Buffy and Giles ReVamp'd / Life Goes On

CHAPTER EIGHT News From The Mother Land

A monotonous hum charged the laundry room. Inside the compact facility the air was stagnant and stifling, the artificial atmosphere tasting of stale sweat and indecipherable body odors yet to be expunged by powerful perfumed detergents. The superheated environment clung to Buffy's personal special boundaries, surrounding her like a broiling cocoon of discomfort. She could feel her body temperature rising with each and every minute spent within the enclosed space as she hurried to empty the contents of a dryer into her laundry basket on the floor. She couldn't move fast enough to escape the broiling temperature, and return to the air-conditioned cool of her apartment.

Hiking the now full laundry basket under her arm, Buffy used a foot to close the dryer with a resounding slam. Making a bee-line for the exit, she juggled her load to gain a firmer grip before stepping outside and into the natural sunshine. It was still hot, but the sensation was somehow different, more pleasant to experience. She turned her face upward to the sky as she paused, taking a brief moment to bask and appreciate the contrast from the laundry room's oppressive swelter. Overhead, a beautiful expanse of lapis lazuli reminded her of a photo illustration of a necklace she had seen in one of Giles' books about ancient Egyptian cultures. Not a single cloud marred the blanket of intense blue, not even the slightest trace of a wisp. Nothing obstructed the gentle purifying warmth of the sun as it caressed the exposed portions of her flesh. A soft breeze teased at her face, embracing her with its delicate coolness, ruffling the looser edges of her clothing and lifting the ends of her hair from her neck. It was a refreshing sensation, and Buffy closed her eyes, shutting away the myriad of other extraneous stimulations so that she could revel in the bliss, if only for the briefest of time.

She didn't know how long she had been standing there when she became aware of the sound of tires crunching over stray gravel as they rolled across the parking lot before her. Snapping her senses back into reality, her eyelids flittered, opening to blink against the brightness of the sunlight. Her sight focused on an approaching vehicle. The car wasn't familiar, but its driver seemed to have recognized her, and slowed its forward progress to come to an idling stop in front of where she stood.

Would you care for a lift? a male voice asked. Though the face behind it remained hidden in the shadows, Buffy instantly recognized the lilting British accent.

Giles!

Leaning down to get a better look, Buffy gave her Watcher a cheery smile of greeting. She couldn't believe how excited she suddenly felt. It had been a week since he'd left on a trip to London, seven days without seeing each other, and only speaking over the phone.

Long time, no see, she cheerily chided. I was beginning to think you forgot how to find this place.

Stretching a long arm across the front seat, Giles opened the passenger side door. Buffy hiked her laundry basket higher before sliding into the seat and settling down beside her Watcher. As she balanced the basket of clean clothes across her lap, Giles eased the vehicle back into gear, directing it across the tarmac expanse of the lot. It was a short ride, and one that Buffy could easily have walked in a minute, but it allowed her just those same few minutes more in the Brit's presence. In the last few months it seemed that every one of those minutes now mattered. If it took time to heal the relationship wounds between them, then the more time together the better.

And how was London? she asked, opening their conversation with some polite small talk. Was there tons of fun to be had with all your Jolly Ol' Council friends?

I don't know as 'fun' would be the word I would choose to describe meeting with the Council, he replied. But the trip did prove productive.

Sounds like I'm in for several merry hours of briefing, she sighed. Or is it de-briefing? And why even use any word with brief in it if it takes so long to do it? Shouldn't the word be more like 'extending', or maybe 'longing'?

I'm fairly certain both those choices carry an entirely different definition, the Brit mused. He made an adjustment in the car's direction, and a few moments later they were pulling into a parking space directly in front of Buffy's temporary home.

You coming in with? she asked.

If it's not an imposition.

You're always welcome. Well, she corrected. Nearly always. There are some private moments where you shouldn't be there. But now is not one of them, so come on in.

She heard the car engine cut off, the almost imperceptible vibration beneath her seat growing still again. Throwing open the passenger door, Buffy swung her legs out of the vehicle, once again lifting the laundry basket in her arms as she shifted to make her exit. Before her feet had even touched the ground, the driver's door had slammed shut, and in an instant Giles was standing there before her, relieving her of the container in her hands.

Rather than argue with her Watcher, she relinquished the load, allowing the Brit to play the role of polite gentleman. She found it amusing that he often insisted on these old-fashioned shows of chivalry. As the slayer she was stronger than Giles, and not only capable of matching any physical activity he could do, but able to accomplish it both faster and with less effort. The few advantages he held were those pertaining to his increased height and longer reach.

