These characters belong to Mutant Enemy and the BBC. Not me. I own nuthin'.
Call Waiting
Giles felt it before he saw it. A tingle running up his spine, down his arms and legs, even across his face. He stood, eyes wide, knowing what was approaching. He took a last, loving look at his apartment, at Buffy, Xander, Willow and Tara. Then the whole world changed.
It was like a fishbowl had been lifted off his head. Suddenly he saw everything. Not just his friends’ clothes, their expressions. Not just the bruises from the latest round of patrolling. He saw what they had been, and what they might become. He saw Buffy with a baby. Buffy as a baby. Tara, middle-aged, sobbing at Xander’s bedside. Xander proposing to Anya, both crying. Willow as a flame-haired toddler with a permanent grin. Tara and Willow slow dancing, in their own private universe.
He smiled slowly, wonderingly.
Buffy rose from her chair, concerned. “Giles, what’s wrong?” She strode over to him and waved her hand in front of his face.
“Nothing,” he said beatifically, running his hand through his hair. “Nothing’s wrong.” Then he reconsidered, taking her hand. “Well, something is, in a way, I suppose.”
“What is it, Giles?” Xander stood, exchanging worried glances with Tara and Willow.
Giles admitted, “I won’t be able to be your Watcher any more, I’m afraid.”
Buffy reeled back, dropping his hand abruptly. “What?!”
“I’ve been Called.”
“To be what?” Willow was beside Buffy, an arm around her.
“The next Doctor. A traveller in time and space. Fighting evils, wronging rights,” he blinked. “Or something like that.”
“I’ve heard of him!” Xander’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. “I’ve read about him. But he’s fictional!”
“More science fiction?” Tara teased gently.
“Those who don’t know believe that the Slayer is fictional, also,” Giles reminded them. “The mythology of the Doctor is substantially different from the reality, as a safeguard. I always wondered what would happen if I were chosen.”
“Can’t you get out of it?” Buffy demanded. “And why you?”
“No, I can’t, Buffy. I have a sacred duty. I don’t have to go just yet. I’ll miss you, but I’ll still be able to see you now and again.”
“All right, I suppose there’s not much I can do, is there?” Buffy conceded, exasperated.
“I’m afraid not.” He stared off into space, musing, “As to why me, well, I’m English, not balding, and devastatingly attractive. I suppose it was inevitable.”
Xander went into a loud coughing fit, and the other three tried to hide smiles.
Giles collected the dirty dishes from the table and took them to the kitchen, muttering, “If Joanna Lumley can do it, why not me?”
