That first week flew by quickly, one day blending homogeneously into the next. Buffy and Dawn struggled to find some sort of new routine. There wasn't much to keep them busy around the small room they shared. They would spend hours by the pool each day. Nights they met with the younger slayers to talk or watch movies. It didn't take long before the freedom from responsibility lost its shiny appeal, and boredom slowed the hours to an unbearable grind.
Buffy wasn't the only one suffering from the tedium. Needing to recharge his bank account, Xander decided to return to work. His former employer was only too happy to welcome him back. He was reinstated as a mid-level manager, and immediately assigned to watch over the firm's newest project. They had just acquired the contract to secure the sinkhole that had consumed most of Sunnydale. In a twist of fate, Xander was once again back at the Hellmouth, this time supervising the crew whose job was to bury in the treacherous chasm.
To enable his mobility, Xander purchased a pickup. Nothing new or fancy, just an aging clunker that could take him to and from work, and those few trips running various errands. The vehicle soon became well known among the motel's tenants. It was affectionately named The Blue Bomber
by the younger slayers. Its distinctive throaty rattling could be heard throughout the complex, the motor chuffing and protesting its way across the parking lot each day.
With Xander gone for most of the day, Buffy found herself turning to Dawn and Willow for company. Dawn being her sister, there was only so much time they could spend together before getting on each other's nerves. At those times the teen would escape the small to hang out with the other younger slayers, many of whom had become close friends. She also had become especially chummy with another teen in a nearby motel complex just a mile up the road. Brenna Miller had been a fellow classmate at Sunnydale High School. The Miller family was staying at a long term motel, and the two girls would meet and spend hours together, gossiping about their fellow classmates, and speculating about where everyone was now.
Whenever Dawn was away, Buffy would seek out Willow, her best friend. Since that fateful day back in high school when the two had first met, the red head was destined to be her confidant and companion. She had been the sounding board of reason through many tough and emotional situations, and Buffy could always count on her best pal for those buddy sharing
moments.
But Willow had her own new distraction. Over the previous weeks Kennedy had become a big part of her life. The two new lovers were in the midst of establishing a blossoming relationship, and would spend hours together, walking around the motel complex hand in hand, or within the privacy of their small room. At these times Willow wasn't always available, and Buffy found herself alone for far too many hours of her day.
Starved for any distraction, Buffy went so far as to venture into dangerous territory. Desperate, she tried hanging out with Andrew for a while. At first, she thought she could look beyond his geek-centric strangeness, but after only a few short hours she gave up, unable to understand half of what the young man said, and uninterested in the remaining part of their conversation. This left her with only one other person to turn to for company.
That left Giles.
Spending time with Giles had always represented its own strange issues. There was the age thing, of course. Being from entirely different generations made Giles more a parental figure and less a companion, though it did offer plenty of fodder for teasing. Also, Giles was British, and while he wasn't nearly as stuffy as when he'd first come to America, there were definite moments when language was a major barrier between them. He used far too many big words, and while he was her go to expert on all things supernatural, he lacked seriously in knowledge of more current importance. Things like fashion, and shoes, or who was trending in Hollywood circles. These meant little to Giles, and since she had no desire to talk monsters after the events of the last few weeks, that left them with the problem of how to mutually fill their time.
Then there was that other thing. The emotional elephant that neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
The weeks leading up to the battle with The First had brought a rift between her and the other Scoobies. There been some dark moments. Issues about trust. Relationships had suffered. She'd had to make some hard decisions, and while in the end everyone had come around to her way of thinking, the damage of that division continued to linger, haunting them all long after the Hellmouth was dead.
Buffy decided to take it upon herself to smooth over those rough edges. It was necessary that her friends looked at her as their equal if she were to reinstate her place among them. She needed to set aside the mantel of a tough and unwavering general, and concentrate instead on being the old Buffy, the one who was capable of having fun and enjoying life. Xander and Willow were easily convinced, and Dawn, as her sister, was used to her bossiness, and more than willing to take advantage of any chance relaxing to the usual rules.