Giles had always treated her as his equal. He wasn't chauvinistic like some men, a trait Buffy attributed to the Brit having grown up during the early days of the Woman's Liberation movement. Still, he seemed to have some need to demonstrate antiquated notions of civility dating back to previous generations, which she blamed on his proper British upbringing. Whatever the reason, Buffy had long ago learned to just let Giles be Giles. Besides, the special attention was flattering to her ego.

With the possession of laundry exchanged, Buffy led the way to her apartment. She produced the key, and unlocked the door, holding it open to let Giles pass. The cool air inside was wonderful to feel, and as she shivered in its delight. With a toss of her keys onto the nearby counter, she followed Giles into the suite, guiding him toward the kitchenette.

You do realize we did that all backwards, she told her Watcher. He turned, frowning quizzically in her direction. You're supposed to hold the door, while I do the curtsy and giggle flirtatiously thing.

The plane ride did a number on my legs, and I doubt I could manage a curtsy, he returned. he queried with a frown.

It's flirting when said laundry contains the ladies' unmentionables, she teased. Her grin quickly broadened as Giles' posture stiffened. A nervous twitch touched his face as the color began to rise in his pale British complexion.

It was one of those sweet moments Buffy enjoyed, when she could rattle her Watcher's poised demeanor. Giles was obviously fighting the natural reflex to look down, his gaze wandering about the apartment, taking in anything but the objects under discussion.

Relax, Giles, Buffy chuckled. The good stuff's buried at the bottom, under the towels. Had the old heart going there for a minute though, didn't I?

Relieving Giles of both the laundry and his embarrassment, Buffy slid the basket onto the counter. She turned to face her Watcher, and that was when she noticed the toll the last months had taken on the man. The constant lack of sleep, a questionable diet grabbed on the go, and some serious jet lag were written in the deepening lines on his face. There was a weary slouch in his tall frame as well, and several telltale wrinkles in his suit that spoke of an uncomfortably long flight.

How you holding up there, Giles? she asked, gesturing for him to take a seat in the living area behind them.

I won't lie, Giles sighed, gratefully accepting the invitation. He collapsed his legs, dropping down onto one of the upholstered club chairs. A good long lie down right now would sound like heaven to me. Between the change in time zones, and Andrew' incessant chatter. . .that young man does so love to talk, he grumbled briefly in complaint. I don't know how long it has been since I've managed more than two hours of sleep in one stretch.

No, no, Giles politely protested. He was obviously having difficulty finding the chair's elusive sweet spot. I'm here now. A bit of good news would bring us both a world of comfort. Which is more than I could say for this blasted chair. We should ask the proprietor of this establishment if he'd consider selling this thing. It could come in handy should we ever require a torture device.

I think it's got a broken spring, or something, Buffy returned, stifling a giggle. Here. . . She directed him toward the sofa. The seat's kinda low, and a fight to get out of, but there aren't any sharp insides trying to become outsides. I can personally vouch that this couch gives the body good hug.

With a grunt, Giles struggle back to his feet, taking a moment to give the muscles in his back a small stretch before resettling onto the sofa. Buffy heard a quiet sigh, though she wasn't sure if the source had been Giles, or a poof of air escaping from the couch cushion as the Watcher's weight compressed it.

You said something about good news? Buffy queried, perching herself on the arm next to Giles.

So I did. Easing his form back, Giles stifled a tired yawn, his posture adopting a slight slouch into the cushions. The Council has agreed to take our Slayer School under consideration.

Not to argue the finer points of semantics, but you promised good news, Buffy frowned. I admit, taking the school under consideration does qualify as news, possibly even hopeful news, but I wouldn't go so far as to say it's good. I hope you've got more than that.

He smiled, a faint twinkle in his eyes as he continued. While I couldn't get a definitive answer from the Council, I did manage to find funding elsewhere. It would seem your school is what you Americans say is a 'done deal'. I believe congratulations are in order. Well done, Buffy.

Perhaps. Though you were the greater voice within said group, Giles returned.

His smile spoke of immense pride for his Slayer. She had matured a good deal over the last months. Then again, he'd known for years that the potential lay within her. He was only sorry that so much pain and emotional sorrow had accompanied that growth. Buffy had taken on more than her share of difficulties in life, and in his humble opinion, she had deserved better.

