Past Perfect

by SpikesKat

 

England
Four months after the fall of Sunnydale
   

The heat was intense, but she refused to let go of his hand.  She had to hold on.  There were so many things she had to say…tell him.  Sure, he was her champion. 

But not like this. 

She hadn’t wanted this. 

He just looked down at her with those solemn blue eyes of his and calmly told her it was time for her to go.  She’d done enough, and it was left for him to do the cleanup.  

Buffy woke with a start, her mouth frozen open on a silent scream. 

No, you don't. But thanks for saying it.  

Wearily, she ran her hands down her face, pausing to take a deep, calming breath as the recurring dream settled into her subconscious. Her tired eyes took in the ancient alarm clock on the bedside table.  Noted with a groan the hour – three o’clock in the morning.  Another sigh, and she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and stood up.  No point in trying to go back to sleep. 

Octobers in London were cold.  And the bare floors just seemed to make it even more so, but that didn’t prevent her from padding barefoot across the wooden floor as she walked out of her room and down the hall towards the kitchen.  No, she took odd comfort in how the cold seeped into her bones, chilling her to the core.  It grounded her, kept her mind in the here and now rather than focusing on other…darker…things. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Can’t sleep?” 

Buffy swung around to see Giles standing in the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Giles!” she gasped.  “You scared me!  Wha…what are you doing up?” 

“Same as you, I suspect.” 

The Slayer stiffened; she didn’t want to have this discussion with him.  With any of them.  Her last moments with Spike were all she had left of him, and she hoarded the memories to herself – even if they were harsh. 

Seeing the understanding in the Watcher’s eyes made it that much worse.  It was like he knew. 

“Tea?” she asked, changing the subject.  

Giles played along and nodded, stepping into the room and taking a seat at the small round table in the corner. 

The kettle was just about to start its warning shrill when Buffy snagged it from the burner.  She cut off the eye and filled two cups full of the boiling water, teabags already in the bottom.  Replacing the kettle on one of the spare heating elements, she then snagged a spoon to lift the used teabags out of the cups and drop them in the trash.  Feeling his eyes practically boring into her back, she glanced over her shoulder and noted Giles’ disapproving look.  

She had to hand it to him, he recovered well; his frown quickly disappeared as he gifted her with an overly bright smile. 

Tea snob,’ she thought silently as she laid the spoon aside. 

Cups in hand, she crossed gingerly from the stove to the table, careful not to spill the scalding liquid on her hands; she placed one cup in front of Giles, then took the seat across from him.  Immediately, Buffy set about adding liberal doses of sugar and milk to the concoction. 

Giles watched the whole process in silent indignation, until after the third helping of sugar was added to the Slayer’s cup, he was compelled to comment, “Why do you even bother drinking tea?” 

“Huh?” Buffy looked up at her Watcher, confused, the hand gripping her spoon pausing in its stirring. 

“Your tea.  It’s a wonder you can taste it for all the bloody milk and sugar you’ve added to it,” Giles griped. 

“Oh… uh…” She stared down at the liquid that had gone from a dark shade to an almost cream colored one.  “Habit, I guess…” 

Giles rolled his eyes and made a production of adding just a dollop of milk to his own cup, and Buffy giggled in amusement at his antics. 

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since…”  His voice trailed off, and the Slayer’s eyes became haunted as her mirth was squelched in an instant at the reminder...of him.  Giles was ready to kick his own arse at his faux pas.  “’M sorry…It’s just…Buffy, you’re hardly sleeping.  And when you do, it’s never more than a few hours at a time.  I know the destruction of…of Sunnydale came as a sharp blow—” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she announced abruptly, vaulting to her feet.  “I just…”  Instead of finishing what she was about to say, she turned on her heel and, with tea in hand, left the room. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Here,” he murmured as he held out a small pouch to the Slayer. 

Buffy looked away from the fire blazing in the hearth to glance first at the leather sack lying on the palm of Giles’ hand then to his face; confusion marred her features. 

