Buffy and Giles ReVamp'd / Life Goes On

CHAPTER THREE Making Up Is Hard To Do

The morning sun rose bright and beautiful, filling the sky with its radiant light. But try as it might, it couldn't pierce the gloom behind the drawn curtains of Rupert Giles' motel room. It was well past ten o'clock, and the Watcher had yet to rouse from his bed. A night of drinking alone had done little to improve his outlook on life, and today he was paying for the previous hours of abuse spent trying to erase his pain.

From the washroom sink came the slow, irregular drip of the tap that never quite turned closed. The irritating pat-pat-patter echoed thunderously in his head, pounding in his ears with every beat of his heart. It would have been a simple thing to silence the nuisance, but he had neither the energy nor the inclination to vacate his bed and walk across the room to do so.

His trip to the Hellmouth with Buffy had been the highest point of these most recent weeks. He had struggled to put behind him the more unpleasant events leading up to The First's annihilation. His relationship with the slayer had hit more than a bit of a rough patch. It hurt him more than he cared to admit that she could so easily dismiss his opinion and all that he was to her. He'd been so ad adamant about Buffy needing to take on life's responsibilities and grow up. Well, it had finally happened, and she had learned all she wanted from him, rendering him a sorry, useless old man with aching muscles and a throbbing head that threatened to split open at any moment.

Several minutes passed, and Giles dared to open one eye, quickly shutting it again as the room's dim lighting set his head to spinning. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry, his tongue slightly swollen and tasted of the lingering traces of stale whiskey.

Knowing that he would eventually have to face his personal demons, Giles forced his eyes open, and waited for his stomach to react. When things stayed in their place, he risked further motion, tossing back the covers and struggling to sit up. His body protested, muscles clenching as a shudder of agony gripped most of his body. It was difficult, but he pushed past the pain. The bruises that marked his flesh were nothing new to him. But for some reason they seemed different, their sting reaching deeper, yet still not as deep as Buffy's wounding words.

You were wrong, Giles. Again!

The words rang through his head, biting and pulsing with a life of their own. An involuntary moan escaped his parched lips, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, holding his head in his hands as he sat.

An eternity passed and Giles attempted to stand. His legs proved steadier than he would have guessed, so he carefully made his way across the thinly carpeted floor, pausing a moment to bend over the sink and stare at his reflection in the mirror. The face that looked back belonged to a shell of a man, his eyes haggard and bloodshot, cheeks grizzled with grey, his soul tainted by a life that no longer held purpose.

He'd been visited by this same nightmare before, only then it had ended with Buffy asking him to be her Watcher once again. She had needed him then, but that was no longer the case. Where she had once been the student, she had become the battle-wise general, following her heart to victories he couldn't begin to comprehend. He couldn't fool himself any longer. No man was irreplaceable. There was always another to take his spot. With Willow to bring the magick and computer skills, and Dawn's bright mind now assisting in the research, his own book dependent talents seemed arcane and obsolete, and could be replaced without any notice of their loss.

Even training was a questionable need. Xander had yet to attain the knowledge he possessed in the multiple martial teachings, but as Buffy had demonstrated in the past, her enthusiasm and will, coupled with her natural given skills, left her wanting little in education when it came to the teachings of physical combat.

With a deep rumbling groan, Giles stumbled into the bathroom. A long, hot soak would do good for his many aching muscles. Preparing his bath, he slowly stripped and stepped into the ill-fitting tub, lowering his long body into the scalding brew.

Leaning back, he stretched out his legs, seeking what comfort he could within the limitation of the steamy, heated pool. But he was too tall to immerse his entire body at one time, so he alternated which end he chose to soothe, doing what he could to tend to his pain, and to nullify the headache that still beat inside his head.

He had dozed off at some point. The sound of an urgent rapping at the outermost door awoke him with a start from his sleep. He bolted upright, water sloshing over the edge of the tub, and immediately regretted the move. The pounding at the door continued, demanding that he answer. Giles groaned, doing his best to ignore the aggravating noise, and waited for whoever was at the door to give and go away.

His inaction was eventually rewarded with silence. Sighing with relief, Giles leaned forward, adding more water from the tap to his bath, bringing the temperature back up to a low scald. He had leaned back once again, when his cell phone began to ring. He groaned, muttering under her breath at this new interruption, but he took no step to answer. When it too finally stopped, he closed his eyes, sure that he could relax at last, free of any further disturbance.

He was wrong. As if in some infernal machination driven conspiracy, the phone on the nightstand beside the bed went off next. The sound continued, ringing loud and unabated, driving its tone into his brain until he could stand it no longer. With an impatient grumble, Giles rose from the tub, nd grabbing a towel to wrap around his dripping torso, he stalked out of the bedroom in search of the offending device, meaning to silence it once and for always.

Snatching up the receiver, he growled into the mouthpiece. Yes! Who is calling?

