Trust - Chapter 27

One good thing about having a priest in the family, Buffy thought. Running out of holy water? Not really an issue. Which was a good thing, too, because the way Seb was going for the gusto with his sprinkling duties, her regular supply would have been exhausted in a heartbeat.

Only she knew that wasn't really fair to Seb. He was a good guy, and he was full-on into his manly protectiveness role, which was cute in its way. And, hell, a little extra holiness here and there certainly wasn't going to hurt anything, especially when she considered the fun 'n' games that were Angelus's usual stock in trade.

Buffy herself had gone around the house checking crosses, and found them all present and accounted for, just like she'd thought. Now she was pretty much content to sit still, curled up at one end of her mom's comfy couch, sipping herb tea.

She'd have been fairly content, too, for the moment. That is, if only the giant church bell wedged inside her head would stop bonging away.

Somewhere above her (despite the less-than-pleasant bell tones) Buffy could hear Giles and Celeste's voices, a soothing sound even under the present circumstances. Even though, too, the words they chanted took her back to another sad--and at the same time--happier part of her life. Well, happier in a kinda-sorta way. It wasn't like Angelus's previous appearance had been a giant joyfest, but at least, that time, Willow hadn't deserted her to go over to the dark side. She'd been there, warm and sweet and best-friendy, a person Buffy would have sworn would always be with her, dependable forever.

Which just proved how much she knew about human nature. She had no Willow, not anymore. No Xander either, and no matter how much she tried not to worry about him, that big, bubbling concern was always percolating away at the back of her brain.

Right now, too, she wished Giles would come back down, that she could hold him and he could hold her, and something about their nutso world would make at least the teeniest bit of sense.

Only, like Seb, Giles--and Buffy couldn't fault him for this, even though the undercurrent of desperation she'd been able to detect beneath the calm Gilesness of his features hadn't exactly given her the biggest of happies--seemed determined to carry the disinvitingness to the nth degree. As in, having done every single solitary window and door from the basement to the attic, she was fairly certain he'd started in on the bathroom fans. Or maybe the dryer vent. Or...

Buffy sighed and set her teacup down carefully on a coaster. And, whoa, it looked like maybe the care was needed, too, because both tea and coaster seemed to want to go all twinsies on her. Except that they didn't necessarily want to double up at the same time, so she kept having one cup and two coasters, or two cups and one coaster, and it seemed to have taken her way more brain power than necessary such to perform that simple act.

She sighed again. Dumb dumb dumb was SO how she felt right now. She hadn't fought that pathetically since the very, very earliest of her L.A. days.

And speaking of uber-dumbness, why had she left Giles alone in his hospital room in the first place, with Angelus on the loose? Because she thought evil vamps respected visiting hours? After all, who had nobody's favorite vampire picked on specially LAST time he'd rolled his fun self into town? And if he'd been jealous then, how many gazillion times more must he be jealous now?

Buffy sighed again. Third time's the charm.

She couldn't believe Giles hadn't ripped her a new one over her total lack of foresight and skill, the moment she came to--because she more than richly deserved it. Not that he'd ever been like that. Oh, he'd tell her when she went wrong in training, and no matter how much back-talk she gave him, he wouldn't stop 'til he'd made his point and be sure she'd at least partly listened. Only he never kicked her when she was down. Never. How many times, when she was feeling her worst, had his soft voice comforted her...

Buffy drifted a little, her eyes going shut. Remembering took her to--if not a happy--than at least a peaceful place. And peaceful was okay for right now.

"Ready for a refill?"

Buffy jumped, and it took her a minute to register her mom's voice, a minute more to respond with a brilliant, "Huh?"

"Would you like more tea, sweetheart?" Joyce clarified gently. "And maybe a little sympathy to go with it?"

Buffy felt tears well up in her eyes, then lost it completely when her mom sat down beside her on the couch and took Buffy in her arms.

"I know, I know," she crooned as Buffy sobbed, blurting out such a totally incoherent version of the one hundred and one idiotic things she'd done that night that she didn't think Joyce could possibly have understood a word.

Only, thanks to some impossible mom super-power, Joyce had. "You've been through so much," she said. "So much. And when you see someone you love in that much danger...honey, not many of us would be able to act smart."

Snuffling a little, Buffy gave a sudden giggle as the image of her mom, axe-handle in hand as she shouted "Get the hell away from my daughter" at Spike popped into her head. Sometimes the two of them, despite all her protests to the contrary, could be so much alike it was scary.

"There's my daughter," Joyce said, pushing aside the hair that covered the sore place on the nape of Buffy's neck. "You know, it always amazes me how fast you heal. That horrible bruise has started fading already--though you still have some pretty good technicolor effects in the green and yellow range."

Buffy didn't answer, just leaned against her mom's chest, into her warmth and the slow beat of her heart, as Joyce's arms tightened around her. She was so tired. So tired...

