars through the thin material of Xander's shirt. That made her want to cry too, and even though she shut her eyes to try to hold in the tears, they leaked out anyway.

"Buffy, are you awake?" That was Celeste's voice, coming out of the dark. She'd thought Celeste was mad at her, since they hadn't said two words to each other all day. In the light shining through the little slitty window, she could see the older woman's profile.

"Uh-huh."

"Me too," Willow said, "Though I'm kinda squashed under Xander."

Celeste got to her feet, and limped over to Will, squatting down to give Xander a good, sharp tug.

"Ooh! Don't hurt yourself!" Will exclaimed.

"I'm all right. I heal fast." She tugged again. "There you are! Can you wriggle free now?"

Willow wriggled, and Celeste helped up. "Oh, my feet are so asleep. I'm walkin' on a whole pincushion!"

"And he didn't so much as stir," Celeste marveled.

"That's our Xander," Buffy laughed. "The human sleeping, eating machine. Should you even be up, Celeste?"

"As I've said, I heal fast," Celeste answered, in a funny tone of voice, just before she ducked around the little sticking-out piece of the wall that hid what Giles had referred to as the garderobe--which was really just a fancy word for an indoor outhouse. Not that she was complaining, or anything. It had been a relief to find out there was something to use, even if it was a medieval version of a port-a-potty. The way in to the garderobe was so well hidden she hadn't even known it was there, and she'd thought she was going to die by the time he explained.

"I believe the baby's decided to sit directly atop my bladder," Celeste said, emerging. "It's made filming bloody difficult for the past fortnight, I must say." She lifted the hem of her blouse to study the gash in her side. "And this fairly damn painful. I shall have to have it seen to immediately--one hopes there's something that can be done to avoid a scar."

Buffy stared at her. "Uh, Celeste--"

"Allow one to hope, Buffy," she said quietly.

"Oh, I get it. Okay." Yeah, it was good to hope--to imagine a world where your house hadn't been infested with a demon, you hadn't discovered that your husband had freaky magic powers, and you weren't held prisoner by a tribe of evil sorceresses. Buffy could understand why Celeste might want to spend a little time in denial. It was a nice state.

Celeste moved closer to her on one side; their shoulders brushed. Willow edged in on the other. They watched the men sleeping: Xander sprawled all over everywhere, looking, as usual, like he had too much arm and leg, Sebastian on his side with his head propped on one bicep, Giles face down with his arms crossed over his head--he looked like someone expecting a sudden onslaught--Buffy's second Giles-word of the day--of falling objects.

"Does Rupert ever look relaxed?" Celeste wondered.

"I've never seen him look--" Willow began. "No, wait. He was relaxed at the prom. He watched us dance, and he was sitting there smiling. And he was pretty relaxed when he danced with me." She giggled softly, covering her mouth with her hands. "And it was so cute the way he blushed when I told him he looked nice in his tux. Which he did," she told Celeste. "He looked adorable."

"You should see him in tails," Celeste answered, with a little smile. "And he dances beautifully--much better than one expects. It's one thing he and my husband haven't in common--Sebastian is a horrible dancer. He always treads on my toes, but he will persist in trying."

"When did you dance with Giles, Will?" Buffy asked. "I didn't see you guys dancing."

"No, 'cause you were dancing with Ang...uh...oh!...someone else. With someone else. I don't know who."

"Has anyone ever told you, love," Celeste said, "That you're rather a terrible liar?"

"Uh-huh." Willow raised a hand as if she meant to tuck her hair behind her ears, then realized it was short. "I was gonna say Angel. Buffy was dancing with Angel."

"And couldn't see anyone else." Celeste's voice sounded funny again. "Buffy--"

"Yes?" Her own voice came out sounding a squeaky and little-girly. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like what the older woman had to say to her.

"You're very young, still." Celeste lowered herself gracefully to the floor, crossing her legs.

"I guess." Buffy sat beside her, but not too close.

"Rupert is a good man."

"No arguments from me." Buffy glanced up as Willow came over to sit beside her.

"And I suppose this shall all be academic if we don't escape here--"

Buffy waited for her to continue.

"Four years ago we forced Rupert to accompany us on a holiday to Majorca--it was the spring after Eva left him, and he'd seemed a bit...downcast, I suppose one might call it. Naturally, we spent time on the beach. And I suppose, what I'm trying to say is that he hadn't those scars then."

"No, those were from A--" Willow started again, helpful as usual. "A later incident."

"Give it up, Will," Buffy told her. "Umn...Celeste..."

The older woman gave her a look, waiting.

"When Angel lost his soul, Celeste, he hurt people. He almost killed Willow, and he did kill Ms. Calendar."

"Rupert's ladyfriend," Celeste said, but her voice didn't give anything away.

