Transitions - Chapter 60

Oddly enough, Sebastian had always associated the smells of straw and horse-droppings with deep thought. He'd made some of the most meaningful decisions of his life inside stables--from boyhood, they'd been a place where he'd come and think, speaking low-voiced to the great steady beasts who were simultaneously amongst the most sensitive and stupidest of God's creatures.

Rather like you, Seb, Sebastian told himself ruefully. He opened the door to the stall in which Hyperion, King of Appleyard Stables, resided.

That was certainly the truth, so far as he could see it. Lately, he seemed to be experiencing day after day of foolishness, irrationality, hyper-sensitivity, as if he'd somehow inherited in Celeste's place all the symptoms she was meant to be having with her pregnancy. In defiance of all the old wives' tales, his wife continued to be a bastion of practicality, whilst he careened madly between the Scylla and the Charybdis of his emotions.

He'd become, as his ridiculously young future step-mum might say, a basketcase.

Speaking of which...

Sebastian had been running the curry-comb absently along the patient stallion's sun-coloured flank, but now he laid his head wearily against Hyperion's shoulder. This most perfect of Hunters craned his neck, gazing at Sebastian with tolerant dark eyes--though the great beast seemed in some way amused by it all. Good Lord, Hyperion had more sense than he. To go knocking at his father's door in the wee hours of the morning...what had he expected? At least Celeste had come along in time to prevent him from bursting in upon them. What must Buffy and Rupert think of him? How could he face them this morning?

The answer was that he couldn't. He'd known it the minute he finished shaving, and gone to find his wife in the kitchen.

"They won't mind, my dearest love," Celeste told him, leaving off, for the moment, an argument in which she and Moira debated, with vehemence, the contents of a perfect quiche--a discussion both women seemed to have been enjoying immensely. "At most, they'll find your little intrusion amusing."

"And what is that, Seb?" Moira asked, gazing at him with those overly-perceptive LeFaye eyes. She'd appeared a bit tired, Sebastian thought, but calm. Almost calmer than one would expect--except from one of her training.

"Oh, you know how protective Bastian is of Rupert," Celeste answered smiling. "We heard a bit of a noise. It was nothing."

His wife and his mother traded looks, and Sebastian had fled, seeking out the quiet of the stables, where only the stallion and a handful of other riding horses remained. It seemed that someone had, perhaps, planned an expedition for later in the day.

Sebastian's thoughts circled round and round, like that serpent whose name he could never recall, the one which swallowed its own tail.

Ourboros. That was it. The worm Ourboros. And worm--or wyrm--had once meant not a small wriggling thing in the earth, but a mighty serpent. A dragon. Like Wyrm's Head, off the Gower Peninsula in Wales. He and Celeste had raced the tide there, running over the slippery stones to escape the flood of sea-water that might strand them on the windswept series of islets that so resembled a petrified dragon, half-submerged.

Oh, he was wandering. Letting himself consider any trivial thing that was not amongst the subjects he needed to face, and come to terms with.

Sebastian wanted so badly to talk to his dad, but it seemed that every time he turned around, Buffy was there--and though he recognized his own pettiness, he felt, at the same time, powerless to overcome the emotion. He didn't much like to admit it, but the image of Rupert and Buffy together disturbed him in ways he did not even like to contemplate. The thought of California, too, despite Celeste's obvious enthusiasm, filled him with apprehension. He could not, for the life of him, decide which worried him more--or why, in fact, he should be troubled by either.

Sebastian rubbed his face against Hyperion's coat and groaned. He was a bad priest, a bad son, a bad husband and a bad...well, whatever else he was, he was sure to be bad at it.

"You okay there, Seb?" Buffy's voice asked, humourously, from behind him.

Speak of the devil, he thought--which she wasn't, obviously. She was a pretty, pleasant young woman, full of life, who loved his father to distraction.

And most likely to an early grave, said a small, evil voice inside him.

Sebastian raised his head. "Ah. Buffy. Hello."