Giles was a different matter altogether. On the surface everything seemed fine between them. They continued to laugh and shared moments when in a group environment, but when they were one on one, she could sense something was wrong. There were cautious barriers to his every word, and emptiness behind the Brit's overly polite demeanor. He was trying a little too hard to be helpful, while burying his true feelings in a veil of polite subjugation. Meanwhile, he was punishing himself for having doubted her, and of all the Scoobies, he took her former disfavor most to heart.
She could read guilt in Giles' compulsion to care for her and the others. Since the destruction of Sunnydale, she and Dawn had wanted for nothing. Giles had been there for all of them, but he went just that one step further where she was involved. Further compounding the situation was her impulse to give into his obsession. She enjoyed the pampered feelings invoked by his parental attention. She was unable to resist the urge to be the doted upon. It was a welcomed relief from the weighty responsibility of having to save the world. Who could blame her for giving into her inner child? Besides, Giles seemed to need her to be needy. Maybe the way to heal things between them was to take on old roles, allowing him to act as her mentoring Watcher again even though they both knew she had grown beyond that.
To that end Buffy had come up with a plan. She would tell Giles she wanted to start training again. The one thing in life she had learned to count on was the Brit's enthusiasm when it came to the physical preparation that went with her calling. He stressed discipline with near religious zeal, and was willing to back up his belief by putting himself in the line of fire. Though he was nowhere near as strong or fast, he often stepped in as her sparring partner, taking the beating she dealt out with little complaint. He always made sure she had all the weaponry and equipment she required, as well as providing the necessary space in which to workout.
It was mid-morning when she went looking for Giles. He wasn't in his motel room, but his rental car was parked in its usual place, so she knew he was somewhere nearby. She checked several obvious places: the laundry room, the vending machines area, and even the manager's office. No Giles. She was about to give up when she passed by the pool, and there he was, walking out the gate, looking completely out of place dressed in a three piece suit, dress shirt and tie.
He hadn't noticed her yet, his attention immersed in some paperwork he was carrying.
Hey, Giles!
she called out, quickening her step to catch up with the Watcher. Wait up.
Falling in beside him, she walked with Giles as he made his way across the parking lot.
Good morning, Buffy,
he greeted her, glancing up briefly from his papers.
You do realize how creepy it looks that you hang around the pool with all those young girls cavorting in their bikinis.
They aren't all wearing two-piece bathing outfits,
he returned distractedly. Chao-Ahn was wearing a full-length suit. I believe she may be experiencing problems with the sun. She seems to burn quite easily.
Sounds like someone else I know,
Buffy quipped back, throwing the Brit a sideways glance.
I'll have you know that in all my years here in California I have never once suffered from sunburn.
That might have something to do with you never actually going out in the sun,
she smiled.
A consequence of hunting creatures that lurk by night. But you're not here to discuss beauty tips for my flawless complexion. Is something wrong?
No, not wrong. Not exactly.
Then you require money for something,
he returned prosaically, but there was no malice in his voice. I have only limited funds on me at the moment. If we're talking more than fifty. . .
It's not about money,
she said, cutting him off. It's about training. Which I've been thinking about starting again.
That got his attention just as she hoped it would. You're ready to begin training?
Yeah, I looked at myself in the mirror the other day, and I think I'm starting to get a little junk settling in the trunk, if you know what I mean.
In spite of himself, Giles felt his gaze flick downward to verify Buffy's comment, and it was only through shear will, that he caught himself in time, forcing his eyes to concentrate on her shoes instead.
You know, I think you got a touch too much sun today,
she said to him. You're face is kind of red.
It is a touch warm out this morning,
Giles offered in explanation, but the heat he felt had nothing to do with the ambient temperature of the day.
They had arrived at the door of his room. The motel complex was an older structure comprised of a large rectangle of multiple rooms outlaid in a single story around a central courtyard with a pool. There had been limited updates over the years, some paint and minor repairs here or there. They had yet to install modern key card locks, and continued to rely on brass keys for their security. Each of these was attached to a bulky tag, a numbered identification designating its corresponding room.