The moment of quiet he sought was finally realized when the stunned caller on the other end said nothing. Giles sighed, regretting his momentary lack of civility, and taking a deep breath, he spoke in a less threatening tone.

Errr, this is Rupert Giles speaking.

That's a relief, a familiar voice spoke through the phone. I thought I'd dialed the DMV by mistake.

Buffy?

Yeah, it's me. Where are you?

What do you mean, where am I? The blasted cord on this phone will only allow me to go so far. I'm here, standing next to my bed and speaking with you.

Oh, right. A beat of silence. Well, I let the thing ring like a million times. Why didn't you pick up?

I did. That is why you are currently listening to my voice. His headache was pounding again. Sitting on the bed, he began to massage his temple, his befogged brain attempting to make some sense of the ongoing conversation. Where are you?

That was my question.

What?

Not what, where. 'Where are you' was my question. If you want me to answer your question, you need to think up one of your own.

This was going nowhere. Buffy, I don't have time for this nonsense right now. Why don't you tell me what it is you're looking for, and I'll see what I can do about it.

You could start by opening your door.

Giles frowned. Pulling the receiver away from his face, he stared at it with a puzzled expression. What did she mean open his door?

Why do you want me to open my door? he asked, this time aloud into the phone. His brain was throbbing now as well. He needed to end this silliness, and soon.

Duuuuh! So I can come inside. she snipped back in an impatient tone.

There was a long pause as Giles attempted to puzzle things through, and then Buffy interrupted his thoughts again.

Is this some sort of British joke like 'why did the chicken cross the road'? Because if it is, you people have a funny idea of what goes for humor. That would be the weird kind of funny, she further clarified for him. Not the 'ha, ha' kind that's actually laughy funny. Of course, you guys do have Mr. Bean, which goes a long way in explaining your idea of comedy. Another pause, and this time when she spoke, she sounded a bit miffed. Well, are you going to do it?

Do what? Giles asked. He was completely confused now.

A series of several loud bangs reverberated through the door to his motel room, sending Giles to his feet with a start.

Are you going to answer your door and let me in? Buffy demanded.

Stretching the umbilical-like phone cord across the room, Giles stumbled across to the outer door. He attempted to look out through peephole, but the tiny lens was clouded, and he could make out little more than an indistinct shadow. Clutching his towel about his waist, he balanced the phone between his cheek and shoulder, and approaching the nearby window, pushed back the curtain a crack.

The sunlight was blinding, and it took a moment for his sensitive eyes to adjust. When he could finally focus, he saw Buffy standing only a few feet away, her cell phone pressed to one ear. She wore an annoyed pout, and a pair of dark sunglasses, which made it difficult to immediately determine her mood. Giles felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Why was she here?

The movement of the drapes had caught the slayer's notice. Tilting her head to one side, she lowered her glasses to stare back at him. Her eyes quickly scanned the small glimpse of face the gap in the curtain allowed, and an eyebrow raised in question, the beginnings of a smile playing at her lips.

Did we sleep in this morning? she taunted the Watcher. Giles winced. Her voice had simultaneously come over the phone, and from behind the closed door. The disorienting echo sent a piercing stab through his head, and it took all of his effort simply to blink as he racked his addled brain for some sort of answer.

I, uhm, I. . . Giles stammered, flustered by her direct unwavering look. He withdrew a step, letting the curtain to fall back. He needed a moment to think about what to do.

That moment was up all too quickly. The rapping resumed, louder this time. Buffy had moved to the window and the glass reverberated dangerously under the pounding of her knuckles.

Taking a deep breath, Giles cinched his towel a bit tighter for courage, and dared another look outside. Buffy was still there. Seeing him, she made an exaggerated gesture indicating he open the door. He flashed back a nervous smile, holding up a finger to indicate he required time to answer her request. This was not the response she desired. Impatient, she followed with another gesture making it clear he was to hurry. That was when she saw the towel, and with an exasperated roll of her eyes upward, she acknowledged his need for time, though she seemed far from pleased about it.

Dropping the curtain back in place, Giles turned from the window, and tried to clear his head. He needed to act fast. The longer Buffy had to wait, the worse her mood would be, and he certainly didn't want that.

Leaping into action, he tossed the phone receiver back into the cradle, and scrambled to get dressed. The soiled clothing still lay on the floor where he'd dropped them the previous night. Kicking the wrinkle laundry into his closet, he slammed the door, and rushed to the dresser for something clean to wear. He was still damp from his bath, and every limb fought his effort to introduce it though the appropriate designed opening. It was a frustrating struggle, but after several trying attempts, and a bit of grumbled swearing, he finally finished getting dressed.

A cursory tidying of the room quickly followed. He started with throwing the bed together, hiding the rumpled sheets beneath the spread. Rushing back into the bathroom, he opened the drain to release the water within the tub. After tossing the damp towels onto the provided bar, he stepped back into the outer chamber of the small bathroom where he turned his attention to his personal appearance next.