It's happening, Giles, she said, breaking into a broad, happy grin. It's really happening!

And not a moment too soon, Giles agreed. If we work diligently, and find the appropriate venue, we could possibly have your school ready for its first students by the winter holidays.

All the tension and excitement Buffy had held pent up inside for weeks came suddenly exploding out in a victoriously joyful shriek. The sound reverberated though the small suite of rooms, setting Giles' eardrums to ringing as it pierced the walls into the adjacent apartment.

Next door, Willow and Kennedy sat on their shared bed, a deck of cards divided between their respective hands and the surface of the bedspread. The scream from the slayer's unit prompted the pair to lock eyes in synchronized concern. Immediately, Kennedy launched herself from the bed, cards scattering in a flurry as she ran toward the door. Another cry caused her footsteps to further quicken even as Willow leapt upward to follow, barely able to keep pace with her girlfriend's disappearing heels as they rushed to Buffy's aide.

A well placed shoulder displaced the closed door to the Summers' girls suite, and with a blustering urgency Kennedy burst into the room beyond. Willow bravely brought up the rear, holding a lamp she had snatched up as a weapon as she exited their own apartment.

What is it? Kennedy snapped breathlessly, adopting a menacing pose. Her fists were tightly clenched at the ready, lithe body tensed for attack. Her eyes rapidly scanned the room, searching for any sign of a foe with which to do battle. Her pulse increased its tempo as she saw Buffy wrestling with something atop the couch. With a forward leap, she sprang to her companion's defense, grabbing blindly at the form beneath the other slayer.

Cocking back a fist, Kennedy braced herself to deliver a powerful punch as she yanked her targeted enemy out from under Buffy. From the corner of her eye, she could sense Willow at her back, the red-haired witch charged with emotion and adrenalin, ready to bludgeon with her lamp whatever Kennedy revealed.

Take this! Kennedy snarled. Her closed hand shot forward, carrying with it a powerful momentum and the potential for pain. But only inches from delivery, her blow was stayed by Buffy's blocking defense.

Wait! Buffy yelped. The older slayer twisted her neck, looking back over her shoulder to glare questionably at the other girl. What do you think you're doing?

I'm trying to help you beat the crap out of that. . . Kennedy froze, finally having caught her first glimpse of the figure cowering on the couch beneath Buffy. Mr. Giles? she gulped meekly. Her voice mirrored her confusion, and she frowned at the other slayer. Why are you choking Mr. Giles?

I'm not choking him, Buffy snapped back defensively. Pushing Kennedy back, Buffy got to her feet, straightening her back to face her two uninvited guests. I was hugging Giles.

It didn't look like a hug to me, Kennedy returned. I'm pretty sure I know what a hug is, and it doesn't usually involve the huggee gasping for his life.

Giles wasn't gasping, Buffy snipped back, but a glance down at her Watcher revealed a different picture in the oxygen deprived hue of his face.

Releasing the tension of her grip around the Brit' neck, Buffy was overwhelmed by a flash of guilt and concern for her gasping companion. What she had meant as a happy hug had briefly restricted the flow of blood, as well as depriving the Watcher of necessary oxygen. Sorry, she apologized, reaching down to help him sit up. Guess I got a little carried away.

Not a problem, Giles responded, gently massaging his neck. The rasp in his voice, however, belied his attempted poise. I've come to expect these displays of enthusiasm, though I can't say I'm always prepared for their accompanying consequences.

Assuming her spot on the arm of the couch, Buffy regarded the lamp Willow held in her hands. Planning on doing some redecorating?

This? Dismissing the light, Willow set it aside on a nearby end table. She turned toward Giles, bridging the awkwardness by plopping down on the sofa next to him. Flashing a friendly smile, she placed an arm around him, and leaned an affectionate cheek on his tall shoulder.

Hi, Giles,/ she warmly greeted the Watcher. It's good to have you back home.

Giles patted the young woman's hand, returning her smile. It's good to be home again.

Now, that is a hug, Kennedy informed her fellow slayer, nodding toward the two. Not that hammerlock hold you were doing.

And why are we all hugging? Willow asked, releasing Giles. Not that hugging is a bad thing.

Definitely not of the bad, Buffy agreed. Giles was sharing some happy news. Go on, tell her, she prompted the Watcher, but her excitement was too much to contain, and she blurted out the news before Giles could begin to speak. Giles got the money for our school!

