Well, what do you think, Mr. Giles?
the realtor asked as the Brit and his friends filed past her into the library. Will this work for you?
Mrs. Callaway beamed with a hungry smile that reminded Buffy of a cat about to pounce on its unsuspecting prey, and the slayer soon discovered the secret behind the woman's confidence. The four Scoobies filed past the realtor, and halted a few feet into the room. Buffy's heart sank, her stomach constricting into a tight, acid-churning ball as she slowly turned in a circle, and survey her surroundings.
She was in some deep, deep trouble.
Far more spacious than the combined shelf footage Giles used for his private collection at the Magic Box, the room she stood in was on a par with the library back at Sunnydale High School. This was not just a room with a couple of bookcases, though there were definitely a good number of those available. The built-in oak shelving lined nearly every wall available, and extended from floor to ceiling in an impressive array wherever a window didn't otherwise occupy the space.
Installed under one broad window was a long, cushion padded bench. The seating had obviously been designed with the bibliophile in mind. Here he or she and a chosen companion could leisurely curl up with a favorite tome, each ensconced in one of its comfy corners. Or if the lone bookworm so chose, they could instead stretch out and repose upon the seat's upholstered surface, lounging comfortably and passing away the hours, lost in the pages of a lengthy volume. Either way, the bounteous supply of seemingly endless shelves would provide the lucky library resident a plentiful selection to draw from.
At the center of the room sat a long wooden table. It looked heavy, which was possibly why the previous owners had left it behind. Buffy surmised it could easily fit at least eight chairs around its perimeter, ten if you didn't mind occasionally bumping elbows. The broad, smooth surface looked substantial enough to handle stack and stack of heavy books, and yet still have room for Giles, or someone like him, to take notes. It was bigger than the library table they used to sit around at Sunnydale High School, and for a brief moment, she was hit by a strange nostalgia, imagining Giles and the rest of the Scoobies sitting around and doing research there.
It was a legitimate library in every sense of the word. Buffy couldn't imagine anything more perfect to suit her Watcher's book hoarding needs.
Then she looked up.
Several of the rooms they had seen on the first floor featured a decorative feature Mrs. Callaway had called a coffered ceiling. The grid work of sunken panels with their intersecting beams had impressed Buffy, especially in the kitchen where the deep inserts were decorated with bright, shiny copper. It seemed only logical that the library would share more of the same detail work. Well, it seemed she was only half-right in that assumption.
The fancy ceiling was there, but it was two stories up! Instead, where the floor between should have been were several substantial wood rafters bridging the width of the room. These massive beams carried the weight of a second story balcony, an encircling structure that hugged the outer walls, and projected out from the room's perimeter approximately six feet. This left the entire center portion of the room open all the way to the coffered ceiling, and several large hanging lights that hovered overhead.
A series of cables held the balcony suspended in place. Constructed of a woven iron patterned to look like vines and leaves, this network of cables also entwined and interlaced with the iron safety railing designed to keep spectators above from toppling to the table below. It was an impressive design marrying function and magnificence, and was the obvious artisanship of a former era, a time when people still bothered to make such things by hand.
Extending upward through the intricate catwalk, the first floor bookcases continued their towering climb toward the coffered ceiling, and practically doubled the library's already imposing capacity for books. A spiral staircase provided access to these lofty shelves, as well as adding another interesting architectural feature to the already remarkable space. All in all, the room's unique design, combined with the inimitable craftsmanship of its parts created a truly impressive example of library nirvana.
In other words, it was a veritable Gilesean paradise of bibliophilism bliss.
Swallowing the trepidation rising in her throat, Buffy turned to face her Watcher. Every fear she had immediately came to life the moment she saw Giles' expression. His face was lit by a shameful intimacy that Buffy found embarrassing to see. His gaze shone with an enraptured wonder as he stared at the boundless row upon row of bookshelves. He caressed them longingly with his bibliophile eyes. It was though everything in the world had suddenly ceased to exist but Giles and the library around him as he wistfully checked out every single shelf with the fervent passion of a suitor sizing up his lover.
We are so in trouble, Buffy groaned to herself. Willow and I need to nip this problem in the butt, and now, before this thing gets crazy out of hand. We have to shut down whatever mojo Mrs. Queen of the Realty World is working on Giles before he signs away all our lives on the dotted line!