Posing before the mirror over the sink, Giles made a cursory check of his reflection. Unfortunately, the glass revealed the ravaging damage of the previous night's binge. Blood shot eyes stared back from darkened sockets, and his unshaven face still bore the brunt of an attacker's fist. Unfortunately, those were only the beginnings of the morning after specter he faced, but the clock was ticking, and Buffy was not particularly good at waiting, so this would have to do for the moment.

Deciding there was no time to shave, he opted for another vigorous scrubbing of his face, followed by a speedy run of the brush through his unruly hair. A final check in the mirror pronounced the results acceptable, if a little unpolished. There wasn't much he could do about his bloodshot eyes, and he prayed Buffy wouldn't look too close.

Giles turned away from the mirror. Exiting the bathroom area, he moved into the larger main room. As he negotiated his way toward the outer door, he paused long enough to slip on his shoes, foregoing any socks in favor of speed. Prominently displayed atop the nightstand beside his bed were a half-filled glass and empty liquor bottle, glaring remnants of the previous night's pity binge, and indication of his indulgent weakness. Grabbing the nearby waste bin, he swept the empty bottle and several wrappers inside, along with anything else within the room that might seem untoward, or suspicious. With the guilt ridden evidence securely stashed out of sight, he took a deep breath, and gathering his courage, moved to the door to let in his guest.

Buffy listened to the noises coming from Giles' room. She could heard drawers slamming, and several muffled curses as the Brit rushed about behind the closed door. Sighing, she surrendered to the fact that this was going to take a while. She might as well get comfortable for the wait.

Picking out a clean spot, Buffy lowered herself to the concrete stoop. She pushed her sunglasses back, arranging them atop her head as she folded her legs under to sit. Pulling up a game app on her phone, she proceeded to while away the minutes creating color bombs and wrapping candies, her ear still tuned to the racket inside Giles' room. The din continued for several more minutes, then suddenly it was over, and there was a moment of quiet behind her.

Wrenching the door open, Giles attempted a cheery smile to welcome his slayer. Good morning, Bu-

The Watcher's smile dissolved into a confused frown. Buffy was gone. A irritable grumble came to his lips, and he was about to give full voice to his rising ire when a voice suddenly spoke out, its source somewhere near his feet.

It's about time!

He looked down. Buffy sitting there on the ground outside his door. Rising gracefully to her feet, she brushed the imaginary dust from her pants. She brusquely pushed past him, tucking away her phone in the purse she carried, and boldly strode into his room as if she owned it.

What were you doing in there? she demanded, immediately hitting with a question for her greeting. It sounded like you were waking the dead with all that noise. And what's up with the stubbly look? she continued, turning to glare at his unshaven face with her critical fashion keen eye. Have you been watching reruns of Miami Vice?

You-you caught me unawares, he sheepishly stammered in reply. I didn't have time to. . . Giles paused, drawing himself upright as he suddenly turned on the defensive. Exactly why are you here?

We were going to talk, she curtly reminded him, casting an eye toward his hastily made bed. You do remember last nigh, don't you? she continued, frowning. Apparently your face still does. That guy must have clocked you pretty hard.

Sorry?

She pointed at his whiskered chin. Confused, Giles turned to look in the mirror behind him. His reflection showed the purple ghost of a bruise was visible through his growing stubble. At least that explained one of the countless aches that had plagued his body that morning.

You really should have put some ice on that, Buffy went on, using his silence to dispense her unwanted advice. You're going to be wearing that thing for days now. Not that you go anyplace where it would matter. You really need to get out more, Giles. Find yourself a life. Or what's left of it, anyway. You're starting to run seriously short on time, and last night sure didn't help you much there.

Is there a point to this visit? Giles wearily grumbled. Or have you simply thought of something else I did that pisses you off, because I'd have as soon done that over the phone.

Upset at his inability to restrain his anger, Giles made an effort to ignore the headache underlying his temperament.

I apologize, he continued, his tone level and genteel. I'm feeling a bit lurgy right now. She shot him a confused eye, and he obligingly translated. I'm a tad under the weather. Not feeling all that well. Simply tell me what it is that you need, and I shall see about getting to it as soon as possible..

I don't need anything. What I want is to talk. That is what friends do, she pouted.

Making herself right at home, she took a seat at one of the chairs next to the window. Surveying the room and its main occupant with a deprecating glower, she continued her scathing review.

What's up with the dark and dreary? Can it be any gloomier in here? I've been in vampire nests that saw more natural light than this place. You really should open up these drapes once in a while, and let the sunshine in.

Following her own advice, Buffy reached behind the curtain, tugging at the chain to draw aside the heavy cloth. The light came rushing in like a rushing tsunami, chasing away the dim pall that had permeated the motel room, illuminating the furthest corners in its penetrating glory penetrating.

Giles blinked, wincing at the blinding brightness suddenly flooding the space. His eyes squinting, he cautiously approached Buffy, dropping into the chair opposite hers. He resisted the urge to lay his head down and go back to sleep, opting instead for a wan smile of acquiescence.

