Trust - Chapter 7

"You're kicking yourself about something," Buffy told Giles, coming upstairs into the loft. "I see guilt-face. Or is that doubt-face?"

Giles startled. Caught up in his dream, or visitation--whichever Moira's appearance might have been--he either hadn't noticed Buffy's absence from his side, or else, in a large part of himself, had believed the events of that day a wishful fabrication.

"Ooh, jumpy Giles." Standing by the mirror, Buffy pulled the elastic from her hair, combing out its tangles with her fingers, then proceeded to divest herself of her clothing--leather trousers and a knitted shirt--a trifle shyly, with many glances over her shoulder to watch him.

"I'd thought--" he began, then stopped himself.

"I'm sorry," Buffy answered, pulling on a fluffy pink dressing-gown over her smooth nakedness. "Couldn't sleep. And when was the last time I patrolled? 'Cause I'm here to tell you, it was vamp central out there."

Abruptly, Giles felt his focus return. "Was it? Buffy, are you all right? You didn't...? You weren't...?"

Buffy laughed. "Hey, maybe that was worry-face I detected, a minute ago. You didn't wig when you found me gone, did you? Because yes, I'm okay. No, bruises, right?" She bounced onto the bed, coming to kneel astride Giles's lap in a way that, at any other time, he would have found irresistible. "C'mon, I know you looked." Her hand cupped the back of his head, drawing Giles close to her for a kiss, the merest hint of her shyness lingering, even as she explored his mouth.

"Who could not?" Giles answered, when he was able to breathe again.

"Library Giles wouldn't have looked," Buffy answered, leaping up once more. "I so need a shower. Come talk to me?"

"Library Giles was a model of moral rectitude," he answered, sliding awkwardly to the edge of the bed and climbing, with considerable stiffness, to his feet.

Buffy paused, stretching out a hand to him, though she allowed Giles to make his own slightly tottery way into the bathroom, her face a mirror of pained sympathy. "Ooh. Shouldn't have made you get up. Sorry."

"No," Giles answered. "Actually, it's better to move around a bit. Otherwise, I'd likely be frozen by morning."

"Oil can," Buffy said in an odd, squeaky, clenched-toothed voice, then laughed. "Oops. Forgot who I was talking to. The Tin Woodman? From The Wizard of Oz? You know."

A distant childhood memory of winged monkeys and hiding, terrified, behind the sofa, formed vaguely in Giles's mind. Was there some association there, to what Buffy was telling him? He'd thought the image belonged to a demon in one of his father's books.

"Okay, there's a biggie for your American Culture viewing list." Buffy reached behind the shower-curtain, twisting taps. "The Tin Man was a guy. With an axe. Made of tin--the guy, not the axe, I mean--and he got rained on or something, so his joints rusted up. Dorothy had to oil him before he could move again--and I can't believe I have to explain this stuff. He wanted a heart."

Giles nodded, no more enlightened than he'd been before her explanation.

"And I totally lost you there, huh?" Buffy shook her head, smiling. "Then how 'bout this? When I'm done, I'll get you something to eat, so you can take another pill."

"There's no..." Giles began, but Buffy raised her palm in a gesture of warning.

"No arguing. The Great and Powerful Buff has spoken." She slipped behind the curtain, raising her voice over the noise of the spray. "Besides, how else are you going to be able to move around. Without dying. How's the hand?"

"Hurts," Giles answered briefly, even as he considered that he'd bloody well have to be able to move, and without chemical intervention, if he intended to keep his word.

"So. See?" Buffy groped blindly for the shampoo, her silhouette, against the curtain, moving in disconnected stop-motion jerks. The nearly-empty bottle made a rude sound as she squeezed it, and Buffy laughed.

"Remind me to get more?" she asked, shadow-arms rising over her head as she rubbed the lather into her hair.

Giles watched her, realizing that he'd feared the loss of such unremarkable moments nearly as much as their moments of passion. Merely to have Buffy here, smiling, laughing, talking nonsensically of things he really would have to make an effort to understand, because they were part of her world, and he wanted, more than anything he'd wished for in his life, to be able to share all of Buffy's world with her.

Now she would have to be told of his promise, and made to understand exactly what it meant. And how exactly he intended to explain, Giles couldn't begin to fathom. He scarcely understood himself.

"It's gotten really quiet out there," Buffy said. "You awake?"

"I had a visitor," Giles told her.

"Time Dude?" She froze, a dark, elfin shape against the green curtain, then began again, obviously hurrying through her shower ritual.

Giles removed a towel from the linen cupboard, holding it ready for her emergence. "Quite the contrary. It was Moira."

The shower curtain squealed back on its rail, and Buffy came out, dripping, her face troubled. "Giles--"

"Yes." He passed her the towel, waiting until Buffy had finished a vigourous rubbing of her hair before he spoke again. "I'm well aware that she's dead. Sadly, Moira herself--or her shade--is also perfectly aware, and fairly put out about it. She wants to come back."