Whoa! Whoever built this place must've liked books almost as much as Giles!
Dawn's announcement drew a vicious look of daggers from her sister. The last thing Giles needed was encouragement of any kind, and the teen wasn't helping one bit.
You gotta admit, this place is pretty awesome!
This time it was Willow adding fuel to the pyre. Everything is all fancy and pretty. Oh! But not in a dainty, sissy sort of pretty,
she hurriedly babbled, casting an anxious eye toward the lone male among the group.
It's definitely a masculine pretty. Striking. Attractive, even. Handsome with just the right dash of butch thrown in to give it manly male appeal.
Feeling betrayed by her two fellow Scoobies' positive comments, Buffy scowled, realizing she was on her own with this. Was she the only one who saw this place was totally not for Giles? The house was way too big. Not to mention too old, and too…smelly. Everything was either broken, or too dirty to use. The appliances needed to be replaced. There was only one bathroom that wasn't scary. It was going to take a ton of money to fix everything that was wrong the place. And that didn't even talk into account that with an ocean view, the house was probably priced way out of Giles' budget. That wasn't just her opinion. He said so himself on the way in. No, her Watcher needed to run, not walk, and get away before he got in too deep to get out! Why couldn't the others see that, too?
Since no one else was jumping in to rescue Giles from The Renovation from Hell, she guessed she would just have to do it herself. A little kindly advice wasn't going to cut it. No sir! Not with the way he was smitten. It was time to bring out the big guns, hit him hard between the eyes with a dose of harsh reality. Someone needed to tell it to him straight. No holding back. She had to crush his fantasy, and find something negative to say that would make Giles think twice about buying this rickety old house.
Walking over to one of the bookcases, Buffy ran a finger across a shelf, the gesture leaving a noticeable trail in the layers of accumulated dust. Holding the grimy digit before her face, she gave it a long, critical scrutiny before thrusting it toward her Watcher, and waving it in front of his entranced stare.
Just look at all this disgusting filth,
she scowled, wagging her finger as evidence. These shelves haven't seen a dusting in months. Probably years!
You say the same thing about my books,
Giles countered, managing to rouse from his stupor to address her comment. He sighed, smiling at some secret thought. They should be right at home here, together,
he reflectively breathed.
If the place doesn't collapse first under their weight,
Buffy griped. Not to be deterred by the Brit's complacency, she took a firm hold of one shelf, and with a fisted punch, dislodged the oak ledge, knocking it free from it fixed position and sending it clattering noisily to the floor. See? What did I tell you,
she smugly announced as Giles bent to retrieve the fallen shelf.
Shoddy workmanship. That's what it is. Put a couple of your heavy books on that thing, and you got an archival avalanche in the making!
This shelving is obviously meant to be adjustable,
Giles patiently informed his troubled slayer, returning the loose shelf to its home. Hence the series of tiny holes one might use to raise and lower the distance between them.
I can guarantee you nothing in this home is slipshod or cheap,
Mrs. Callaway hastily stepped forward to interrupt Buffy's objection. The old girl may be a bit dated, and long in the tooth, but she's built like the rock of Gibraltar.
She's not the only one fitting that description, Buffy sneeringly grumbled to herself.
The realtor was too busy sucking up to her client to notice the blonde's venomous glare. At the first negative comment, she immediately jumped into damage control mode, doing all she could do to sell Giles on the home's robust condition.
The last homeowner had a thorough inspection done before moving in,
she assured the Brit, dazzling him with an encouraging smile. I have a copy of that report in my car. If you'd like to have a peek, I could run out and find it. Oh, and I've also got the permit sign offs for the plumbing and electric work done in the master, too!
she offered, pleased she had remembered to bring the entire file along that day. You'll see everything is in order. So there's no need to worry that the house isn't sound.
Would it be possible to get a copy of everything you have available?
Giles politely asked, grinning expectantly back at the woman. I know someone who does that sort of work. I'd like to go over the paperwork with him. I would feel more confident about this property if I had his input.
Of course. I understand. I'll run you off a copy of everything as soon as we get back to the office,
she obligingly returned. If it would help, I could arrange another viewing. You could bring him to have a look around.
That would certainly be helpful,
the Brit replied.
Can we check out the loft now?
Dawn's voice interrupted the adults. The ten was standing expectantly at the foot of the spiral staircase. We are going up there, aren't we?
she anxiously queried, her foot already on the first step. We need to see everything.
