We Happy Few

By Trina

Watching is my job. It's what I was brought up to do. What my father did, and my grandfather, and my great-grandmother did.

I would've rather been a fighter pilot. To soar through the air and protect my country.

I would've rather been a grocer. Making a simple living assisting those around me.

But I watched instead. I became a high school librarian in order to watch over her.

"A, a Slayer slays, a Watcher..."

"...Watches?"

"Yes. No! He, he trains her, he, he, he prepares her..."

Buffy Anne Summers. My Slayer. To be perfectly honest -- and I don't see the point to equivocate under such circumstances as these -- I was a bit apprehensive with the knowledge that this young girl that had made her way into my territory of the now non-existent Sunnydale High school so long ago had torched her previous establishment while her former watcher remained inside. And I prayed to the Heaven's that I would not have the same ending.

I'm no longer a steadfast believer that the Heavens even exist any more. Because if there was such a place, and the Powers That Be were truly there, they would not have taken such a girl as Buffy out of the world. But if there is a chance that there is a plane of such divine existence, then I pray once more to whoever is willing to listen to a surviving Watcher's pleas that she is there, in a place that deserves her presence more than we here on Earth do.

And though we may not deserve Buffy, I cannot predict how we are going to manage without her.

She was what I back then would've considered a rouge. A typical adolescent with no respect for her authorities. Only looking out for herself and making sure that she would be the one to benefit. She didn't even know how to bloody sense a vampire correctly without evaluating their choice of fashion first-hand. What if she had been blind? I had thought. What would she have done then?

"Oh, why can't you people just leave me alone?

"Because you are the Slayer. Into each generation a Slayer is born, one girl in all the world, a Chosen One, one born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires..."

"...with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, to stop the spread of their evil blah, blah, blah... I've heard it, okay?"

But Buffy Summers was anything but blind, I had learned. In the very night I had thought those irrelevant thoughts she had swallowed humiliation from her peers as if she was born to do it, in order to do what she in fact was born to do: Fight. To stand alone against the forces of darkness and accept nothing less than the rid of evil on her behalf. Even if it would mean sacrificing herself in the process.

Her standards appear never to've changed throughout her years.

She had been willing to live with her destiny as it was meant to be. Willing to be alone to fulfill duties that she had never signed up for. But she was not alone. Not on the outside, at least. Willow, Xander and myself stuck by her, and other's joined and departed along the way. But in my own selfish mind, we three were the true devotees. The 'slayerettes' as I had known Willow to say once upon a time. I believe that was back when we were trying to figure out the situation of the young Amy girl who had gotten her body stolen by her mother. I recall Buffy being so adamant about joining that inane cheerleading cult, persistent in making me see that she could pull off a fruitful life of both the natural and supernatural sort. But I don't think she could quite understand that she did not have two separate lives; that she indeed carried one life filled with demons, vampires, and pom poms, if she had chosen to go through with it.

She had learned though -- that day, if memory serves -- that being in her 'normal' life did not keep her safe from her bestowed duties. She had come close to dying that day, the witch's curse shattering her immune system; and it was the first time I had tasted for myself what so many of my colleagues have rattled on about. Losing. Not oneself, but the one whom I was selected to look after and train for any such situations. It was indeed rare that a Watcher would outlive their Slayer, despite the early death that most receive. Most, in fact, die only moments before their pupil, their last ounce of duty shattering into the infinite by evil's hand. The few that did survive either went mad, or resigned from the council. And until I truly got to know Buffy I thought they were foolish for turning away from The Council of Watchers.

And if my past presumptions are true, then I would rather be a fool than continue any sort of communications with Quinton Travers or the rest of them. The heartless beasts did not do so much as give their sympathy for the girl who gave up everything she was so that there would be a world for them to wake up to in the morning.

Their insolence makes me sick beyond imagining.

Anyone who saw Buffy Summers could instantly recognize something lying under the surface that was truly rare and spectacular. Some ignored it, others mocked her because they could not face the fact that they did not possess what she did, and there were the few that latched onto it -- to her -- and conceded to stand by it for the good of humanity. We excepted the responsibility and the unjust clauses that accompanied it, but even Buffy did have her moments in which she retreated to her adolescent desires that begged her to do whatever it took to ensure that she would see another day.

When she had first discovered the prophecy that forewarned her death upon the hands of the Master, for example. It was no way for her to find out that she was written to die: accidentally catching the tail-end of a heated conversation. And it was then that I wished I had refused my position. For then I wouldn't have had to watch as she absorbed what The Powers had chosen her for. I would not have had to see the tears in her eyes as she asked me who the Slayer to proceed her when she passed. And I would not have had to witness the complete and utter desperation that radiated from her as she ripped her necklace off and turned her back on the darkness of her future.

"Giles, I'm sixteen years old. I don't wanna die."

But she did not stay away for long.

My overwhelming instinct to protect this young woman that I had grown so accustom to grew ever large when she walked back into the library -- wearing a formal gown? -- and pronounced that this was her destiny and that she wouldn't let me handle it. And despite my efforts, I was thwarted nevertheless by her fist when it clashed rather bluntly with my face.