The young woman hoisted herself easily to the top of a stall partition, and sat there swinging her heels--but not clumping them on the wood, against which he could have chided her, as something that would make the horses nervous. "Ya know," she began, in that easy, familiar American way of hers. "Do you think you could manage to sound a little less than your dad when you say that? Otherwise, it's pretty freaksome."

"Why is that?" he asked her.

"I don't know." Buffy shrugged. "You sound like twinsies. You look like twinsies. It's disturbing."

"Now who sounds like Dad?"

Buffy laughed. "Ack! He's staring to rub off on me. More and more Gilesisms are creeping into my vocabulary, and soon I won't be able to speak English anymore."

Sebastian turned, regarding her. Buffy was so very lovely, and fresh-looking, like a field of unfaded daisies under a summer sky.

"That's a pretty horse," Buffy said. "What's her name?"

"Look underneath."

"Funny name," Buffy answered, but she dropped down from the wall and stooped to look. "Oops. My mistake. Let's try, 'That's a very handsome horse? What's his name?'"

"Hyperion appreciates your making the correction," Sebastian told her. "He has a reputation to uphold--and his pride, of course."

"Yeah. He's a guy after all." She laughed, brightly. A lovely sound, really. There was no reason at all why his father shouldn't love her, except her youth--and wasn't that what any man was meant to want?

"I'm hurt, Buffy, on behalf of 'guys' everywhere."

"Now I know what they mean when they say 'hung like...'" She stopped, giggled, covered her mouth with her hands. "Oops. Sorry. Forgot you were a priest-type person."

Sebastian shrugged. Buffy studied his face with an intensity that quite contradicted her light-hearted words, and he found it rather nerve-wracking. She was, by no means, a dull-witted young woman, and he half-feared what she'd see in him.

"I'm not the competition," she said at last.

"Buffy, I--"

"No, let me finish. I'm not the competition. Really, truly. I was so freaked at first I couldn't believe it, but I can see how much you love him, and I love him too, so it's..." She gave him a slightly uncertain smile. "I want us to be friends."

"We...ah, that is... You and I..."

"Frrr-ends. Friends. C'mon, Oxford-guy. You can say it."

"Buffy," Sebastian said, slightly exasperated, but she didn't relent.

"We are friends," he told her. "We...ah...bonded, do you say? We bonded over gingersnaps."

"I wanted to think so." Those sapphire eyes seemed to bore straight through his skull. "But, uh-unh. Celeste and I are friends. You and I have issues."

Sebastian sank down on a bale of straw, and Buffy came to sit beside him, her hand alighting tentatively upon his shoulder. So much strength, he thought, and yet the touch seemed weightless as a butterfly's landing.

"You know what I am, Seb," she told him. "I want you to..."

She fell silent for so long that Sebastian was concerned. At last, he told her, "Go on, Buffy."

"Umn..." When she glanced up, tears shone in those remarkable eyes. "When...if...something were to happen to me, promise me you'll look after him, okay? We're alike that way, Giles 'n' me. We love people too hard. Only it's worse for him, 'cause he doesn't open up easily. It would be too much for Will and Xander to handle alone, though I know he loves them, really, like his own kids. But you're special." Her tiny, powerful hand moved to rest upon his. "You know that, don't you--how much he loves you? How proud he is of you?"

Sebastian nodded, a lump in his throat too big to speak around.

"You're a good guy," Buffy told him softly. "You just forgot that about yourself."

They sat without speaking for a long time, side by side on the straw-bale, their shoulders touching.

"I promise," Sebastian told her, finally. "Naturally, I promise. But there's no need, Buffy. Really, there's no need." He could not bear, suddenly, to think of some evil thing taking this bright young woman's life.

"Nah," Buffy answered, rising and stretching. "Not to worry."

Sebastian rose too and, on an impulse, wrapped his arms around her in a brotherly embrace--for that is what he and Celeste should be to her, he realized, despite their somewhat unconventional familial positions--a loving elder brother and sister.