“Take it,” he urged. 

“What is it?” she asked, making no move to grab his offering. 

“Just a sleeping potion…and don’t look at me like that.  Strictly white magicks, all natural ingredients, and completely non-habit forming.  Trust me.” 

The Slayer eyed the pouch dubiously, but took it out of his hand nonetheless, and Giles released the breath he’d not realized he’d been holding – she could be so contrary sometimes.  Her next words just confirmed his opinion. 

“If I take this, will you quit harping on me?” 

“Uh…yes…really, Buffy… I’m just trying to look out for you.” 

Buffy sighed. 

“I know, Giles.  Really…I do.  It’s just…it’s something I have to work out on my own. But…” she added when he looked to interrupt. “…I’ll take this like the good Slayer I am.” 

She opened the pouch and tilted her head back to pour the contents into her mouth, snagging her tea from the coffee table in front of her to wash the powder down.  A tingling sensation started where the sleep agent hit her tongue, spreading out from her core to race along her limbs.  Her eyelids grew heavy, and Buffy stretched out on the couch as sleep quickly overcame her. 

Giles closed his mouth, biting back the retort for her to wait to take the potion until she was in bed; there was no harm in the Slayer sleeping on the couch.  The only other people that shared the flat with him were Willow and Dawn, and the two girls had gone off on a Wiccan retreat a few days ago. 

He pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and settled it over his Slayer’s frame in a show of fatherly affection.  As she was fast on her way to REM sleep, he could clearly see the fatigue that lined the girl’s face – that no amount of cosmetics could hide.  He knew she was harboring some painful demons, just as he himself was.  While slowly rebuilding the Watcher’s Council from, quite literally, the ground up, he’d spent an equal amount of time pondering – and writing down – the actions of the blond-headed pest that had loved his Slayer. 

And who apparently loved him. 

Though, to call him a pest…. 

No, he wasn’t a pest.  Not at the end…when it had mattered.  He’d been a hero.  A champion.  A demon that had gone against his nature and obtained a soul for the woman he loved.  In the end, sacrificing himself for her so that she might live. 

Only, she hardly seemed to be doing that now.  She seemed a shadow of her former self, even worse than when she’d been ripped out of heaven and thrust into the mess that accumulated in the months since her death. 

Part of him was ashamed at his duplicity, but Giles felt he’d often proved often enough that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his Slayer.  If, by manipulating her dreams he was betraying her trust… 

…well, that’s something he could live with.  He’d been accused of and done far worse in his time. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy seemed to stand on the sidelines as the moment in the magic shop when they’d all lost their memories played out before her eyes.  A nostalgic smile tugged at her lips as she watched her “other” self.  Even as “Joan,” she’d seemed to know that she was a leader; and her actions, even without the knowledge of who exactly she was seemed to prove it.  Her eyes ate up the scene, and everyone. 

Everyone, but him. 

Him she saved for last, her gaze finally drinking him in just as he got to his rant about his name.  A full-blown grin engulfed her face at his righteous indignation. 

“…Randy Giles? Why not just call me ‘Horny Giles,’ or ‘Desperate for a Shag Giles’? I knew there was a reason I hated you!” Spike complained. 

“You don’t have to be desperate.  I’ll shag you anytime,” she murmured aloud. 

Spike’s head swiveled away from his ‘father’s’ and pinned her in place.  Buffy froze for a moment before she realized that he couldn’t hear her.  In fact, he was probably just projecting that smoldering look on her other self.  She turned around to see where “Joan” had gotten off to, doing a complete 180 when she didn’t encounter the Slayer behind her. 

Then Spike was speaking, and she swallowed hard at feeling a rush of moisture between her legs. 

“That a fact, pet?” 

‘He’d heard her?’ she thought, followed quickly by a, ‘And how did he do it?’                       

Even with amnesia, and garbed in those outlandish clothes, he still exuded that Bad Boy sexuality inherent in his nature.  

She nodded helplessly. 

Hey, it was her fantasy after all, right?

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