Frowning, Buffy took a second towel from the cupboard, proceeding to dry herself thoughtfully and at length. That accomplished, she put on her dressing gown with the same silent thoughtfulness and padded back into the bedroom.

"Buffy, haven't you...?" Giles tried, but he'd no idea, really, what he meant to ask her. His body, however, had begun to betray him. His knees felt like water, and it was all he could do to make his own way back to the bed, dropping awkwardly onto its edge.

"Huh," she said at last. The dressing gown came off again, and Buffy pulled a soft blue nightdress over her head, the hem covering her legs only to mid-thigh when she sat beside him. Giles laid his good hand on her knee, stroking Buffy's silky skin.

"Your hand's hot," she murmured, then reached up to touch his cheek, gently, but with a certain briskness, as if verifying something she already knew to be true. Giles, in turn, knew better than to resist.

"Okay, two things," Buffy said, after a moment had passed. "One--correct me if I'm wrong here--that's not exactly a piece of good mojo, right? Bringing back from the deadness?"

"Not as such." Giles lay down on his side, and Buffy twisted to face him. The position, and the way even Buffy's slight weight made the mattress dip, hurt rather badly--but then, what didn't?

"So, you said no, right?"

"Moira has been keeping herself--God only knows how, by sheer force of will one suspects--on this side of..." What did one call it? Giles asked himself, feeling suddenly at a loss for words. "Of--I suppose one would say--of the afterlife."

Buffy reached out to him, rubbing the crease between his brows with the ball of her thumb. "But she is dead, right? Nothing can hurt her?"

"On the contrary." Giles sighed. "It's extremely dangerous territory. The chance of a disembodied spirit falling under some malign influence..."

"Malign," Buffy repeated. "So doesn't sound good." She paused, watching him, eyes dark with sympathy and, perhaps, a touch of anger. "Which brings me to number two--you shouldn't have to be worrying about this right now."

Giles attempted to protest, but Buffy shook her head violently. "Giles, look at yourself. I ran into Xander and Wes when I was out patrolling, and they filled me in on some of the stuff that's been going on. You've been doing too much magic, too much life-force stuff. Then this Time Guy..."

"I made Em a promise," Giles answered flatly. How could he possibly convince her? By her own lights--to any sensible mind--Buffy was right. And yet, he'd given his word, and the thought of Moira there, on the other side, holding on so desperately, hoping so desperately, could not help but wound him. "I said that I would search for the demon, and the Lapis Desiderium. Em seemed to believe that the right wish..."

"I don't wanna hear it," Buffy answered, just as tonelessly. "I don't. Giles, you're burning up, you can hardly stand, but you think you're gonna go crashing through to some demon dimension, fight a nasty that can hurt you in all kinds of bad ways just by waving his knobby little fingers and make a wish that isn't even your heart's desire anyway. Right?" She glared down at him. "'Cause if you look, you'll find out that it isn't. I mean, Moira meant a lot to you, I know that, but we're talking really, really down-to-basics stuff. You can't fake it, and I bet you can't fool the wishing rock. Or egg. Whatever it is."

"You're absolutely correct," Giles answered, after a long silence had passed between them. "My heart's desire is something else altogether."

"See?" Buffy said, some of the anger appearing to fade from her eyes.

"Which is why I intend to ask Wesley to accompany me." Giles held his breath, waiting for an explosion, but instead Buffy's face got distant and sad.

"Where do I fit into all this?" she asked softly, after another long silence passed. "No, wait, don't tell me--I'm the Slayer. I get left behind. Here. Where the fun is."

"I can't risk you," Giles told her, reaching for Buffy's hand. At least she did not pull away from his touch.

"No you. No Willow. No Wes. What if I need something from the moldy books? Oh, right--Sebastian's more than competent. Isn't that what you were going to say?"

"Something like that," Giles admitted. Actually, it had been precisely what he'd meant to say, even though the thought of Buffy's life depending on another's work, even Sebastian's, rather than his own, filled him with a kind of horror. It wasn't conceit--at least Giles didn't think it was--but he knew this place, knew Buffy, and... The truth was, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving her, and yet, if he didn't wish to make a liar of himself, he must, and soon. "I thought I--we--would leave tomorrow night."

"Great," Buffy answered in a soft, brittle voice. "Knock yourself out. Send me a postcard." She snatched a pillow from her side of the bed, hugging it fiercely to her chest. "As long as Moira's happy, that's what's important, right? Meanwhile, I'll be sleeping downstairs." She turned as if to leave, fury radiating from every line of her slight body.

"Buffy," Giles called, putting everything he felt for her, everything he believed,into that one word, his newly-gained abilities swirling between them with nearly-visible force. Buffy froze.

"Come back?" he asked, gently, aching for the wall that had grown up between them to be no more, aching for her to return to him, to lie beside him, just for this night.