Fishing his key from his pocket, Giles unlocked his door. Are you certain about this training?
he asked. It would be understandable if you felt a need to rest up a bit longer. Most of the other girls seem quite content to gather their strength.
It's not my strength that I'm afraid of losing. It's my mind.
She followed the Watcher into his room. Like her own, it was furnished with the most minimal of décor. A pair of beds, each with a nightstand and lamp, a small table by the window with a pair of straight backed chairs, and a long double dresser topped by a television that was bolted to the wall to prevent its theft. The rug was a different color, but the quality was just as poor, as were the questionable pieces of generic artwork decorating the walls.
The main difference in Giles' room was the type of clutter it had attracted. Where she and Dawn had personalized
their space with clothes and a few magazines, Giles had gone in for the librarian chic
look. Several short stacks of books littered the provided table top, leaving barely enough room for someone to sit and work. Another series of taller piles filled a corner, while the television was surrounded by a literal fortress of paperwork, Giles' apparent attempt at creating a filing system. A bottle of Scotch whiskey was the only true sign of personalization in sight, speaking to those few moments when the Brit dared to relax.
Moving toward the dresser with its organizational fortress, Giles picked up one of the many folders. And when were you thinking of restarting your training?
he asked, tucking away his paperwork before adding the folder back into its proper place.
Today would be good,
Buffy answered. But if you're busy, we could make it tomorrow.
We?
he echoed, turning his question her direction. Buffy, we haven't trained together for some time now.
I know, but I thought starting cold after such a long train-cation, I might need a pair of professional eyes to spot any flagging in my technique. And since your job description is Watcher, I figured yours would be the best set of watching eyes around. Besides, with Xander working, he's only available weekends.
Why not train with one of the other girls?
he suggested. I'm sure Kennedy would welcome the opportunity, and she's more your equal when it comes to stamina and ability.
While an excellent idea, it was offered a bit too casually, telling Buffy she was hitting the right button.
I guess Kennedy would work. I mean, if you're too busy doing, well, whatever that is?
she finished, nodding at the papers he had just put away. What is all that stuff anyway?
This? These are my papers, my records of what I've been doing these past months. There are bills, and receipts…that sort of thing. If I ever expect to get reimbursement from the Council for anything, I need to meticulously track every expenditure I make.
I guess you've been busier than I thought,
she noted, idly riffling though one of the piles. The folders were all carefully labeled in the Watcher's personal hand. One marked LOD caught her eye, and she pulled it from the others, opening it to look inside.
The file was a long list of names followed by a city designation. Most of the names came in seemingly unrelated pairs, but a few stood alone. All of them seemed strange and foreign, some with long stings of multiple consonants, others sporting accents where letters should be. Beside each line Giles had added several notations. There was a date, and what might have been a city. Buffy wasn't sure what significance either possessed.
Who are Fournier and Antonella DuPont?
she asked, reading the first pair she felt she could pronounce with some fluency.
Giles glanced up from the books he was moving aside to clear a chair. An unreadable expression darkened his face, and he took a moment to answer.
Reinald Fournier was a colleague from Sainte-Brieuc. Antonella was the Potential he was training.
Was?
She said the word, realizing its implication. They're…dead? Both of them?
Yes,
Giles succinctly replied. He pulled the now empty chair out for her to sit, but Buffy opted for the nearby end of his bed.
All these names…
she frowned, scanning the lengthy list. There were dozens of entries, all written in Giles' tiny penmanship. Reaching the bottom of the page, she flipped it, revealing another just as long lying beneath. All these people are dead?
Yes.
The gravity of that fact hit Buffy hard. She stared at the names, and in her mind they suddenly became real people, people that once walked and lived all over the world. The date next to the first entries reached back nearly a year ago, with the last being only weeks before their final battle with The First, and coinciding with Giles' last trip away from the house.
You're the one who found them,
she said, her words a statement rather than a question. You went to all these places, and found all these people dead.
Yes.
