Title: Deep Dark Truthful Mirror
Author: Jeanny
E-mail: jeannygrrl@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Season 6 Through After Life.
Distribution/Archive: Go right ahead, if you like, just let me know where it's going.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, would that I did. The characters herein belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, Greenwalt, Fox, etc. I'm merely using them to tell my own little story. And the title of this story comes from the Elvis Costello song of the same name, but that has no relevance to the story.
Feedback: Please! I need it.
Summary: Giles confronts his past and his future. Based on the Challenge in a Can (http://www.dymphna.net/challenge) challenge: Giles. Alive. Mirror.
*******************
"Giles? Giles, are you there?"
Willow's concerned voice crackling over the shaky international connection brought him out of his momentary daze, but Giles still found himself unable to speak. What she had just told him was too incredible for words, it was...
"Good Lord," he managed weakly. He had said the same phrase repeatedly, but it was still enough to satisfy the witch.
"I know," she replied, as if he'd said something extremely profound. "So you're coming, right? You're coming home?"
Home. Such an interesting choice of words. Wasn't he already home? Giles looked out his window and down at the busy street below and sighed. Home had no meaning to a man like him.
"I have to make preparations...I'll be there as soon as I can," he said. Again the vague reply seemed acceptable to Willow.
"Good. I...we need you, Giles. Buffy needs you," she said. Giles whispered a goodbye and hung up the phone, burying his face in his hands. He had no idea how long it was before he finally managed to trudge into his bedroom, digging out the only recently unpacked suitcase. As he placed it on the bed he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. All thoughts of packing left him as he watched his reflection with fascinated revulsion. He moved closer, almost touching the glass with his nose as remembered that day long-ago when he had received the mirror as a gift from Ethan, back when they had been friends and in such habits. He closed his eyes...
Giles could still feel Ethan's warm breath in his ear as his youthful self had stared into the mirror in horror. Seeing the truth about not only himself, but Ethan too...
"It's quite a present for the right man. I'm certain a woman wouldn't appreciate it, with the vanity and all."
"How...what...we don't look like that!"
"Ah, but we do. Inside. Isn't it charming? Just like Snow White, dear friend," Ethan had laughed. "Actually, more like a funhouse in reverse. Most mirrors in some fashion or another, Ripper. This one only reveals what is true. You see how it is now, don't you?" Ethan had continued to chuckle as Giles had thrown a blanket over the mirror, shuddering. It had been the beginning of the end of his friendship with Ethan. It had been the beginning of the end of a lot of things.
He had left it in his London flat when he had journeyed to America, not wanting the memory of who he was when he had acquired it. Not wanting the strange, cutting clarity the mirror offered. In fact, he had somehow managed to forget about it altogether until he'd returned here and removed the blanket covering it.
He looked old. Not ancient, certainly, but definitely older than he had thought he did. Older than he should. Worn down, almost featureless...and his eyes! His eyes were so...hollow. Dead, really. No, not the eyes of a dead man. The eyes of a killer, someone who's taken a life without regrets. Painful to see, but very much alive. Death was too easy for such a man, for whom there could be no release.
And there was loss in those eyes, so much loss it was like being swept under a current of grief. Loss of his youth, of all he could have been. Loss of his Slayer, the unkindest cut of all. Except that now, Buffy was alive. Alive through some miracle. Or so he hoped.
Alive through some curse. Or so he feared.
He knew Willow's voice well enough to have detected the well-hidden doubts. The Buffy Summers who had come back was not the same girl who had sacrificed herself so nobly. If Willow was right, if she'd been trapped in some hell dimension for who knows how long...only to be expected that she would come back changed. How changed, he must know. It was his place as her Watcher to know, to determine, to decide...the eyes of a killer looked back at him knowingly. He set aside the thought for now, sighing as he gazed into the mirror and saw how much he dreaded this latest trip across the Atlantic, how much he had been settling into his new life here...even though he hadn't even realized...and even though it didn't matter now. Duty called...
It was clear he must go to her, to...what? To guide her? She who had died not once but twice under his guidance? She whom he had failed so absolutely in her last hour? His reflection seemed to mock him at the thought. To what could he possibly guide her now? She was more of an adult than any of her peers...
Or perhaps he was meant to help her live as an adult. To live in this world of light as well as the world of dark. The Slayer, who had taken on a mantle of responsibility and duty at sixteen that precious few octogenarians had ever known. No, there was no guidance he could give her, no helpful advice, no wisdom...he was bereft of all those things. There were only two things he had to give her. Two very different gifts, which came from the same place...
The gift of his love, which was omnipresent and always for her...his surrogate daughter, his Slayer, his life. The mirror showed it too him, but in this case he didn't need that perspicuity. After she'd...when she was gone he found himself obsessing over all the moments he'd held himself back from really telling her how he felt. Not just his pride in her but his genuine affection. Had he thanked her enough for everything she had done for him? He intended to make sure that she knew this time, no matter what came of the other gift...
The other gift was his to give if she needed it, and he would only know that after seeing her, speaking to her, knowing her again. It had been her gift, once. Now it was his, and he would give it freely with love, if she was...
If she was...wrong. So many ways that she could be wrong. But only one possible answer. Only one moral choice, no matter how sinful it might feel.
Death for his Slayer. Then...death for himself.
The mirror showed him all of that and more...more than he could possibly bear. He threw his coat over it in disgust, but did not weep. The tears would come later...
Rupert Giles turned away from himself and began to pack for America for the last time. His reflection watched him solemnly, knowing he would soon return.
*******************