You really are looking a whiter shade of pale, Buffy noted, giving the Watcher a closer critique. You're not going to barf on me, are you?

I'll be fine.

And I almost believe that.

Buffy-

Yeah,yeah. I'm getting to it.

She paused, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She'd been practicing this conversation most of the morning, and suddenly she was having second thoughts about the whole thing. It was a key part of her plan that Giles believe in what she was proposing. She only hoped she could sell her idea to him.

I've been thinking, you know, about the girls. What's going to happen to them, Giles?

I imagine most are back at their homes by now, Giles replied, sitting back in his chair. They'll probably be starting school soon, much as Dawn will in a few more weeks. A thought concerning that. . .

Twisting in his chair, Giles turned to cast his eye about the room. He spotted a pile of newspapers on the dresser, and bracing himself, gathered his strength before pushing up to stand on his feet. His head spun for a brief moment as he took the few steps needed to reach the pages, then with his prize now in hand, he returned to his chair, sinking gratefully back onto the seat.

Flipping briefly through the top section, he quickly found the page that he desired. He turned the paper around, orienting it correctly for Buffy, and pointed to the article he wanted her to see.

I read this the other day, he told her. It was my intention to tell you sooner, but. . .well, to be frank, I had other things on my mind, and I simply forgot.

So what am I looking at?

It's a public notice for people such as yourself, and Dawn.

Following his finger to the paragraph in question, Buffy began to read aloud. This is to inform those former citizens of Sunnydale with students in grades… She stopped, squinting at line after line of legal verbosity. This is too long. Can't you just give me the cliff notes version?

Basically, it's an invitation. to all former Sunnydale students. Various surrounding communities have agreed to accept those who have chosen to settle nearby into their school systems.

This is a lot of words to say something so simple, she frowned. I'm guessing there must be some sort of hook in there somewhere.

It does require an evaluation for enrollment. That would entail Dawn attending a short school session over the summer…

Summer school? she interrupted. Dawn's going to love that one.

Ignoring her comment, Giles continued.

Several districts have offered to wave out- of-town tuition, providing, the student take up residency at some point within the year. This is the perfect opportunity for you to choose a new school system for Dawn. You could look into matriculation rates, college preparation, teacher certification, accreditation. . .try it on for size, if you will, before you make your final decision.

Like a pair of shoes! she smiled, carrying through with her analogy. You see them and think Oooo! These would be perfect with this particular outfit so you put them on, walk around the store, and then you take them home with you. Only they don't exactly match up the way you thought they would, so you bring them back, and find some new shoes. . .

Yes, of course. Precisely like that, Giles impatiently cut her off. How astute. Dawn is a pair of shoes.

I said like a pair of shoes, she tersely corrected. Dawn definitely isn't foot wearable. She became thoughtful, planning how to handle this piece of news about her sister's school enrollment. Maybe I could ask Willow to help me look up that stuff the article mentioned on her computer. There's probably a whole lot more info out there. . .

As she began to ramble, Giles felt his mood slowly begin to sink. He was the one who had brought her this news. Why did she need Willow to help her? Once again, he was useless to his slayer, rendered dead weight by the conveniences of modern technology.

. . .are you even listening to me? Giles?

What? Oh, yes, he frowned, trying to clear his head. She was staring intently, her eyes seeming to look straight through him. Sorry, you were saying somethin g. . .?

That if I have to pick a school for Dawn, we really should start thinking about living somewhere more permanent. This place isn't exactly what I'd like to call home for the rest of my life.

So sorry, but it's the best I could manage on such short notice, Giles scowled, his wounded umbrage carrying a personal ownership to Buffy's snub. I'd like to see you find suitable housing for nearly three dozen people when every room from here to Los Angles had already been booked

Geez, Giles! Grouchy much? I'm not saying you didn't do good by us. It's just…this place has served its purpose, and I feel it's time we moved on. I don't know about you, but I'm starting to get a little claustrophobic. Plus, there's a ton of stuff Dawn's going to need to start school, and we really don't have the space for any of it. Now, I've talked to Willow, and Xander. . .

The Watcher growled under his breath. He was feeling unusually thin skinned that morning. The tiniest slight was setting him off. Of course she would turn to Xander and Willow, he thought to himself. Why should his opinion matter? He was apparently no longer useful to his slayer. a redundancy within her life. Perhaps he should consider packing it in, and return home to England.

. . .and they both feel the same. Are you feeling okay? She frowned at him, glaring suspiciously. I swear I heard your tummy complain a second ago. Have you had your breakfast yet? I'm talking solid food. Not that stuff that pours out of a bottle.

Giles felt his cheeks suddenly warm with a flush of guilt. He had done what he could to rid the room of its alcoholic evidence, yet Buffy seemed to know he had been drinking. Was it simply astute intuition on her part, or a lucky guess. He casually gave the room a furtive glance, looking for what had betrayed him.. Was there something incriminating that he had missed?