"The freakiness continues," Buffy said against his shirtfront. "You hug just like Giles. Or is that TMI?"

"TMI?" Sebastian asked faintly, as Buffy stepped back from him, and gazed upward with an elfin humour in her expression.

"Too much information. You know. About your dad?"

Sebastian laughed softly. "Bordering on it, I'm afraid. Did you want to go in for breakfast, Buffy?"

"I'm starved." She stopped to pat Hyperion's shoulder. "Aunt Flora says we can go riding today, and I hope to hell I don't fall off."

"You've never been?" He ushered her from the stall, one hand hovering over the space between her shoulderblades.

Buffy shook her head. "Always wanted to, never did. Giles said he'd teach me. Though it's funny to think of Giles riding a horse."

"Dad's quite a good rider. We've often been. My mum's an excellent rider too, of course. And Celeste. We'd come up here most holidays, and often at weekends." Sebastian shut the stable door carefully behind them, making sure of the lock.

"Giles gave up an awful lot to be with me, didn't he?" Buffy asked, pensively.

"I believe he might prefer to say that he gained a great deal, when he came to you."

Buffy turned her radiant smile upon him. "Seb, that's so sweet," she said. "Even if you don't mean it, it's sweet. A little of that Giles gallantry?"

Sebastian smiled at her in return. They entered the kitchen together, just as food was being set out on the long wooden table. All the faces turned to them: the three aunts, like good fairies in a Disney story; his lovely, wise, heavenly Celeste; his father, looking for once, relaxed and happy; Moira, like a Celtic goddess, like the goddess Ceridwen with the steaming bowl in her hands that contained all the knowledge of the world; the two bright-faced kids, Xander and Willow.

"Hey, guys," Buffy said.

"You have straw," Willow told them. "You're straw-ey."

"Wash your hands, loves, if you've been with the horses," Aunt Flora commanded, "Then come join us, quick as you can."

"Yes'm," Sebastian answered, as he had when much younger, as when he'd first met the tiny but imposing woman who was his great-aunt.

Whilst he and Buffy retreated in the direction of the downstairs lavatory, he heard Flora say softly, "It's all right now, they've come through."

Yes, Sebastian thought, running the warm water into the basin, rubbing the cake of soap between his palms, Yes, I believe that is true.

Sebastian could feel the warmth of Appleyard around him, and the warmth of his family. He shut his eyes, saying a small but heartfelt prayer, "For this, and all blessings, I humbly thank Thee."

He could care for the loving young woman who would be his father's wife. He could go to California and not be afraid. He could do these things, and no harm would come.

Lord, he added, Watch over us, please, and protect us all.

Buffy seemed to have taken to the saddle like the proverbial duck to water, riding as if she'd been born to it--yet even so, watching her, Giles's heart continually leapt into his mouth. Moira told him he was being foolish, and the two of them set off together, clearing hedges and fences as if competing for the Gold in the steeplechase at Newmarket. Actually, the sight of Moira riding sidesaddle on Artemis, great, great-great granddaughter of a mare of that same name, on which she'd won her Olympic gold, filled him with a similar terror.

He glanced back over his shoulder, looking for Willow, Xander and Celeste. Willow showed promise, and had good hands and a good seat, yet rode somewhat timidly. Xander had already contrived to fall off his gentle, steady mount so many times Giles could only wonder that he hadn't broken both legs and cracked open his skull--yet each time he'd leaped up grinning, saying something along the lines of, "And now, for my next amazing feat."

Truly, Giles had been hard pressed not to laugh.

Celeste, kind soul that she was, agreed to shepherd the two of them, so that everyone else might have a good ride.

"They're quite the pair, aren't they?" Sebastian said, watching Moira and Buffy clear a series of hedges side by side. "Utterly fearless."

Giles nodded, shutting his eyes as Buffy, without a moment's hesitation, urged Hyperion over a four-rail fence. "She's mad, I'd say. Utterly mad."