"Sleeping, is she?" Dimly, Buffy registered Giles's voice, his own tiredness hidden beneath his concern for her--which made Buffy feel warm inside. And beneath his ever-so-proper British politeness--which made her want to clunk him over the head with her shoe. Only not really.

"I've wanted very much to express my appreciation, Joyce," he continued, softly, obviously not wanting to wake her. "I...er...that is, my family...if matters weren't urgent..."

"Rupert," Joyce responded, and Buffy could hear both the smile and the exasperation in her voice. "I like your family. I--God help me here--like you."

"Oh!" Giles answered, in a tone that said he'd been totally caught off his guard by that one. "We...that is, I..." He paused, cleared his throat and seemed, finally, to get it together. "Joyce, you are a fine person. A good and generous person, whatever differences you and I might have experienced in the past. I'm quite aware this is an imposition, and I hope you'll allow me to express, on behalf of us all, our very deep thankfulness for your hospitality."

Buffy grinned. Giles was so cute when he got all formal. She agreed with the sentiment, though: to let them invade like this was way nice of her mom, and Buffy didn't have to be psychic to predict that she'd be putting in some serious future good-daughter time to make it up to her.

"Heard and seconded," she murmured, straightening. Her head did the clang clang thing a couple times, then settled down. Slayer healing really was the best.

Joyce smiled, then gave a small, slightly embarrassed laugh. "Well, you know I do have an ulterior motive..."

Buffy groaned. "Uh-oh. Here it comes. I'm gonna be doing chores until I'm ready for Social Security, huh?"

Joyce laughed again, giving Giles a little bit of a wink. "Chores...hmn...now there's an idea!"

At which point Celeste popped into the room with a whisk in one hand. "Joyce, I hope you won't mind, but after all the excitement, I rather thought..."

Buffy's stomach immediately growled, and it hit her that she'd not only missed dinner, she'd totally forgotten to do the lunch thing, too. Then a wave of guilt passed over her. How could she think of food with Angelus prowling around out there, probably snacking on the local populace?

Okay, said the little devil on her other shoulder, True enough. But this is Celeste-food we're talking about here.

"See?" her mom said. "If I play my cards right, I can have maybe a whole week of this woman's cooking. Celeste, they should declare you a national treasure.

"Have done," Celeste answered, grinning and giving her whisk a little wave, like it was some kind of multi-purpose magic wand. "One doesn't like to boast."

Buffy couldn't tell whether her friend was joking or not. Probably not, she reflected, as Celeste made her way back to the kitchen.

"Er...might I?" Giles gestured at the couch, and for a moment Buffy saw behind the mask to how totally wiped he actually was.

"Oh, sweetie--" She bounced to her feet, taking Giles's arm. He dropped into the cushions like the chances of him actually making it up again were slim to none, leaning his head back into the puffy pillows.

Buffy sat down again, between him and Joyce, and took his hand, stroking the battered knuckles gently with her thumb. "So...we all safe and secure now?

"Mmn," Giles mumbled, probably just on the brink of sleep. Then, with an obvious effort, he shook himself awake again. "Buffy, how are you?" His fingertips brushed the back of her head with aching tenderness, and at that moment all she wanted in the world was to be curled up beside him in the comfort of her very own bed. Not that that seemed likely to be in the cards, not chez mom, however cool Joyce was being in general.

Still, better to plunge in and make sure. "So, mom--" Buffy began. "About the sleeping arrangements?"

"Temporary," Giles put in. "We certainly won't wish to put you out any longer than absolutely necessary."

"Rupert--" Joyce raised a hand. "What I think Buffy's actually hinting at is whether I'm going to allow her to sleep with you under my roof."

"Er..." Giles began, but then his mouth snapped shut. Buffy was almost positive he'd started blushing. Only a wish to spare his feeling stopped her from giggling.

"If you say yes," Buffy told Joyce, keeping her tone light, "You're either the coolest mom ever. Or, possibly, my mom has been replaced by the Anti-Joyce.

"My mother..." Joyce said, and for a second her eyes got say. "Had rules to cover just about every single tiny detail of my behavior. You know, in her house, your father was never allowed upstairs. He wasn't even allowed inside the house after eleven o'clock--and this was when I was well over age of consent. In my early twenties, actually. I never broke any of my mother's rules."

Buffy looked down at her hands, and found them all twisted up in her lap. What she really didn't need at the moment was a reminder of how much she lacked in the daughter department.

Giles, she noticed, wasn't saying anything.

Suddenly, Joyce gave a little laugh. "The one rule she actually forgot to mention was the one about climbing out my window and sliding down the roof by night, the better to meet whoever I wanted. And I think I may actually have been in your class, Buffy, in that department, because if my dad had known what I got up to in his barn, or his orchards, he very likely would have had a heart attack."

"Which means?" Buffy asked, wondering if the story would ever get to its pointiness--or if, maybe, she'd just missed the point when it flew by her.

"Which means, get on upstairs," Joyce answered. "Fast. Before I change my mind."

Buffy gave her a quick hug. "You really are the best."