Where was I? Buffy frowned, dismissing the interruption. Oh, yeah, we should start calling around. See if something's opened up in the past few weeks. It would be cool if we could all stay at the same place. Not the exact same room, of course. We all got a little too much close and cozy when we were in my house. This time around, some personal space would be nice. But not so much we couldn't visit and stuff.

I'll see what I can do, the Brit promised with a weary sigh. Is that why you came to talk? You want me to find apartments for you and your friends?

Not exactly, she frowned, remembering the topic that had brought her there. There's something else.

Of course. How silly of me to think that you would only require one thing. That wouldn't take up nearly enough of my time, he groused dryly. You want me to find you an apartment, and do something else as well.

Not do something else, she told him. His foul-tempered sarcasm wasn't lost on her, but she ignored it, and continued on. I want to talk about something else. There's stuff I've been thinking about, and I've got questions. I want to know what's going to happen to all the new slayers. Not just the ones we already know about. You've pretty much taken care of them. What about the others? The ones Willow activated with her spell. There's got to be a lot of girls out there with special slayer powers. The same powers that I have. Who's going to be there for them, to explain what's happening, and tell them about all the things they can do?

Buffy had posed a lot of questions, questions to which Giles was sure she wouldn't like his answers. He pushed aside his growing choler, and focused instead on each query in turn, choosing his words carefully so as not to increase the ever present friction between them. He needed this conversation to end, and soon, so he could go about the business of nursing his hangover.

I couldn't say with any certainty what will happen to those girls. I'm not a seer, or astrologer. Nor can I predict the future. I suppose each girl will deal with their powers as their lives and personalities will allow, much as you did when you were first called.

As for who will be there for them? He shrugged. I imagine the Council, or what's left of it, will find some way to locate these girls. Once they've been identified, they'll be sent Watchers to train them for their new calling, much in the same way as things have been done for the past millennium. The only difference is they'll all be slayers, and not merely potentials.

That's it? You're telling me I changed all those girls for what? Business as usual? All they get is some lousy Watcher to tell them how to die?

Giles winced at her words, wounded by the callous description of his life's work. It's their purpose as Watchers, Buffy. To train slayers so that they might better be prepared to face the evils of this world. Simply put, it's their mission statement.

A mission statement they've totally screwed up for like forever, she countered peevishly. I'm not so sure that a bunch of old guys with their own twisted agenda should be trusted to do what's best for these girls.

Again Giles cringed inside, her statement reducing his self-worth to a dangerously low point. It was if the sacrifice of these last seven years of his life meant nothing to her.

That twisted agenda was good enough for you, Giles proffered, pointedly using her own words in return. His tone was defensive, but mentally, he was licking his wounded pride. I don't see why the same system shouldn't work for these girls as well.

But things are different now, or at least, they should be. I'm responsible for creating those girls, for changing their lives. Maybe I should be responsible for training them, too.

It was too much for Giles. He couldn't listen to this abuse anymore.

You? he snapped sardonically. His head pounded as he heard his voice rising with his temper. You want to train all those girls on your own? Good luck with that, he snorted bitterly. If karma is indeed just, I can only hope that every one of them prove as willful and difficult as you.

What do you mean difficult? she frowned. This wasn't going at all the way she had planned. I might not have been some perfect Buffybot mindlessly following every order I was given, but that wasn't what kept me alive. It was being able to think for myself. You're the one who taught me that.

Well, I'm glad to see you retained at least one lesson from my tenure as your Watcher. I was beginning to think the last seven years were a complete and utter failure for us both. I can go home now knowing I did something right. A man needs to believe he didn't waste his entire life without serving some purpose other than taking up time.

The anger in his words rang as loudly in his head as they did in the stagnant air of the small room. A heavy silence fell between Watcher and slayer, the uncomfortable mood suddenly as palatable as anything solid and real around them.

Go home? It had taken Buffy a moment to find her voice. When she finally spoke a pensive frown creased her youthful face, her stomach suddenly full of strange sour butterflies. By 'home' you mean to another apartment. That is the plan. Isn't it?

Giles looked away from her gaze, and made an attempt to regain some semblance of his composure. His tone was cool and distant when he finally answered, but inside he was anything but calm.

We all have our own plans in life, Buffy, and though we try our best, things seldom turn out as we hope. In his head, he added the thought, certainly not for me. You said it yourself. There's nothing more that I can teach you. My job here is done. There are a few loose ends here and there that I need to chase down, but then it's time I moved on with my own life. Such as it is.

You're going to leave? Again? She couldn't believe she was hearing this. Giles, this is like the fourth time now. You keep trying to go away, but for whatever reason, you keep coming back. Maybe you should take the hint.

This time it's different., he argued.

How? she demanded. Because you think I don't need a Watcher?

It's different because this time it's me you don't need. Giles fought back the tears of self-pity that threatened to fall. With all the emotions welling inside him, he still had some vestige of pride. He couldn't let Buffy see how weak he had become. She was disappointed enough in him as it was.