I think some of us already can guess what's upstairs,
Willow snickered. Closing her eyes, she raised her hands, placing an index finger to each of her temples. With her mouth twisted in a frown of deep concentration, she pretended to go into an exaggerated performance of mind reader's trance. Uhmmmmm…I see, I see emptiness. The emptiness of shelves without books. Lots and lots of shelves.
Flicking open her eyes again, she grinned jovially at the teen. It is my prediction we will find more bookcases in your future at the top of these stairs.
Geeze, thanks for the prognostication tip, Nostradamus!
Dawn sardonically grumbled back at the giggling red-head.
Really?
Willow pouted, obviously disappointed. I was trying to channel Jeane Dixon.
Well, you're lucky you didn't get Punxsutawny Phil,
Dawn sarcastically teased back. She mimed her impression of a buck-toothed rodent, driving home the point of her mocking jest. Ooooo, sure hope I don't see my shadow up there,
she said in a goofy, cartoonish voice. I might have to make a prediction about the weather!
As the pair dissolved into laughter at their silly joke, Giles flashed the realtor an apologetic smile. Fortunately, the timely chirping of Mrs. Callaway's phone saved the humiliation of explaining his young friends' peculiar brand of humor.
Realizing she was approaching what could a crucial point in her sale, the realtor attempted to ignore the buzzing instrument, but to no avail. It continued to ring, until the insistent noise became impossible for anyone with hearing to ignore, and Mrs. Callaway was finally forced to favor her client with a hasty excuse before retreating to the hallway for some privacy to attend to this latest interruption.
With the older woman occupied, Dawn took the opportunity to excitedly rush up the circular staircase, her heels harshly echoing as they climbed the iron treads. Sharing a grin and a self-effacing shrug with the Watcher and slayer, Willow quickly pirouetted, and following the teen, disappeared up the stairs to the second floor. Giles and Buffy could hear their fellow Scoobies engaging in spirited conversation as they rushed around, noisily exploring every corner of the empty balcony above.
Alone with Buffy, Giles regarded his younger companion with a concerned frown. Keeping his voice low and confidential, he directed his next remark only to her.
Buffy, what exactly is it that is troubling you?
he asked his testy slayer.
What makes you think I've got troubles?
she diffidently returned. Crossing her arms over her chest, she regarded the Brit with a defensive sniff.
Because you've done nothing but disparage this house since we first walke through the doors.
Trust me, I have not yet begun to parage dis house,
she jokingly misquoted back. The disarming glare Giles shot her direction immediately disarmed her good-humored mood, and put a quick halt to any further arguing. Okay, maybe I have said a few bad things about this dump,
she grudgingly admitted. But it's not like I'm wrong. This house is old. And dirty. Not to mention this money sucking pit is gonna need a whole lot o' reno lovin' before it even resembles a home. Giles, you're wasting your time with this home wrecking wreck. And don't get me started on that one!
she bitterly added, nodding her chin sharply toward the agent standing in the hall.
Buffy, how many times must I tell you, I don't have any interest in Mrs. Callaway?
Giles grumbled at his slayer. I'm shopping for a house. Not my next inamorata!
Not sure what a one of those is,
Buffy pouted, mystified by his reference. Or whether she'd be the next, or if you even had a last, but if it has anything to do with the way you've been staring at her butt, I could do without the clarity.
I have not been staring. . .
You know this room is the bait to a sales trap, don't you?
she continued, brusquely cutting off his protest. This so called library is a dangly carrot of temptation in front of your nose. She's scamming you into buying this place.
She began to wander around the room, her arms gesticulating at the empty bookcases.
All this empty bookcases with their wide shelves, and open spaces. On the surface this looks like what you say you want, but is this what you need?
It is precisely what I require,
Giles returned, perplexed by his slayer's reasoning. He longingly surveyed the room with its countless empty shelves. This is a library,
he sighed, his eyes wide and glistening with the coveting desire of a child in a candy shop. It is a place expressly intended for the keeping of books. As I happen to be the owner of a large collection of said items, it would seem this room is ideal for their storage.
She opened her mouth, intending to fire back a snappy retort, but an untimely voice interrupted, and it came from overhead where the ceiling should be.
Giles! You have so got to see this!
