Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any characters or places from it. They are the excusive property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB station. I'm not making any money off of this, don't sue me.
Note: This is a possible future for the Scooby gang. . . I reserve the right to use anything through "Helpless", though I completely ignored certain parts of "Helpless". . .
Dedication: To the Shorewood High School auditorium. You're just a place, but you've seen a thousand kids just like me camp out there for four years. You've seen me and all the others laugh, cry, scream, smile, curse, and bleed over you. I expect no less from hundreds that will go after me. Year after year, you'll smell like sawdust, paint, sweat, and steel and you'll bask in colored lights and let people walk all over you. I don't know how you do it, make kids love you. . . I guess it's just a little bit of magic.
“Buffy?” Giles queried, concern coloring his voice as his Slayer ambled absentmindedly into the library where he was looking over a pile of old tomes that he was beginning to catalog and pack into boxes. It was the last period of the last day of school at Sunnydale High, and since many students had been let out early to clean out lockers and sign yearbooks, he hadn’t expected any of the usual gang of kids to find their way in here. It was, after all, the last day they would spend in this high school. For classes, at any rate. He had a feeling that they would use it plenty over the summer. Giles was therefore understandably surprised to see Buffy in here when she could be joking around with her friends, throwing papers about, and signing yearbooks.
“Hi, Giles,” she sighed heavily as she sat down on the edge of the table, crossed her ankles, and stared at the floor. He shot her a cautious sideways glance, trying to gauge her mood. He waited patiently, knowing that whatever was bothering her would soon come out. He didn’t have to wait for long.
“Got my cap and gown today,” she said offhandedly. Ah, it was graduation jitters.
“Are you, ah. . . nervous about the commencement ceremonies tonight?” he asked her, attention seemingly focused on his books. He was actually listening intently to any small noise she did or didn’t make. In the few years he’d known her, he had come to realize that the less attention he seemed to be paying to her, the easier it was for her to talk to him. Buffy snorted laughter shortly.
“No. Giles, my occupation deals in slaying the undead and ridding the world of unspeakable evil. In my line of work, performance anxiety is a really good way to get killed,” she mused. Giles abruptly set down the books he was moving and looked her straight in the eyes.
“What is it then, Buffy?” he asked her gently and seriously, which seemed to shake her a bit.
“I-I just, well. . . I mean, aren’t you going to miss this place?” she questioned softly. Giles paused for a minute, unsure of what she meant exactly.
“Buffy, just because we’re moving our main base of operations to my apartment this summer, doesn’t mean. . . well, we will be here for a good two and a half months before you start school in LA,” he explained.
“I know, I know, it’s just. . . I don’t know,” she said dejectedly.
“Anyway, you’ve never showed much sentimentality towards the school, I thought you’d be glad to get away,” he commented, turning back to his books. Buffy exhaled with an air of impatience.
“It’s not the *school*, Giles. . . oh, never mind,” she finished quickly, apparently closing the subject.
“Well, I have to take some paperwork in to Principal Snyder’s office. . . could you put the rest of those books into that box over there? Carefully,” he added pointedly.
“Sure, go on,” Buffy said, waving him off with one small, well-manicured hand as he left. She picked up one of the ancient texts, leafing through it absently, not really reading the words within. The book still open in her hands, she looked at the doors that her Watcher had just exited. She closed the book carefully and traced her fingers over the raised letters on the cover, letters that spelled words in a language that nobody spoke. Nobody but a handful of assorted evil things and Giles, of course. Buffy slid the book into the appropriate box and turned around slowly, eyes panning the room. She began to wander about the library, occasionally reaching out a hand to stroke the wooden railing, a row of books, the smooth metal desk lamp. In a childlike fashion, she approached the checkout desk and, laying her palms flat on the surface, hoisted herself up enough to look at the other side upside-down, her slim waist pressed against the edge of the countertop, feet waving in the air. She let herself down with a small “oof” and turned around, leaning her back against the counter, arms crossed. She looked intently at the floor where she traced small circles on the linoleum with her big toe, and sighed again.
“It’s not the *school*, Giles,” she repeated to herself. “It’s the *library*. Here,” she finished the thought. She walked slowly and purposefully towards the swinging doors. Pushing one open with her left hand, she pivoted suddenly, training her intense stare on the large room. Her expression softened slightly, and she managed a small smile before she left the library, intending to find the rest of the gang.