He waited for her anger, the words of accusation about him quitting, of how he had ruined her life. It was a scolding he well deserved. His heart weighed heavy as he prepared for the venomous lash of her punishing retort. He expected no less from someone who had given so much in her life to the world. It was time he took a little of the same upon himself for a change. The score should be settled and cleared between them so that he could leave with a clear conscience.

The silence did end, but not with the scourging he'd anticipated. Buffy's voice was low and powerful, and filled with an unexpected plaintive urgency. It started with a negative, indifferent and cold. Then it began to warm, the outlook growing quickly brighter with each successive word. Her words cut sharply through the clinging fog of his hangover, her very heart speaking to him in a way that touched and lifted his very being.

You're right. I don't need you to be my Watcher anymore, she agreed. What I need is someone to be my friend. Someone I can trust to speak their mind, even though they know I probably won't listen, and who won't be afraid to tell me when I'm wrong. And after all that, he would follow me into the very mouth of Hell because that's what I have to do. But mostly, I need a friend who will put up with all the crazy crap and abuse I dish out. She gave him an impish grin. The way I see it, that pretty much describes you to a T, she said, her grin slowly broadening wider.. Like it or not, you're stuck with the job.

She paused, reaching a hand across the table, laying it securely over his.

What do you say, Giles? You ready to make it until Death for One of Us before the Other Departs?

She had given it her best. Now it was up to Giles to decide what to do. Up to that moment, Buffy had felt confident that she could convince the Brit to stay. His continued silence began to shake her sense of certainty, and suddenly, she felt doubt creeping in to darken her hope. She suddenly realized that Giles could actually leave her, and she was struck with a new type of fear, one that rivaled any monster she had ever faced on the Hellmouth.

Giles? She cautiously prompted the Watcher. Are you going to answer sometime this century, or should I start looking for that new place on my own?

That depends, he ambiguously replied. This arrangement sounds fairly permanent. Would our relationship require some sort of ring on my part? I'm not certain I'm ready for that sort of commitment. However, if you would be willing to settle for bags of money, then perhaps we could work something out between us.

You aren't serious about that whole ring thing, are you? Because I can't tell if you actually think I'm expecting us to get married, or if that's just you're sick idea of a joke. I'd think that for as long as you've managed to escape that perilous trip to the altar, you'd know the first rule in talking to a girl is never promise jewelry you can't deliver. And in case you hadn't noticed, I am a girl, Giles. It's sort of a big part of that 'one girl in all the world' chosen one bit you Watcher's are always going on about.

A speech that you have handily rendered superfluous to every Watcher's vocabulary.

Lucky for you there are so many other words left, and I'm sure you'll find a way to use every one of them. So, she frowned apprehensively, worrying at her lower lip. Does all this mean you're staying?

Not in this dreadful casket of a room, the Watcher griped churlishly. I'm as ready to move on from this place as you.

This time the enthusiasm in his voice had been obvious, and it brought a relieved smile to Buffy's face to hear Giles back to his old self.

A change of residence sounds like a perfect plan. And while we're busy making new plans, there's this other plan that I want to talk to you about. The one that brought me here in the first place.

And what would that plan be?

While Buffy's plans invariably call for work on his part, Giles was back in a good spirits, and willing to listen to any crazy plan she had in mind. He was still plagued by the residual of his hangover, but that would eventually pass, leaving him with the remainder of the day to enjoy the memory of those recent moments that had so lifted his spirits.

Okay, this is what I was thinking, she said, leaning excitedly forward. What if instead of the Council training the new slayers, we train them. Note please the use of a we, and not just an I. For the record, I would never even consider doing something this big alone by myself. So you see, it has to be a we thing, as in you and I together, or it isn't a thing at all.

We could start a school, she continued, warming to her idea. Not the kind with desks, where you learn math and history. Well, there could be some history, she conceded. But definitely no math. And I suppose I might have been hasty about nixing the desks. A few could come in handy. Mostly though, it should be about training, like we did with the potentials.

We'll teach all the new slayers about weapons, and all about fighting and evil. Oh, and about magick, too, she added. They'll learn about all that stuff, and everything else we think they should know. All the helpful little tricks to becoming a successful slayer.

She paused for a breath, waiting for some reaction from Giles. The Watcher stared back, his expression inscrutable, and feeling the weight of the awkward silence, she nervously continued to ramble, spinning out the explanation of her plan.

We'll teach our slayers more than just the physical stuff After all, there's more to slaying than just being fast on the feet. They need to learn how to think like a slayer, too. We'll show them the importance of slayer confidence, that they can stand up to evil and win. Not just because they're strong in body, but because they know it in their minds, can feel it deep inside, because that's where a slayer's real power lies

They have to learn to believe in themselves first, she firmly asserted. To understand that slaying is more than what they do. There are other things in their life that matter as much as duty. Things like family, and friends, she said, giving Giles a special look. They may be slayers, but they're people first, and I don't want these girls to go through life thinking they're going to die alone. No one should ever have to deal with that.