Buffy looked up. Her sister's face hovered over a railing twelve or so feet above, the teen's long hair framing her face like a Rapunzel invitation to climb.
There are a ton more bookcases up here,
Dawn declared with an animated squeal. Even more than down there. They go practically up to the ceiling. And. . .
she took a deep breath, continuing with her enthused report, her volume and pitch increasing in tandem. There's another room, too, with windows and stuff. I bet you could set it up with more shelves, and maybe a second table. It's like the perfect spot to sit and do research!
Having declared her incredible discovery, the teen promptly jumped back from the railing, her springy footsteps clanging against the iron floor as she disappear into the nether regions above them. They could still hear her excited voice chattering away, sharing her excitement with the unseen Willow.
Buffy shook her head with exasperation. As she bit back an annoyed sigh, she turned to find her Watcher wearing a smug, haughty grin.
I don't want to hear it,
Buffy snipped, holding up a hand to silence her Watcher. Okay, so it's a library. Which, yes, you need to do the whole research thing you live for. But have you given any thought to us little folk who have to come all the way out here to help you with that? Just how are supposed to get here? Xander's the only one with viable transportation, and he can handle at most three of us at a time. Plus, he's one of the one, so that really makes only two. Do the math, Giles. It's going to wear our friendship thin real fast if we have to bum a ride every time someone wants to drop in on you.
Actually, Giles frowned, his 'pleased with himself' expression glowing now. I'm flattered you would even consider visiting me in my lowly wreck of a dump.
Don't get your high hopes up just yet, Jiminy Cricket,
she cautioned, swiftly cutting her Watcher back down to size. Maybe you can thrive in this mold conducive environment. You're from England. Over there it rains a lot, and the sun doesn't know it's supposed to shine, so you're used to lots of dank and depressing.
Me? I'm certified California grown and raised,
she proudly pronounced with a thumb jab at her chest. If I don't get my yearly dose of tan and vitamin D, I begin to wilt. Grant you, not exactly ideal environment for someone who spent long hours wandering graveyards, but I made sure to supplement with plenty of sun and surf days whenever I could.
And here I thought those trips to the beach were to model your latest purchased swimwear for cute boys,
Giles cynically theorized.
That, too,
she conceded with a reserved smile. But mostly, it's the sun thing. My point is,
she continued, redirecting her tirade. This isn't the house for you.
Puzzled by her conclusion, Giles frowned. A moment ago, you said I thrived in dank and moldy,
he said, following through with her logic. Wouldn't that mean this is the perfect home for someone like myself?
Well, yeah,
she responded, miffed that he'd so quickly found a flaw in her judgment. She could see this was going to take a more convincing argument. Wracking her brain, she spat out the first cohesive thought she found within it. But you're only one you,
she improvised, desperately thinking on the fly.
And this is a big house, made for multiple yous. So you see,
she firmly declared as fact. You can't live here all alone by yourself.
I assure you I'm thoroughly capable of looking after myself,
Giles chuckled, dismissing her flimsy reasoning. I've been doing it for some years now, and managed quite well, if I do say so. And I won't be completely alone,
he further reminded her. I'll have my books for company. . .
The statement got him a disapproving slayer huff, as well as an incensed roll of Buffy's eyes. . . .as well as those promised visits from you and the others. That alone should be enough to amuse and hold me over during those long lonely hours when I'm rattling about in this empty deathtrap of a house.
I'm serious, Giles,
she pouted, lapsing into a petulant whine. It's not safe for you to live alone.
She offered up a for instance to reinforce her point. What if you had an accident, and got hurt? Bad things happen, you know. Especially to people getting on in their years.
Giles flinched, perturbed at her implication that he was tottering on the precipice of geriatric life. Ignoring his reaction, Buffy forged on with her inventive scenario, the tension in her voice building with each disaster she proposed.
You could fall down the stairs,
she said. One whopsie doo and splat, there you are with a broken leg, and a painful crawl to the phone across the room. Or you could set fire to the house. That stove in the kitchen had to be at least as old as you. I think you might have to chop your own wood if you wanna cook something.
And that's another thing. . .
Giles sighed. Stuffing his hands down into his pockets, he mentally settled in, and awaited his slayer's diatribe to blow over. Experience had taught him, once Buffy got going on one of her fanciful stories, there was no stopping her peculiar train of thought. All he could do was ride out this tornado of unique Buffy reasoning, and at its end, hope she allowed him to make an argument in defense before finding some other imagined fault with the house.