"I've made up my mind."

"So have I."

"I made up mine first! I'm older and wiser than you, and just...just do what you're told for once! Alright?"

"That's not how it goes. I'm the Slayer."

"I don't care what the books say. I defy prophecy, and I am going. There's nothing you can say will change my mind."

"I know."

And when I woke up -- knowing that she had gone off to face the Master alone, as Slayers were meant to do -- the overwhelming feeling of pride struck through the initial emotions of regret and the sinking notion that I would never see my Slayer again. But defying every odd that was against her, she returned that evening, and brought the Master's death with her. True, she had died, but that did not stop her. I was a fool to think so.

But thinking that it will not stop her now is only setting me up for heartache -- and that is truly foolish.

As I got to know her even more, I not only became close to the Slayer, but I became a father to Buffy Summers. It was something that I had never wanted, and something I knew I could never even dream of letting go. Even when Angelus killed Jenny, which I could have so easily threw at her with good reason, I still wanted to help her. I wanted to guide her. I still wanted to watch her.

And I did. I watched as she dealt with the cards that were handed to her, and I continued to assist her keep up her poker face, giving her the advantage of surprise and level-headed mind that she would need for things to come. And yet there was a part of me that was not struck when she fled Sunnydale after sending the one she had loved to Hell. And I was not stuck with myself at all at the complete and utter failure I had felt -- for not preparing her for anything of this sort. But I was struck when she came back -- after three months of hiding -- only to show up on my doorstep with her friends, fully prepared for my scorning.

And I wanted to. I wanted to lecture and rant myself silly at her actions while cleaning my glasses thoroughly and massaging my nose, but I couldn't. To see her again; to know that she was indeed alive, constricted the words I thought I had wanted to say from actually being said. But if I had discovered anything over the two years prior to that day -- the last three months of it in particular -- it was that I had developed some sort of a soft spot in my British stature where Buffy was concerned.

So I continued to guide her. The unknown paternal side in me continued to develop affection for this girl who could manage anything that was thrown at her, pulling it off with the grace and stealth only a true Slayer could do. She continued her studies, continued her friendships, and continued trusting me.

And then she turned eighteen. And like all Watchers before me were pressed to do, I drugged my Slayer into a state of absolute helplessness, so that she could be tested by The Council on her mind and wit. But I already knew that Buffy could think on her feet. She could use everything in her to win a fight; and yet I proceeded to drain her strength. But when things went horribly wrong, and I unmasked what I had been doing to her, she did exactly what Quinton told me would happen: she turned away from me. Threatened me to never come near her again. And why shouldn't she threaten me? What I was doing nearly got her killed. No matter how much I wanted to make things better for her, I had no reason to be a part of her life anymore. But still, she welcomed me back. I honestly don't know why, but she did. Perhaps it was -- once again -- that emotional link that existed, no matter that it was not supposed to.

"You have a father's love for the child, and that is useless to the cause."

And now I see, that it is not the fact that what I feel is useless to the cause, but that that emotion is too painful afterward when the one who faught for the cause is no longer there.

Over the next few months I watched her build her life, facing numerous demons and vampires like they were nothing. But they were something to me. I wanted to tell her how not many Slayers passed the test given to them on their eighteenth birthday. That the fact of how she managed to overcome such evil in strides that never slowed was remarkable. But the stiff old man in me could not say such things to her, for he was too proud to reveal how he cared for this young girl. But I know it still showed; I was never the master at hiding things from showing in my eyes. My pride for her was still there.

"I'm so proud of you. You've come so far. You're everything a Watcher... Everything I could've hoped for."

My pride for her will always be there.

Graduation came, and as flurries of confusion and fear struck all of us at one time or another, Buffy still used her wit and intelligence to devise a plan to survive -- although I'm not sure if the clause of blasting away Sunnydale High was indeed her strategy, or if she was simply fulfilling everyone's dream of destroying what had encaptured them for four years straight. Maybe a little of both...

Though try as I might, I still watched her in her first year of college, though my status gave me no reason to. But it wasn't about destiny anymore. Wasn't about protecting her because it was my job as a Watcher. Now, it was simply about family; about the bond I shared with this girl who still came around and stole my food and made Thanksgiving dinner at my house. This girl who still asked me for help. There was no way I could refuse still being in her life. No reason for me to want to abandon her just because I was no longer getting paid.

I watched her try to love again. Watched them all as they went through relationships, schoolwork and darkness -- always pulling through in the end. I myself went through my own spat of jealousy when I first met Professor Walsh. I feared that she had stolen my Slayer away from me -- clouded her judgment with fancy toys and microchips. But I soon realized that I had nothing to worry about, because Buffy always asked for my help in the end -- when the battle was to be fought. Always wanted my wisdom.

"I need to know more. About where I come from, about the other slayers. I mean, maybe ... maybe if I could learn to control this thing, I could be stronger, I could be better. But ... I'm scared. I know it's gonna be hard. And I can't do it ... without you. I need your help. I need you to be my Watcher again."