Later, after they learn all the slayer stuff, we could pair them up with a Watcher. Not just any old Council Watcher, she quickly interjected.. He, or she as the case may be, would have to be a special Watcher, one that's a perfect match for each girl. Their Watcher will be responsible for more than just research and training and stuff. Our slayer has to be able to depend on them for moral support, too. And there won't be any secrets between them. and the Watchers and the slayers will keep her family clued in on what's going on when they can. The parents need to trust the Watcher. After all, their daughter's life is in her Watcher's hands.

There was an almost seductive quality to Buffy's voice as she described the dream perfect bond between slayer and Watcher as she imagined. Giles could hear the impassioned yearning in her words, and feel their strength fuel his own desire for that special bond. There had been moments in their own past when he and Buffy had approached that perfection, shared that unique closeness only those bound together in the defeat of great evil could feel, and he found himself yearning for the return of those satisfying days.

And this school would be fun. That way the girls will want to learn. They could live together, like in a dorm. It would be like a big slayer school pajama party. . .with hair braiding, and talking about boys. . .but talk only, she quickly clarified. We don't need any actual boys there. That would just freak the parents.

Then, when the girls graduate we'll send them home, Buffy continued with her lecture. That way they can live live with their family around them. I think that's really important, especially while they're really young. Later, when they're on their own, they can move someplace else. They could get a job, something like yoga instructor, or phys ed teacher. I guess police work would be okay, too, though personally, I'd skip anything in the fast food industry.

Maybe you could use your contacts with The Council to help them decide where they want to live, she suggested. .Also, I think they should get paid, just like the Watchers. Slayers have to eat and buy clothes just like everyone else. t's not fair the Council expects their families to foot the entire bill If they do the Council's work, the Council should at least reimburse them for expenses ..

So, she said, her spiel winding down at last. Friends, families, Watchers, and salaries, she frowned, ticking each off on her fingers. I guess that just about covers everything I can think of. With all that working behind them, these girls will have more to live for than saving a world in constant peril. Maybe that's the key to a slayer surviving a whole lot of years, believing she's a part of the lives she fights for. Anyway, it's worked for me.

Well, that's what I came to talk about , she finished with a sigh. I know the plan's a little rough around the edges. I'm not even sure it has edges. Mostly, it's still in the aimless ranting stage. What do you think? Does any of it make sense to you? Or am I just out there on my own with this one?

The Watcher blinked, offering the first sign of movement for several minutes. Buffy waited for some comment, some hint that he'd been listening to her ramble. She'd welcome any reaction at this point. But Giles said nothing. Not one question, or comment, not even a frown, or glare. Maybe Giles really was sick. Sicker than he had let on. What if he had some kind of fever trance? Or had gone catatonic? If he didn't say something soon, she was going to have to slap him, or throw cold water in his face, like she'd seen them do in the movies.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity, Giles finally spoke.

What do I think? he repeated, scowling thoughtfully.

His question had Buffy waiting expectantly, shifting nervously to the edge of her seat. Giles wasn't the kind of person who would stick around just because she'd asked. Maybe at first he'd be content with just being wanted. He'd make the best of things just to keep her happy. But she knew Giles, and he wasn't someone who could live a life without purpose. In time he would grow restless, and begin to think about moving away. Then she'd be right back where they were that morning.

No, her Watcher needed to believe there was some importance to his presence, and she hoped that a Slayer School was just the thing to interest him. It was the only idea she could think of that might hook him, and now she was about to learn if her strategy was worth the night of lost sleep.

What do I think? A smile broke across Giles' unshaven face, his dull hollow eyes lighting again with life. I think your plan is bloody brilliant!

You do? The pronouncement made Buffy giddy with glee. Really? Which part did you like the most? she asked, her enthusiasm spilling outward for him to see. The combo thing, where we balance mind, body and heart? That was good, wasn't it? Ooooo! I bet it was the part where they work with Watchers. I was thinking of you there. Notice how I even included the Council? That was for you, too. I figure they're good at some stuff, and we should at least try working with them with the least amount of them possible. Besides, she shrugged, reluctantly accepting the faintest of possibilities. Maybe they'll elect some new Council guys who think more like you. Then things won't be so bad.

Buffy swore she could see tears in her Watcher's eyes. She smiled, sniffling, her own waterworks ready to burst forth with a flood at any second.

So, now what? she asked, discreetly dabbing the back of a hand at her teary eyes. Aren't we supposed to run this thing up a flagpole somewhere, or find someone to salute it?

Why don't we start by finding you a new home? he suggested. And I'll see what I can do about getting Xander and Willow someplace close by so that you all may stay in touch.

You need to find a place there for you, too, she cheerily added. And not just some dinky, little apartment like this. You need an actual grown-up house this time. One with room for you, and all the books you'll ever want or need. Yeah, a house. That's what you need, she nodded, agreeing with the notion. If you buy a house, it means you're serious about staying.