She tried to imagine what that had been like, but the enormity of the idea suddenly overwhelmed her, erasing any actual ability to think straight. Giles had flown around the world for months, searching each of these places, only to find the Bringers had got their first, and someone, or sometimes two someones had died in some horrible manner. Closing the file, she found her voice, looking to Giles who calmly sat across from her.
You never said anything about…all this,
she said, touching the folder.
I'm certain that I did,
Giles frowned back. I never hid the fact that people were being killed by The First's followers. In fact, I distinctly recall discussing the matter on many occasions with you.
You discussed facts,
she returned, concurring with his argument. You never said anything about the people. There are so many. Were so many,
she corrected herself. And you found them?
Yes, but you didn't come here to talk about that,
he reminded her, taking the file from her hands to set aside. You want to start training again. That's a wise decision. Simply because the Hellmouth has been destroyed, it's possible that it isn't completely inactive. There could be a residual influence upon the surrounding communities. Perhaps you could make some sort of schedule, and you and the girls could patrol a few nights, see if anything is amiss.
I thought you were the guy big on shed-u-ling,
she said, purposefully pronouncing the word to mimic his accent. And last time I looked, we were all 'a miss'.
Buffy. . .
From his scolding glower she knew Giles was about to launch into one of his 'can you please be serious for a moment' moments, so she stopped him before he could begin any lectures.
Alright, alright, geez! Just trying to lighten the mood a bit after reading about all those dead people. Apparently you don't need it as much as I do. Or maybe you need it more,
she pointedly finished.
Of course I'm affected by so many deaths. I knew many of the people whose names are on that list, some of them on a personal level. They were compatriots, a few were even good friends. Their unfortunate passing is a great loss to those of us Watchers who remain.
The First decimated our ranks, and made a shambles of our organization. The Council is doing what it can, attempting to cobble together what there is left of our brethren. But it's a monumental task, and it could be some time before we can truly regroup and function with the breadth that we once had.
It looks like you're doing your part from here,
she replied, nodding at the books around them. It's been..what? Two weeks since we destroyed Sunnydale? It looks like you've already got your very own library started here.
It's a way to pass my time,
Giles returned. Something to give purpose to. . .
He left the rest of his sentence to hang unsaid. The following silence was uncomfortable, and Buffy jumped in to break the heaviness of the quiet.
Does this mean you don't have time for training?
she asked. All this filing and book buying must take up a lot of your day.
Not as much as one would hope,
Giles sighed.
Buffy noticed his gaze wandering to the makeshift bar on the dresser top. That was not a good sign. The last thing she needed was Giles drowning his boredom in the bottom of some bottle. She'd been through that twice in the past, and while things had eventually worked out for the best, getting through those times was in no way pleasant. She had to nip this situation in the bud right now, before it got crazy and she got stuck working damage control.
Since you've got some time on your hands, let's grab us some weapons and get training,
she said, pushing the enthusiasm in her voice. I'll go change into something more sweat appropriate, and you can lose the tie, and put on something with a few less formal pieces. You do have something that you can get physical in?
she asked, trying to think about what wardrobe she remembered the Watcher owning. She drew a blank, and shrugged. He had to have something from that first shopping trip at the souvenir shop.
I'll find something,
he assured her. Shall we meet out behind the back parking lot?
She understood the exact spot he meant. At the rear of the complex was a small stand of trees, through was a path leading to an empty clearing beyond. It was the back end of an abandoned business, and while the ground was overgrown with weeds, there was a fair stretch of yardage in the guise of an aged concrete pad, the foundation for some building that no longer existed.
Meet you in ten then,
she agreed, rising to leave. She paused at the door before walking out. And don't forget your sunscreen. There's not a lot of shade back there to hide under.
Closing the door on her heels, Buffy took off at a lazy trot, crossing the parking lot to her own room. Dawn was out with her friend Brenna, and had her own key if she should decided to cut her visit short. Writing her sister a note to let her know where she'd gone, Buffy quickly changed her outfit, pulling on a sleeveless shirt featuring a surf scene on its front. Slipping on a comfortable jeans, she kicked off her flip-flop sandals, she tied on a pair of simple sneakers in a glowingly neon pink. She would have preferred some other color, but it was the only pair in her size that day, and now she was stuck with the choice until she, or Giles, could afford something better.