"And there was this demon, Acathla, that Angelus wanted to let loose, and he knew Giles would know how, so he caught him, and, um, did stuff to him."

"It was bad," Willow said. "Xand and I took care of him afterward--well, as much as he'd let us, which wasn't very much, really. I don't know how he kept going. I don't think he would have, if he hadn't needed to search for Buffy--though that was just sad to watch. We felt so bad for him. I kept telling him he needed to rest, to get better, but he'd just say, 'No, no, I must find her.' You hid really well, Buff--because he looked everywhere. All summer. I think that's why his fingers still get stiff--you know, the ones Angelus broke?--because he never did the therapy thing like he was supposed to. Well, that, and they just got broken too bad. Angelus was pretty nasty."

"It must have been difficult for Rupert," Celeste said quietly, "When your Angel returned. To not only look upon that hated face, but to see that face beloved by the one he loved more than his own life."

"When Angel got shot, and we brought him to the mansion, did you see the look on Giles's face?" Willow put in. "For a second there I thought he was gonna lose it. He got really, really white. And shaky. But he pulled it together for you."

Let's see guys, Buffy thought, Try a little harder. You might be able to make me feel worse here.

"But he's gone now--Angel is," she said, trying not to sound defensive, or whiny, "And I did bad, but I won't any more. I--I'm over him, and even if he came back, that's finished. Really finished. I love Giles. I won't ever let him be hurt anymore."

"I should like very much to be your friend," Celeste said, "And I make an extremely bad enemy. I think, Buffy, that you take my meaning."

"You're right." Buffy hung her head. "You're right. I know. And I won't."

Celeste squeezed her hand. "Won't what, dear?"

"Won't ever make you my enemy."

"Then," Celeste told her, "That's the last we'll say on the subject."

The three of them scooted close together again, and once more sat watching the sleeping men.

"I miss Oz," Willow said sadly. "Do you think he'll remember me when I'm gone?"

"Don't say that," Buffy told her. "We're gonna figure a way out of here."

"Oz?" Celeste asked.

"Willow's honey. He's a werewolf."

"Really? That must be interesting." Celeste stretched out her long legs, crossing her ankles.

"We used to lock him in the book-cage, in the library. The old library. Before it blew up. But only for three days a month. Did that make any sense?"

"Oddly enough, Willow, I seemed to have understood you." Celeste shifted again. "This doesn't seem right, does it?"

"What doesn't?" Buffy squirmed too. Damn, this floor was uncomfortable. She was gonna have permanent ridge-marks on her butt if they didn't get out of there soon. Not that she wanted to think about the flipside of getting out--what would happen to the guys.

"To travel all the way from London to Cornwall in the blink of an eye, and then be trapped inside this bleeding tower," Celeste said. "It irritates me. I can't help but think there's something we've overlooked."

"I really wish Giles knew how to undo those big warding spells," Willow said. "It's like being stuck in a room--which we are. Only with a big noisy fly that won't stop buzzing."

"Wait," Celeste said. "How did we get here--how did they get here, for that matter?"

"There was the Hellmouth-thingy--" Buffy began.

"OH!" Willow said. "Oh, Buffy!"

"What?"

Willow's hands were waving, as if she was trying to take flight. "It's...it's...umn..."

All of a sudden the thoughts lined up in Buffy's head, as if they'd been there all along, just taking the time to make themselves pretty.

"It wasn't the Hellmouth. First it was Sebastian, and he had some sort of Wild Magic thing going on there, with the fire and all, but what brought him here is that this is like his...I don't know...his inheritance. It's part of him. And for some reason, Will, Moira says--"

"That I'm one of them!" Willow exclaimed. "That's what Moira said to me just about the first minute we met, and Ethan said it too, and they both made the glowy mark thing shine on me. And if you, like, compared my mom to these people here--?"

"Your mom would fit right in," Buffy agreed. "Seriously."

"I mean, stubborn? Single minded? Ignoring everything around her?"

"Whoa," Buffy said, "I do believe!"

"So, if these are their spells, and Seb and I are both part of them, maybe one of us has the ward-cracking spell inside us?" Willow looked like she might, at any minute, get up and do Xander's happy dance.

"See, that's what I thought, Will! And maybe Giles didn't know how to lift the spell himself, but I bet he can get it to come out to play." Buffy hugged Willow, and Willow hugged her back--then Celeste grabbed hold of both of them, and they were all rolling together on the floor laughing, until Celeste started saying, "Ow, ow."

"Sorry," Buffy and Willow said, still giggling. They weren't going to die. No one was going to die after all.

"What?" said Giles's sleepy voice. "What the bloody hell is happening?"

Buffy threw herself across the room, and hugged him so tight he begged for mercy.