A house? Giles frowned, finding the idea of such an important purchase daunting. You want me to buy a house? Buffy, do you know what you're asking?

I think that whole until Death Do We Depart thing pretty much said it all. She frowned, growing serious. Do you really think we have a chance at making this slayer school work?

I won't lie to you, Buffy, he returned with an equally solemn tone. Implementing a plan of this magnitude will be difficult, and expensive. There's a good deal to consider. Location. A curriculum. Financing will be tricky. I have the funds from the Magic Box that I can invest. Plus, I've some money that I set aside over the years. Still, you may have to face the fact that you're best chance lies with the Council. I simply don't see any other way around it. You may have to consider some sort of financial compromise.

You want me to ask them for a loan? I know I said they could provide our girls Watchers, but I'd really like to keep their involvement as close to nothing as possible. They're so bossy. Always wanting to do things their way. I can image it would only be worse if we' beholden to them in any way. They' want to be in charge of stuff. My stuff. We've been through all this before, Giles. It never works out well when the Council runs things.

Certainly we'll look into other options. I'm simply trying to prepare you for the possibility. For now, let's see how far we can take this on our own. We'll work things out in stages. We can start by writing out a business plan to present to the banks. We'll have to be careful about the wording. I doubt they'll understand the concept of a Slayer School.

What if we said it was a gym school to teach young girls self defense? People open Karate schools all the time.

The Brit nodded, finding the idea acceptable. A dojo would be an excellent cover, he agreed.

Good. So, it's agreed. We lie to the bank. But not each to other," she stressed, wagging a warning finger his direction. When it's just us, we need to be truthful about everything, Giles. Even the bad stuff. We can't hide things from each other anymore. I don't want our school to be a lie. I really need this thing to work out. We need this to work out if we're going to be partners.

Partners, Giles repeated. The word rolled pleasingly off his tongue, and found a home within his heart. He definitely liked the sound of that.

Equal partners, she corrected. I don't want any of that silent business stuff like you had with Anya.

Nothing about my business with Anya was ever silent, Giles grumbled good-naturedly. She was always one to speak her mind. It was one of many irritating qualities she possessed, and possibly, one of the more endearing as well, he admitted with a sheepish chortle.

Yeah, we all miss her, too, Buffy returned with a wistful smile. So, when do we start? Now? No, not now, she frowned, looking into his bloodshot eyes. I can see you're not feeling so good. You apparently didn't get enough beauty rest after that beating you took last night.

Pushing back her chair, she rose to leave, making her way to the room's outer door.

I should probably hit up Willow and her computer about that school thing. Dawn is not going to be happy about that one. You and I can get together later, and talk some more about our school thing. How does tonight sound for you? Think you might feel any better by then?

Tonight will be perfect. I'll ring you up and we can set a time.

Tonight it is, then! she announced with a cherry grin. I'll round up the gang, and bring the movie. You can provide the pizza.

She was reaching for the door knob, ready to walk out when Giles was overcome by a brief flash of remorse. Buffy had seemed so adamant about not keeping secrets, and he hadn't been exactly truthful. It was time for some personal soul searching of his own.

Buffy, wait.

She turned, looking back at him expectantly. Clearing his throat, Giles swallowed his fears, and forced out his difficult confession.

I haven't been completely truthful, he started hesitantly. I've allowed you to make the assumption that I am ill. Well, I'm not. At least not in the sense I have led you to believe. I may be feeling a bit battered and worse for the wear this morning, but unfortunately, it's not my injuries responsible for my having overslept. It seems I overindulged a tad too much last night, he sheepishly offered. And now I'm paying for my lapse in judgment with a well deserved hangover.

I know.

Giles blinked, taken aback by the calm, matter-of-fact statement.

You. . .you know? How. .? He waved an arm, the question dying in a weak sputter.

She shrugged. You're kind of like your books, she smiled back. It's all right written there on the pages. Or in your case, in those bloodshot eyes, your grouchy pants attitude, and the unmistakable stenchy pall of day old binge hanging over this room. Leaning closer, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. If I were you, I'd think about opening a window. Maybe two even. You really need to air this place out.

Opening the door, she stepped out onto the narrow patio. Whipping out her sunglasses, she placed them on her face to cover her eyes, turning back for a few last words with her Watcher.

Oh, and the next time you want to hide your empty booze bottles, you might try the waste can in the bathroom instead of the one by the bed. Better yet, just take everything to the dumpster. There are enough weird smells back there to hide anything you could throw away.

With a bright flash of smile, she spun about on her heel, her blonde hair swinging pertly as she stepped out into the brilliant sunshine. Sauntering confidently across the parking lot, she headed off toward her own room, the one she shard with her sister Dawn. Having reached her destination, she quickly ducked inside, leaving her Watcher to gape in flabberghasted silence as she disappeared at last from his sight.