Pinning her long hair atop her head in a loose bun, Buffy grabbed a towel and a bottle of water, and made the hike to the agreed upon meeting spot. There she selected several concrete blocks from a heap of construction debris, and stacking them into a bench, settled down to wait for Giles.
He arrived a short few minutes later. In one hand he carried a large canvas bag that he often used to transport weaponry, while over his shoulder was another satchel, containing whatever additional sundries he thought appropriate for their session.
Shading her eyes from the bright sun overhead, Buffy smiled at the incongruous sight of her Watcher wearing what could only be described as tourist chic. His pants were a baggy silhouette, his knit polo shirt a florescent hue of yellow that rivaled her sneakers in intensity. His footwear was more reasonable, and obviously purchased with running in mind, an activity she once discovered he did with some regularity, though she hadn't noticed if he'd kept up with that routine since they'd all moved to the motel.
Giles dropped his bags next to her makeshift bench. Any idea on how you would like to begin?
he asked.
I guess we could start by limbering up our limbs,
she suggested. Work out the old kinks before we trade them in for some new ones.
Sounds capital.
They spent the next minutes each stretching and testing their muscles, preparing for the more strenuous activity to follow. Around them the birds chirped, accenting the sound of traffic from the distant road. Though they were only a short walk from the motel, for all purposes they were alone in their isolated arena, free from any prying and curious eyes.
Once their bodies were flexible, Giles dug into one of his bags, producing a pair of padded mitts. Donning the protective gloves, the Watcher turned to face his slayer, setting his stance firmly in the dusty ground, and nodding to Buffy to begin when she was ready.
She started out slow and easy. It had been a long time since she and Giles had done this, and she wasn't sure how much punishment he could take. He had aged a lot in the last year. She could see it in his eyes, and the drag in his step. Buffy suspected the contents of the file in his room had more to do with his advancing senior status than his actual chronological years, though even that showed in his graying hair, especially in the bright sunlight of the day.
Bouncing on nimble feet, she danced around the watcher, strategically aiming several firm punches into his gloves. He offered fair resistance, easily deflecting the blows, but she wasn't really hitting him very hard. Several minutes of spins and a few test kicks followed, and she noticed that Giles was beginning to work up a sweat.
It was early summer, and the day was already warm with the promise of ever increasing temperatures. They continued their workout for a good half hour more before pausing for a short break to replenish their fluids.
Stripping off his gloves, Giles collapsed onto the bench, taking a moment to catch his breath as he sipped at his water. He was panting, winded with his recent exertion, while Buffy was barely breathing any faster than she did at an excited rest.
I believe it's safe to say that you're still in fair shape,
he complimented her between gulps of air. The rest has done you good.
I don't know,
she replied modestly. Those last few kicks felt slow to me. And I need to work on my balance. I almost slipped on that one turn. Do you need another minute, or are you good to go again?
A minute won't be necessary,
Giles said, rising to his feet. Nor would it do me much good,
he added under his deep breath.
They resumed their workout. Giles had done well so far, bolstering Buffy's confidence in her Watcher's endurance. She attacked faster, and harder, until she was going at him with as much energy as she would any well-skilled human sparring partner. Giles would occasionally critique her form, correcting a sloppy spin or badly timed kick. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, easily falling into old familiar patterns, each reading and anticipating the other's next move as they circled the vacant lot in a near dance-like performance.
You should aim higher,
Giles instructed at one point as he dropped his hand to block her kicking heel. Your opponent is likely to be taller than you are. You shouldn't have to stretch so far and compromise your balance.
How's this!
she grunted, tossing another kick at his head. The Watcher deftly deflected the blow, though she could sense he was already tired.
Better,
he replied. But you should come in closer. It will allow for more power if you realign your center of gravity.