An appropriately gleeful squeal went out in tandem from Willow and Kennedy as they sprang to their feet with Buffy, the three girls joining in a hugfest of congratulations. They danced, arms entwined, bodies bouncing in every direction, as Giles tried desperately to avoid his feet being trampled beneath them.

When they finally collapsed back onto the sofa, Giles went on with his narrative of the events in England.

Right then. As I'm sure you are aware, he addressed the young women. Since our defeat of The First and the subsequent activation of new slayers worldwide, the surviving members of the original Watcher's Council are attempting to reorganize their depleted numbers. As you can imagine, there is a good deal of confusion and bickering, as well as more than a small share of jostling among the ranks for control of The New Order.

You can't be serious. Are they really calling themselves The New Order? Buffy frowned. That's like the stupidest name ever. Do they know that it makes them sound like a bunch of psychotic Nazis? It's like nothing has changed. They're nothing but a bunch of misogynistic ego inflated chauvinists with overblown Watcher complexes. Of course, if you consider the source. . .

You do realize that these are my colleagues you are insulting? Giles objected defensively. More to the point, I am a Watcher as well.

Sorry. No, wait, she immediately corrected herself. I'm not sorry. They deserve every insult I can think of throwing at them, plus a bunch of pointy objects, too. And you're wrong, Giles. You're nothing at all like those other Watchers. You're not a 'them'. You're an 'us' all the way.

I appreciate the vote of confidence, but the truth is, to make this venture succeed we eventually are going to have to work with these people. If it hadn't been for this fortuitous financial backing from an alternative source, we would have been reduced to slaying vampires with toothpicks, and gleaning our research from the children's section of the local public library.

Way to go with the overly dramatic imagery, Giles, Buffy frowned petulantly.

Change is a very difficult thing to accept, the Watcher gently reproached. And you are talking about rewriting nearly a millennium of tradition. In spite of what you think of their former actions, a good many dedicated men and women have died for the same cause that you yourself have fought for so vigorously. It took the decimation of the former Council, as well as the destruction of a nearly limitless library to bring these people to their senses. This is not the time for finger pointing, or blame. It's our opportunity to influence the Council's future mission, to reset not simply their goal, but their very way of thinking. And we will do so by example when your school proves its success.

q>Okay, okay. I get what you're saying. I can't reinvent the rules unless I'm in the game, and to do than I need to make nice with the boys, or they won't let me play. This isn't easy for me, you know. I'm not exactly the type that plays well with others.

All I can ask is that you try. As inconceivable as it sounds, in this situation, you are definitely the more reasonable voice.

The voice of sanity, Buffy reiterated smugly.

And as such, I am asking you to be the party of compromise. Initially, that will mean meeting the Council in the middle, perhaps even stretching your views past more than the half way point.

Buffy, the task we are taking on is not an easy one. The Council is an entity like none other you have faced. In the past, you had an unusual leverage, one you managed to use very effectively I must say. But threatening to withdraw your support is not an option this time out, not if you expect to make the dramatic changes you have in mind.

The Watcher's countenance took on a softness that was empathetic. As much as I'd like to tell you that we don't need the Council, they have resources at their command that we simply cannot do without. It would take us years, possibly decades to amass the knowledge they possess, and I can't emphasize how important it would be to have that at our disposal. While you may have vanquished The First from this earthly plane, there are no guarantees in life. It may return someday. Perhaps it won't come in the form we encountered, but as something else. Something more sinister. Or it may strike at some distant future, when your slayer descendants won't recognize it for the danger that it is. Certainly, if nothing else, the concept of evil continues to live on, and may indefinitely as long as mankind itself exists. And as long as there is evil afoot in this world, we could use whatever assistance we can garner to smite its' power.

I'm all for smiting evil, Buffy returned. She turned to her female companions. I think we're all up for some of that action.

You can count me in, Willow chimed her affirmation. I'm against all forms of stinky afooty evil.

Kennedy nodded her agreement. The world could definitely use less stinky feet.

The Watcher exhaled an exasperated sigh. I don't know which is the more impossible endeavor. Acting as an arbitrator between our vision and that of the unyielding force of the Council, or getting you people to show at least some degree of respect for me.

Am I hearing a little jet lag crabbiness there, Rodney? Buffy smirked.

Giles heaved another weary sigh. Perhaps a bit. This unification with the Council that you propose is a battle of Sisyphean proportion.