If you don't keel over from a heart attack swinging that axe,
she vehemently explained, continuing with her parable of gore. You'll be lucky if you don't chop off a foot! And don't even get me started on the lights in this place.
Giving her blonde head a vigorous shake of skepticism, she delivered her opinion anyway. The electric work in this house looks positively ancient. One wrong flip of the switch, and zap! You're a well done Watcher.
As I've said before,
the Brit interrupted, seizing a moment to speak as his slayer caught her breath. I'll have them do an inspection before I buy anything,
he assured her. Unfortunately, his assertion only seemed to aggravate her further.
What about the paranormal stuff?
she ranted on as if his suggestion meant nothing. An inspection won't stop a home invasion by demons,
she argued. You could be doing research, and a book falls on your head. Not exactly outside the realm of possibility. Given your luck, something like that could easily lead to a concussion,
she worried glumly. And then who's gonna call the ambulance if you're here alone, and all unconscious?
I'll tell you who. Nobody!
she announced, answering what had become a rhetorical question. Her voice wavered. Forceful emotions were tightening within her throat as a sudden feeling of panic rose within her. She began to imagine things. Bad things. The worst things she could think.
You'll lay there on the floor, all helpless and not getting up. . .
Her lip quivered, eyes welling with teary moisture. Giles could see that what had been mere proposed danger suddenly felt all too real to his slayer. You'll just lay there,
she sobbed. Slowly succumbing to blood loss. Your brain hemorrhaging out. Or, oh my god! What if your brain survives, but you break your neck? You won't be able to move, or call for help. You'll die of thirst, or. . .or hunger. . .
Buffy couldn't explain what was happening. Her original aim had been to shock Giles, to convince him this house was not a good home, but her plan had begun to backfire, and she was only scaring herself. She felt suddenly overwhelmed by thoughts of Giles dying alone, and though he was alive and there in the room with her, the continued pounding of her heart told Buffy her fears were far from resolved. Somehow, she had set free an emotional terror, one that reached well beyond Giles getting involved with some bimbo realtor. His imaginary death rivaled the angst of any apocalypse, and suddenly nothing made sense to her.
Giles watched, helpless, as the mock danger Buffy proposed within her unfeasible scenario fast became outright dread to his slayer. He couldn't say at what point her thought process had veered from its intended course, and taken the bizarre fiction into a plausible, if somewhat far-fetched picture of his death, but he could see it on clearly written on her face. She was sniffling now, her cheeks flushed and hot, her tears all but threatening to fall.
And. . . and, and you're body will start to rot and decompose. . .
It was Giles' turn to feel anxious. Buffy obviously was no longer able to discern reality from her incredible fabrication. As ridiculous as her reasoning sounded, her agitation was agonizingly real. It was tempting to laugh off her comical blubbering as she wailed on, embellishing her whimsical story, but Giles could see how affected his slayer had become, and it made him uncomfortable to witness what was fast becoming an emotion driven breakdown.
And the family of squirrels living in your attic will wander through the house, foraging for food, and they'll find you, and begin to nibble at your corpse. . .
This was getting out of hand. Giles fretfully glanced across the hall toward the living room. Fortunately, Mrs. Callaway remained deeply involved in her phone call, and hadn't taken notice of the outlandish drama unfolding within the library. That was some small comfort anyway.
And. . . and I'll stop in for a visit, all unsuspecting, but you won't answer the door, so I'll look for you, and find you in here, but you'll be all putrefied, decomposing flesh and goo, and the squirrels will have scattered your bones everywhere around the library. . .
It was time he put an end to this, bring Buffy back into the World of reason. First, however, he needed to gain her attention, and instill some semblance of calm to their current state of affairs.
Buffy. . .
Through the wailing wall of doom that had taken her imagination hostage, Buffy heard a familiar voice saying her name. She instinctively recognized the composed quality of Giles' distinctive tone. His voice held an instantly infectious serenity. Two simple and familiar syllables, and the gruesome scenario that had painted itself within her brain faded away, lost in the maze of her memory.