She will never ask for my wisdom anymore. No matter though, as I've no more to give.

That day, I had decided that I would not go back to England. Buffy needed to be taught and prepared once more for anything that was to come.

But she was still not prepared for Dawn. Not the truth about her younger sibling, anyways. And she was not prepared for her mother's illness, or her less than comfortable encounter with death delivered by a mere vampire. She came to me to assist her in finding out more about Slayers: what happened to them, why they had died, and what had made their last fight so special. And as this subject was faced to me, I realized that I didn't know what to do.

"If there were just a few good descriptions of what took out the other Slayers, maybe it would help me to understand my mistake, to keep it from happening again."

"Yes, well, the problem is after a final battle, it's difficult to get any... well, the Slayer's not... she's rather..."

"It's okay to use the D-word, Giles."

"Dead. And hence not very forthcoming."

"Why didn't the Watchers keep fuller accounts of it? The journals just stop."

"Well, I suppose if they're anything like me, they just find the whole subject too-"

"Unseemly? Damn. Love ya but you Watchers are such prigs sometimes."

"Painful... I was going to say."

I realize now that I knew nothing of the magnitude of pain I would soon experience. That I now experience everyday. Every time I see the turkey baster she used for Thanksgiving laying neatly between the spatula and can opener in my kitchen drawer. Every time I look in the mirror and see the same eyes that made her recognize me after my Fyarl demon fiasco reflecting back against my wishes. Every time I raise my glass to pour a bit of scotch and remember her horrible cavewoman episode. Every time I watch as her friends recall memories of her and try to maintain a normal existence.

Every time I close my eyes, or am allowed a moment by myself, I feel it. I will always feel it.

But my Slayer stayed strong, and the girl inside remained stronger. Working with me, learning more about herself, her craft, gave her a sense of balance and a level-headed mind in order to deal with the arrival of Glory and the knowledge that what she desired was nothing more than her own sister. She used her skills and her instincts to attain survival while during battle, deflecting life-issues in order to protect her friends and family from the supernatural that lurked.

But for all her strength, and will, she still could not prevent the people around her from what did not 'go bump in the night', as I know she would so eloquently phrase it. She could not save her mother from something that lurked inside her mind, ultimately taking her life despite the doctors' attempts to rectify her condition.

It shut her down, I think. Made Buffy feel as if even though she worked so hard to protect Joyce, she still couldn't save her. Just as though I worked so hard to protect Buffy, I still failed. As a friend, a Watcher, and a father.

And I get the distinct impression that if she knew this, she would smack my arm rather harsh -- light by her standards -- and call me insane. But she is not here, and she doesn't know. She never will. Ever.

I did my best; for her, for Dawn. Trying to be the guidance they needed so badly. I ended up taking Buffy on a quest that I had read about in other Watcher's journals, trying to help her clear her mind. "Death is you gift", they had told her, and I was both fearful and anxious to know exactly what that meant. And when it was Dawn that returned down from Glory's tower on that beautifully tragic morning, it were as if Buffy's words were whispered in my ear before the surviving Summers ever told me.

"Tell Giles that... tell Giles, I figured it out. And... and I'm okay."

Death was her gift to give to the world. She accepted it -- all of it, at that moment. She accepted the pain, the frustration. She accepted the loneliness that lies inside every Slayer. Accepted that great things in life are rare and often undetected, and that if you could present such a gift as life -- for everyone -- for at least one more day, then it was worth your own. She accepted everything a Slayer should, everything I had taught her, and everything she never should've had to know in the first place.

She accepted life, and that sometimes it meant giving hers. Buffy gave all of us the gift of herself.

I don't think that death was her gift, because Buffy Anne Summers was anything but dark and dreary. She was light. As true and extraordinary as a star that makes its way to shine through the haze that is our lives. As pure as the untouched waters that resided within the hollows of the Earth, never to be stirred but always to be wondered at. As mysterious as the stones aligned on Easter Island, a growing enigma that both amazes and perplexes even the most intelligent beings.

She was everything that death was certainly not.

I watch now, as Sunnydale returns to its normal routine of ignorance. I read the local newspaper and see that it spends two entire front and back pages on the reconstruction of Main Street, and gives no mention to the girl who died to give them the opportunity to write the article. I see as people walk their pets and parents of young children who made honor roll drive around with a sticker attached to their vehicle to give recognition.

Buffy will never receive the recognition she deserves. People will not bring her up while discussing important topics over dinner. They will not take a moment to thank her when they tuck their children in bed, or sit for a quiet moment to reflect. Buffy will be the unsung hero in everyone's lives, and as it implies, no one will know but we few. We happy few.

Watching was never so hard.

I recalled a piece of Mayor Wilkins' speech for graduation the other day that seems quite fitting now.

"It's been a long road getting here. For you. For Sunnydale. There's been achievement, joy, good times. And there's been grief. There's been loss. Some people who should be here today, aren't."

Buffy deserved more than anyone to see what she had created, but she is not here anymore.

"But we are."

Indeed, we are.

 

~Fin~