And she did. Eyes brimming, Buffy lay down at his side. Her fingertips moved gently over his face, as if she'd been struck suddenly blind and had no other way to see him, and only this moment to commit him to her memory.

"I just want you to know," she said, "I'm not a happy Buffy."

"If it makes any difference to you," Giles answered, "Neither am I a...er...happy Giles."

Buffy moved closer, snuggling against his chest in a way that was simultaneously a source of great comfort and rather insistent pain. "You know, I have to say," she murmured, "Honor sucks."

Giles couldn't help but smile, even though she couldn't see him. Buffy, he had to admit, was absolutely right in that, as in so many other things.

A lot could be said for the Fairy Forest but--not that Willow meant to complain--you couldn't stay there forever. Not when there were people to see, things to do. It felt good, actually, to get out into the real world again, to walk the streets of Sunnydale after dark without the least bit of fear, knowing that anything scaly or slimy or undead that tried to mess with her would be in for the surprise of its soulless little life. So, goodbye Weepy Willow, hello Super Sorceress.

She hummed a few bars of that song of Maria's from The Sound of Music, the one about confidence, letting out little bursts of magic as she went--a touch of eldritch flame here, a teeny rip in the fabric of reality there.

I've got got confidence that spring will come again
Besides which, you see, I've got con-fi-dence in meeee!

Hokey, maybe, but it made her laugh.

Hey, maybe she should have a costume, like one of the super-babes in Xander's comics? Some kind of black spandex number with a swirly cape, suitable for hovering off the ground and shooting lightning bolts from her fingertips or eyeballs while her thoughts floated over her head in a word-balloon.

Willow couldn't help but giggle at the image. Okay, so maybe not. Maybe better to stick with the leather pants-of-evil and the high-heeled boots, like she was had on now. She hadn't quite worked up the chutzpah for the leather-corset-thingy that EvilVampWillow had worn, but that would come. Right now she was just taking time to appreciate the way a little bit of magic could actually make it comfortable to walk in heels.

Wonderful, too, how she could wear anything she wanted, have anything she wanted, just by conjuring it out of the air. No effort, no guilt, no pesky credit card bills. Anything.

Willow breathed deeply of the sweet summer air, then extended her senses to feel the magic around her. Not much demon activity tonight, but she could do something about that. Plenty of vampires--but then, Miss Buffy hadn't been out for a few nights, so who could blame the local population for getting cocky? Besides which, the Hellmouth was still going snap crackle pop, so she would have expected things to be stirred up. Not that Willow was complaining--she'd found a way to tap in, giving herself little magical fixes that went sooo sweetly with her life-force booster from a couple nights ago.

She wondered if poor widdle Xander was still boo-hooing about that one. That had always been his problem--he was like the guy-old-Willow, squashed down by fate, while totally lacking the balls to change his situation.

And no magic for Xander, so she'd have been willing to bet he never would. Have any balls, that was--especially after (and Willow had to giggle again) she'd gotten through with him. He'd muddle through years of pumping gas or delivering pizzas, running after Buffy like a puppy dog, and at the end of it all, wonder where his life had gone to.

Well, too bad Xander. It served him right.

Gradually, Willow became aware that someone or something was trailing her, its footsteps echoing her own. No heartbeat, no warmth. In the dark of an alley, she slowed and finally stopped.

The footsteps stopped too--but then, they'd no purpose, except to let her know she had a follower. Vampires only made noise if they tried deliberately. Willow felt a dark presence at her back, growing increasingly closer.

"You can stop now," she said. "You've made your point. Melissa, isn't it?"

Soft laughter. "Willow, you remembered! I'm flattered."

"We had kind of a memorable meeting." Willow made blue-violet fire blossom over her hands. Along the edges of the alley, rats scurried away from the sudden light.

"Nice pyrotechnics," Laughing, Melissa leaned against the alley wall. "Hey, maybe if this whole magic thing doesn't work for you, you can hire out to Metallica or something, take your show on the road?"

Willow shrugged. "Ya know, I kinda like it here. My home town and all. I'm thinking I'll stay."

"It is hard to beat that Hellmouth energy, isn't it?" Melissa's face morphed briefly, all cold yellow eyes and shiny fangs, then turned human again.

It hit Willow that the two of them, with their green eyes and red hair, could have been cousins. Melissa was taller, though. Lots taller. For a newish Vampire, she seemed to have a lot going for her, and Willow would have been willing to bet that the other neighborhood vamps recognized that too.

"Uh-huh." Just to be on the safe side, Willow took a closer look at the vampire's energy. No threat there, not toward her, anyway. More like curiosity. And curiosity she could use.

"So," she said, "You followed me down here to trade banter, or maybe ask me where I got my outfit?"

"Oh, I think you know better," Melissa answered, smiling. Willow liked the coldness of that smile, and the way it promised plenty of trouble for a certain Slayer they both knew.

"Melissa," Willow said, answering that chilly grin with one of her own. "I think this is gonna be the start of a beautiful friendship."