Sniffling, Buffy looked up, her gaze seeking the source of that reassuring voice. There he was. Giles stood quietly before her, his features a shifting mix of British reserve and warm concern. She found herself staring into her Watcher's expressive eyes, their message radiating that she was safe, and unharmed, and so was he. All that and more, without another word passing between them, and as suddenly as it had taken hold, the sense of alarm and terror dissolved away.
Buffy felt the warm rise of a self-conscious blush overtake her face. She'd gone a bit too far that time, exposing a bit more immaturity than she had intended. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable crawl back from the edge of that emotional cliff where she now found herself, and to pay for that awkward performance, she started with a sheepish hunch of her shoulders, and a joke at her expense.
And the Oscar for over-emoting hyperbole goes to. . .
Offering up a kindly smile of compassion, Giles dismissed his slayer's dramatics, focusing his concern on what lay behind them.
Buffy, while it's flattering my demise would affect you to such length, I believe there is possibly more behind your histrionics than an anxiety for cannibalistic squirrels. I understand this house will require a bit of work to get it habitable, and I promise you, I shall keep that in mind when I make my final decision on whether to buy or not. What does puzzle me, however, is your apparent objection to my living on my own. The idea never once bothered you when we were in Sunnydale. If anything, it was during those moments when I was not alone that you exhibited distress. Where is this all coming from? Why is this situation any different?
It's different. . .because,
she hemmed, unable to come up with an actual reason, finally settling on an open ended Because it just is!
Yes, but you must have some reason behind that because,
Giles pursued.
Because is. . .because!
she frowned, turning aside to avoid his questioning eyes. Frustrated by her failure to form the complex whirl of the feelings inside her into words, she began pacing a circle around her Watcher, her body language tight and stiff. Isn't because enough of a reason?
she grumbled. If I'd known I needed to provide a detailed list of reasons I care about you, I'd have done my homework before class!
I'm not asking for a list,
Giles returned, his attention following her circumvented progress. Buffy's apprehension was plain to see in the uncomfortably closed posture of her usually fluid body. What I'm trying to discern is where I stand in your life. What exactly is it you expect of me?
The question brought her uneasy pacing to a halt. I expect you to be Giles,
she answered with a diffident shrug.
You know, Watcher of me, the slayer. Researcher extraordinaire. You're the big brain of this operation, while I supply the beauty and brawn.
A task I will gladly continue to provide for as long as that research is required,
he calmly countered. Though I could point out, Willow is as capable as I in that capacity, as is your sister, Dawn, who is fast approaching the same level of expertise. And both possess computer skills that far exceed my own.
But you beat them both when it comes to languages,
she respectfully pointed out to him. Especially the ones only dead people use. Plus, when it comes to looking stuff up, you're still the man with all the books.
It sounds as though it's my library you require, and I am merely the convenience to using it. So again, I must ask myself, what unique quality do I contribute that no one else can give you?
Now she was confused. Was this about her needing him to get along in her regular life, or about if he was useful as her Watcher? She decided to go with the latter.
It's not about any one thing you do,
she frowned. It's all the things. You're good at a million different everythings a slayer needs. And you're not a convenience,
she decisively corrected. Never just that. You're definitely a slayer necessity.
The Brit shook his head, remaining unconvinced.
While that may have been true when you were a less experienced slayer, these days you are well versed on how to handle nearly any supernatural calamity that comes along, and you are no longer alone in that. There are thousands of girls like yourself awaiting leadership. Have you considered that, perhaps, as a Watcher I've become obsolete?
There it was. Laid out between them in the open. He had asked the question that hung heavy upon his mind. Did Buffy truly need him in her life? Or was he to merely serve her in their partnership in a purely business capacity. He had been content to be her Watcher, and looked forward to sharing this new adventure as a corporate partner in her slayer school. If that were what she required of him, he would step up to the challenge without complaint. He believed in what Buffy wished to achieve, preparing the next generation of young slayers so that they might take their place in the fight against evil, and he would go to nearly any length to help her achieve that lofty goal.
There was no question this new duty held a great responsibility for them both, one that would equal the importance of his calling as a Watcher, or hers as the Chosen One. In the course of his expected duty in that mentoring capacity, he had willingly avowed his life to that of his slayer long ago, and would continue to advise her for a long as she wished. What Giles asked now was whether the personal relationship between them that had developed outside that bond of responsibility still existed, and if so, did she consider it of any significance within this newest endeavor.