"Funny how you always say that when you get your own way," her mom told her--but she also laughed again, so that was okay.

Out of respect for Joyce's feelings, Buffy waited until they'd reached the foot of the stairs before she slipped her hand into Giles's.

"You were pretty quiet through all that," Buffy said.

"I felt, rather..." Slowly, he followed her up the steps, obviously trying his hardest to make it look easy, despite his achiness. "It wasn't precisely my business."

"Besides which--and don't lie to me here--you were totally embarrassed." Buffy stopped on the top step, turning to kiss him. To her surprise, Giles's hands pressed hard to her hips, bringing her body close to his, his lips and his tongue exploring her mouth with that tender concentration that she'd missed so badly she couldn't have put all her feelings into words in a thousand years.

She was breathless by the time they parted.

"I could not have borne to be apart from you tonight," Giles told her, his own voice a little gravelly both with emotion and from Angelus's rough handling. Gently, Buffy ran her fingertips over the bruises on his throat.

"We might have lost one another tonight," he continued, "And that--that I absolutely could not have borne. We can't be foolish anymore, Buffy."

Buffy moved her fingertips to his mouth, silencing him, then stretched up for another kiss.

"I know," she said, when the pulled apart. "I know. And we won't. Only tonight..."

Giles's smile was a little sad, but loving nonetheless. "Yes. Tonight."

"We won't think about any of it? Please?"

He smiled again, cupping her cheek with his hand, then trailing his fingers down the line of her neck and down to the scooped neck of her top. Buffy ached for him, in her breasts and between her legs and in her heart, and she could tell by the look on Giles's face that he ached for her too.

He followed Buffy into her room, shutting the door carefully behind him. Once again, he looked too big and masculine for PastelPrincessWorld, but this time she didn't feel awkward. She didn't care: he belonged there anyway. Wherever she was, he belonged. And vice-versa.

Some thoughtful person had left a pair of neatly-folded guy's pajama's on the foot of the bed. Dark blue silk. Buffy suspected the hand of Celeste had been at work.

Giles smiled slightly. "Sebastian's, I shouldn't wonder. If I continue to borrow his clothing, will you cease to find me so--what's the term?--fashion challenged?"

"Maybe," Buffy answered, "But you know, I kinda like you the way you are. With the understanding that the tweed still goes. Every scrap of it."

"Without a murmur," Giles answered. "I am a man of my word, as you know." He started trying to unbutton the crisp blue dress shirt Seb had previously loaned him--and which, Buffy had to admit, looked great, especially paired with Seb's nicely-tailored gray slacks--but wasn't making much of a go of it

Giles was still struggling by the time she returned from the dresser with her own jammies and her lotion, but when he looked at her, instead of the frustration she'd expected to see, Buffy caught something like amusement instead.

"I seem to be afflicted with a rather severe case of--what do you call it?--fumble-fingers tonight." He laughed softly. "Damned high-quality workmanship. One can't even lose one's temper and send the buttons flying."

Buffy laughed with him. "Yeah, curse those British tailors and their unshoddy sewing techniques. This would never happen if Celeste shopped at Walmart, you know. Do you have Walmart in England?"

Giles got a doubtful look. "We have Marks and Sparks--Marks and Spencer, that is."

"Nah, I had to go there to buy new underwear, when we were visiting. That's more like J.C. Penney." Buffy laughed again. "And here I am, half undressed, discussing department stores with Rupert Giles. I don't know what I'd have thought, three years ago, if I'd been able to look into the future and see this moment."

"I rather suspect it would have been...er..." Giles got a sudden grin. "Totally freaksome." He imitated her Valley Teen voice so accurately it was almost scary.

"Hey, mister," Buffy answered, laughing. "Who do you think you're mocking?"

Giles's eyes had changed a little, and he reached to touch her cheek again. Buffy shivered slightly at the tender roughness of her fingertips on her skin. "Buffy, is...? Do you...?"

"I was so dumb then," Buffy told him, her own voice suddenly hoarse. "So very dumb. I mean, even compared to tonight, which was so not one of my shining moments." Carefully, her hands shaking, she undid the tricky buttons on his shirt.

She hadn't seen him totally uncovered like this in a while, and it actually, physically hurt her to see him so torn and battered. With infinite care, Buffy traced the scrapes and bruises, looking up to see Giles watching her, his eyes silvery-green and unreadable.

"It was a seriously bad place, the one you went to?" she asked, surprised to find her voice breathy, herself close to tears.

"Buffy," Giles said quietly.

"I guess you don't have to answer that. I guess I know." She leaned forward, pressing her lips to the skin over his heart. Giles's hand rose, cradling the back of her head, stroking her hair.

"I shan't ever leave you like that again," he said, his voice humming through her, rich and deep and utterly, utterly believable. "But please see that you don't leave me, either, because for all I lost in that hellish place, the thought of losing you is the only thing in this world or any other by which I'm truly terrified."

Which was all he had to say, or ever said, on the topic of that evening's debacle.