You're not giving up on us, are you, Giles? Buffy worried. You're like the only Watcher that knows both how the Council thinks, and still actually understands what it means for us to be slayers. We need you, Giles. Don't quit now. No one likes a quitter.

I'm still with you. When you first approached me with this idea of a slayer training school, I promised you that I would see this through to whatever end may come. I have no intention of going back on my word. Perhaps it is the jet lag fueling my skepticism. I am feeling a bit knackered.

I know what you need, Buffy announced, jumping to her feet. How does a nice, hot cup of tea sound?

Like absolute heaven, the Brit smiled appreciatively.

Okay, then. One steaming mug of Earl Grey is on its' way.

Moving into the kitchen, Buffy located the kettle she used to heat water, and after filling the vessel at the sink, she set it on the stove to bring it to a boil. She was rooting at the back of a cupboard, trying to find a clean mug, when Willow and Kennedy appeared at her side.

Buffy, I'm worried, Willow voiced in a whisper that was meant for the girls' ears alone.

About what? the slayer returned.

About Giles. He's looking a little tuckered out these days, don't you think?

Buffy glanced back toward the Brit, catching him mid-yawn. She knew what Willow was saying. Giles' suit was far from pristinely pressed, looking as though he had slept in it, which he had during his extended series of flights between London and Los Angeles. The shirt beneath his jacket was wrinkled as well, and probably had been on his body for at least two days. Though he had made the effort to shave at some point, he had performed the operation in some public restroom along the way, a feat Buffy knew would have left the usually private Brit self-conscious and uneasy. A beginning shadow of stubble graced Giles' jaw, lending a rakish, unkempt temper that was foreign to his appearance. He was definitely looking bedraggled, and less than his best.

I guess he is looking a little slagged, Buffy mused. But nothing a good night's sleep won't cure.

Are you seeing the same Giles I'm seeing? Kennedy hissed. The guy's completely spent. It's going take more than tea to get his inner engine revving again. Maybe you should try coffee. Or one of those super caffeine drinks.

Do you want to kill him? Willow frowned. At his age, Giles' heart could give out drinking that stuff. Tea's what he needs. But don't make it too hot. Serve it just above room temperature. That way it'll calm him, put him to sleep. Maybe you should try chamomile.

Gaaahhh! Buffy grumbled. I hate all this waiting around. Giles said he got the funding he needed, and I just don't see the point in involving the stupid Council. I wish this whole thing was over. Why can't those pea-brains just see we've got some great ideas? I mean, it's not like we're shutting them out of the picture. But noooooo! They've got to ruminate and digest everything we propose. What are they? Cows? All I know is they sure know how to sling the bull. By the time they decide what they do or don't agree to, we'll all be dead from old age.

At least they'll be deader, Kennedy quipped. You know, 'cause they're already older.

Buffy. . . The whistle of the kettle interrupted Willow, who continued as her friend went through the ritualistic machinations of preparing a cup of tea. I too would like nothing more than this mess to be over and done with. All this back and forth gives me a stress tummy ache. But Giles is right. You can't rush this sort of progress. And we are making progress. They may be itsy bitsy teeny weeny baby steps, but they're at least steps in the right direction. Our direction. And in the end, isn't that what's important?

I guess so, the slayer grudgingly conceded.

Giles' tea had finished steeping, reaching what she considered the optimal shade for serving. Discarding the sodden bag with a toss into the trashcan, she turned with the others, leading them across the room to the sofa. I still think all this biding one's time is a waste of, well, time. Here you go, Giles. One heavenly cup of tea just for. . .

The rest of her sentence died on her lips. She silently regarded the Brit whose slumped, relaxed posture had sunk deeply into the couch's cloying embrace. With his head tilted backward, and resting atop the ledge behind, Giles' eyes were closed, his mouth partially slack, a soft snore escaping to betray his somnambulistic state.

Poor, Giles, Willow sympathized. Guess all that waiting was tougher on him than it was on you.

The trio regarded the sleeping man for a moment. Finally, Kennedy reached out to wake Giles, but Buffy stayed her fellow slayer's hand.

Naaahhh, let him sleep, she said, smiling down at her Watcher. He's earned it.

With a sip from the mug in her hand, she dismissed her slumbering friend, and with a gesture, motioned for the others to follow as she led them into the nearby bedroom. There they could talk freely without disturbing Giles, allowing him to catch up on some sorely need rest.