You're not obsolete, Giles,
she assured him with a charitable smile. You're just old-fashioned, but that's a good thing. You're the only one of us who's got a proper upbringing going for him, even if it's rooted in stuffy Brit-type manners. In fact, I'm counting on you working that Queen's English mojo as headmaster at our school.
Besides,
she went on with a cheery grin. You're the only one who speaks Watchereeze, and can translate all the Council decisions into something even I can understand.
I see,
Giles sighed. Outwardly, he showed a polite smile, but inside, a small part of him wilted with disappointment at the practicality of her answer. He had been hoping there was something more to their relationship, the she wanted him there to do more than simply help with the school, though he couldn't say what he expected that something to be.
In spite of his effort to keep his features poised and reflective, Giles' brooding thoughts eventually began to weigh down his affably forced smile, and unbeknownst to him, his expression grew more pensive with every moment he was silent.
Oh, my god!
A tone of incredulous alarm rang through Buffy's voice as she took in her Watcher's contemplative bearing. You really are thinking of buying this place!
Surprised by the veracity of her alarm, Giles reflexively went on the defensive. Now, let's not be hasty. It isn't y any means a certainty yet,
he quickly denied her presumptive allegation. There are a good many factors to look into first. While the property seems more than large enough to allow for my needs, at the offered price, it would have to serve as a place to house the school as well. And while there undoubtedly is room to set up a classroom within these walls, there is the question of where to put up the students, and whether I'd be comfortable sharing the grounds with them. Though,
he remarked, giving the room around them another longing assessment with his librarian eye. With what I've seen of this place thus far, it would behoove me to at least give it some consideration.
Buffy gaped at the Brit, her mouth hanging slack with disbelief. Was Giles actually considering this place for his home? He certainly looked serious to her, and she felt her heart apprehensively skip a beat. She took a deep breath, preparing to rip into him with another argument against the house, when she heard Fiona Callaway's voice sing out from behind them.
Why, Mr. Giles, what excellent news!
the woman excitedly keened, an ecstatic smile enveloping her face as she sashayed excitedly through library's open paneled doors. At her entrance, Giles and Buffy both spun around in tandem and turned to face the bubbling intruder that had interrupted what they thought was their private verbal exchange.
Giles blanched, disconcerted by the realtor's brash supposition. Mrs. Callaway ignored his uneasy expression, and redirected her lapsed sales pitch to a full frontal attack.
I told myself the minute you walked into Wannaman's, now there's a man with vision,
the realtor said, boldly laying a hand on the Brit's arm. Giles fought an impulse to recoil from the uncomfortably friendly overture, his eyes telegraphing a silent protest of distress. He looked toward his slayer, hoping she might say something to intervene on his behalf, but only found her grinning, amused by his awkward predicament.
I'm so glad you can see the potential in this property,
the woman continued with her spiel. It has everything you've asked for. With the right architect, and some creative design, the garage would be just the perfect place for a student dorm,
she said, running along with the discussion she'd overheard. And if that doesn't tickle your fancy, there's scads of property out back. You can expand with an entirely new outbuilding.
I'm sure the neighbors would just love you for that,
Buffy sarcastically observed in an aside to her Watcher.
Buffy does bring up a valid point. There may be zoning issues with which we may have to contend,
Giles remarked to the realtor, who had thrown an irked glance toward Buffy. Fiona Callaway saw the young blonde's interference as an attempt to jeopardize her sale. Buffy gave the other woman a triumphant chuff, glad to see her Watcher hadn't gone completely mad.
I've already looked into that,
the ever-efficient salesperson announced with a spiteful glare at her competition. Providing you have adequate acreage, and enough space for parking, which is not a problem, this neighborhood allows for in-home businesses. Actually. . .
Her face brightened as a new idea came to her. You might even qualify as a charitable business. That would open a whole new range of possibilities. I'd advise you check that out with your lawyer right away.
Like a shark trolling bloody waters, Fiona Callaway barely paused for a breath before fervently driving home her final pitch.
Imagine all the fantastic things you could do with this place!
She clutched onto the Watcher's sleeve, keeping him from backing away. With everything right here in one spot it will be so much more convenient for you, too. This house is the perfect solution for all your needs! It could be your home and your school, all rolled together into one.
Tossing another vindictive stare toward the young blonde, the realtor gloated smugly, satisfied she'd won this battle. With a simpering sweet smile, she turned back to her real client to apply more buttering.