As if she'd heard, Moira reined in her mount and came cantering back to them, scarcely breathing hard despite her hell-for-leather riding. "Rupert! Seb! She's a wonder, isn't she? If it wouldn't be cheating, I'd train her for the Pentathlon myself. Does she fence as well as she rides, Rupert?"

"I can still best her--at times." Giles smiled. The July sun shone warm on his face, and despite his anxiety over Buffy's recklessness, he felt amazingly relaxed, amazingly at peace. He scarcely knew how to deal with such feelings, unfamiliar as they'd become. "Not for long, I fear. Her concentration's sharpening."

"Helena was a bloody mess with a sword," Moira said, glancing over her shoulder. She wore an open-necked polo shirt for riding, and the scars on her throat showed clearly, the new layered over the old. "All strength, no finesse. She never saw the art in it."

"Em--" Giles began.

"Did your father relate to you, Seb, what I did back in Sunnydale?" she asked, her tone remaining conversational. "A rash and bloody deed that was."

"Em, there's no need," Giles told her, hating to see the shadows return to her eyes. "That was a moment of weakness, nothing more. To see one we--ah--love, in such a circumstance..."

Moira shifted on the sidesaddle, which he knew she hated with a passion--though she'd hate not being able to ride at all even more bitterly. She stroked Artemis's silver-white neck with an absent-minded thoughtfulness, not meeting their eyes. "I offered myself to a vampire, Seb. God, can you believe the stupidity?"

"It was Helena," Giles explained, as his own mount, Rowanberry, took a series of sideways steps, reacting to the magical energy emanating from his friend--energy that all three of them, and each of the horses, felt only too clearly. Only Artemis remained entirely steady.

"It's perfectly understandable that you..."

"It wasn't Helena," Moira interrupted. "It was the monster that stole her body--as you and I both know, Rupert." Her eyes blazed at him, fiery emeralds, and Giles felt suddenly concerned for more than her riding. He'd thought her contented with Wesley, safe from danger, and yet...

"Moira, love," he answered quietly, "That's behind us now."

"I killed them all," she said, in a soft, dead voice. "In the forest of Mermorgan. Not with my own hands, but by my own intention."

"I'm afraid I don't follow..." Giles began, but in truth he followed only too well. He could feel at peace, no longer in any danger, because his old friend had taken care of that danger for him. He owed her a perhaps unpayable debt of honour.

Giles met her eyes evenly, ignoring the actual, physical pain that hot gaze caused. "I am terribly sorry, Em," he said.

"It's nothing." She gave a short, sharp shrug. "'In thy orisons be all my sins remembered.'"

"If you start quoting Hamlet on a regular basis, Mum," Sebastian told her, "I shall be very concerned indeed."

Moira gave a small smile, an expression close to a grimace, and then her face cleared. "'I am but mad north-northwest,' Seb. You know that." She sighed. "I spoke to Wesley in the wee hours. Woke him from a bit of a nap, and he sounded rather distant--and so now I'm tending in the direction of what dear Buffy would most likely call a 'wiggins.'"

"Wesley?" Sebastian asked her, obviously confused.

"Wyndham-Price. Your mother's..." Giles paused, unable to think of a term to describe Moira and Wesley's relationship that would not sound either rather insulting, or hopelessly Victorian.

"Fiance." Moira held up her left hand.

"Really?" Giles asked, astounded--not exactly sure how he felt about such a development, or how he ought, actually, to feel.

"You needn't sound so overjoyed," Moira answered, laughing. "Once one chips off that hellishly chilly, priggish exterior, he's..." She paused, as if searching for words that could not easily be located. "He's very tender to me, Rupert," she concluded in a quiet voice. "He makes me joyful."

Giles took hold of her hand with his good one, clasping it firmly. "Then, Em, I'm extremely happy for you."

"Mum," Sebastian said, with continuing puzzlement, "I was at school with a chap called Wyndham-Price..."