You want more power?
she taunted mischievously. Then you'll like this!
Buffy wound up with a backward spin, her right leg lifting to strike out at Giles' raised hand. Once again, she felt herself falling shy of her intended mark, and she leaned forward into the kick, extending her leg and straining to reach her target.
At that moment Giles dropped his glove from one hand, his fingers clamping tightly around her ankle and yanking her toward him. Before she could react and compensate for the change in equilibrium, he had thrown her backward onto her bottom, the seat of her pants hitting the dry ground hard and raising a cloud of dust.
As I have said many times,
he panted, informing her from his lofty position over her prone figure. While strength and speed are all well and good, they are nothing if you lack the proper balance behind them.
Limping slowly back over to the bench, Giles once again dropped down onto the hard concrete seat, his tortured lungs audibly gulping for air. Reaching into his bag, he drew out a towel, and began dabbing at the sweat that ran freely down his face.
Bet you're feeling a little cocky right now,
she said, lifting herself up off the ground. Dusting off the seat of her jeans, Buffy took a moment to rearrange her hair before walking over to join Giles. You want to try that move again, sensei?
Not at all,
the Brit breathlessly replied lying back on the bench. I know enough to quit when I'm ahead in the game, especially when up against someone who could do some serious damage to my spine.
Taking a seat in the small empty spot next to the Watcher's head, she picked up her water and took a drink, quenching the dryness in her throat.
Anyone ever tell you that you fight dirty?
she asked. You completely ignore the rules.
Boxing has rules,
he informed her. Fighting is an all in donnybrook where you use every trick that comes your way. There is no fains I. Nothing is unethical. You use everything at your disposal to dispatch your enemy.
I hate to ask where you picked up that philosophical gem.
I believe it was in the alley behind the Red Griffin pub my first year at university.
We like to think our American street gangs are tough,
she chortled. Apparently you Brits have one up on us.
We certainly don't dance about like a bunch of shirty ponces proclaiming how 'cool' we all are.
He winced as a muscle twinge pulled in his back.
And now we're referencing American musicals of the sixties. Someone's feeling a little nostalgic today.
Actually, I'm feeling quite well, considering.
Then you won't mind going another round with me.
And therein lies the 'considering',
he returned. Right about now I could do with a good hot soak in the bath and an afternoon lie in. But if you're up for it later tonight?
He left the question open, glancing her way for the answer.
Yeah, sure,
she shrugged. I can ask Willow to look after Dawn. We can meet after dinner. But not too soon after,
she quickly amended. I don't want you throwing up or anything yucky.
I'll be sure to eat early and light,
he promised. Sitting up, he swung his long legs around, stretching the tightened muscles in his calves. Then we'll patrol tonight.
What? Wait! Who said anything about patrolling?
Buffy exclaimed in surprise. We're still in the training stage of training.
Training is the preparation. Ipso facto, the next course of action is patrolling. It would be an excellent opportunity for us to see just how quiet the Hellmouth truly is.
The Hellmouth,
she echoed reluctantly. We couldn't just patrol the shopping mall down on Fullbright Street? I hear they're having a killer sale at Barnes and Noble.
It will do us good to get out,
Giles said, ignoring her plaintive suggestion. I'll pack some weapons, and we can meet outside my place at, say, , , eightish?
He seemed genuinely pleased by the decision. It had been weeks since she'd seen him smile like he was now. He was practically giddy with excitement, and she hesitated to be the one to burst his happy bubble. She'd have preferred to go alone, but Sunnydale was a fair hike down the road, and it would be nice having a wheelman to get her there.
Flashing a forced smile, Buffy nodded her head, grudgingly agreeing to the Watcher's suggested time. She couldn't believe she was actually going out with Giles that night, and to the very last place on Earth that she wanted to be, the Hellmouth.
So it was, shortly after eight o'clock that night as the sun sank low toward the horizon, she found herself driving back to Sunnydale once again. With Giles at her side, and a bag full of weapons in the truck of their car, she hoped that she was ready for whatever would come along.