Just think of it. You could jump out of bed, have your breakfast, and your commute to work is at most a short walk across the yard. How much more perfect could it be?
Before Giles could reply to her rhetoric question, the realtor prattled on with more of her persuasive pitch.
This house is so suited to you, Mr. Giles. And with the collection of books you say you have, I don't know anyone else who could put all this to better use.
She paused, taking a deep breath as she made a grand sweeping gesture toward all the empty shelving around them. I think this provides the answer to your every dream! Why, this library was practically designed with you in mind. You'll have two whole floors of spacious shelving and cabinets, more room for your books than you could possibly imagine. Plus,
Another dramatic pause, this one punctuated with a coy smile. There's another surprise waiting downstairs in the basement!
Tugging at the Brit's sleeve, she pulled him closer, leaning in to speak seductively into his ear. The last homeowner was a passionate oenophile,
she chortled coyly. Now, I haven't seen it for myself, but I'm told he built a special vault room in the cellar to store his most valuable stock. It's temperature controlled and everything!
she declared, her tone sultry as she delivered what could be her coup de grace. And he left some samples behind as a buyer's incentive. Won't that just make the most wonderful celebration for you and your friends when you move in?
Yes, well, that does sound lovely,
Giles courteously remarked. He flitted a nervous smile at the woman who now had a desperate hold on his arm. But I haven't as of yet made up my mind if this is the house for me. There are a good may things I must consider first.
Of course! No one expects you to make such an important decision without weighing out all the options. You've seen a lot of houses, but not one of them had the space this one does. Plus, I have it on good authority, the current owner really needs to sell. He's willing to look at any reasonable offer. Why, you can practically name your price. It's the deal of the century!
It was all Buffy could do to hold back her laughter. Much as she may have teased Giles earlier about allowing his testosterone to succumb to the realtor's feminine allure, he was obviously uncomfortable with her presumptive demeanor, his body language stiff and closed to the woman's overbearing advances.
She was about to step in an rescue her Watcher from the realtor's clutches when he managed to civilly extract his sleeve from the realtor's brash hold. Backing away a few steps, Giles put some discreet distance between them, his gaze casting about frantically, searching for some reasonable excuse by which he might graciously escape. His eyes fell upon the spiral staircase, and Mrs. Callaway's mention of the wine cellar came to mind. With a desperate leap, he concluded the aforementioned vault could be accessed via the descending flight of the same stairs, and gathering what he could of his dignity, he flashed another well-mannered smile toward his realtor.
A vault you say?
The Brit began to surreptitiously back across the room, inching gradually toward the staircase. How interesting. I would very much appreciate seeing that. You say it's in the basement?
he anxiously inquired. Risking a peek toward the iron half-gate positioned under the winding stairs, Giles estimated the distance between himself and his now desired goal before adding a few more steps to his retreat.
Sensing her prey was about to escape, Mrs. Callaway moved forward as though to personally escort him to the destination. I'd be happ/y to show you. . .
No, no, that's quite alright.
Giles adamantly motioned the realtor stay put.
No need to put yourself out. I'm certain I can find my way.
He sent a glance downward at her thinly spiked shoes. We wouldn't want you risking injury with those heels on such steep, treacherous steps. You stay here. I'll only be a moment. . .
His backside had encountered the decorative gate, the only barrier standing between him and eventual escape. Reaching behind, Giles fumbled blindly with the bolting mechanism, his smile and attention never wavering from the realtor's presence. The latch blessedly gave way, and with a frantic spin that rivaled any Buffy had seen performed by a cartoon Tasmanian devil, the Grit desperately wrenched the gate open, and beat a hasty retreat down the staircase into the safety of the dark subterranean chambers below.
Buffy smugly chuckled under her breath until she realized her Watcher's disappearance had left her alone with the realtor. The two women turned to share a withering glare between them. While each wore a civil smile, their narrowed eyes looked the other over, their predatory instinct sizing up the challenger about to steal their kill. Mrs. Callaway was the first to blink and break the tense silence.
You'll see,
she sanctimoniously announced to her younger companion. Mr. Giles will find this a very exceptional house. Once he settles it and puts his own special touch on it, he'll never want to leave. This home will bring him many years of happiness. I'm sure you'll enjoy it, too,
she added with a dictatorial smile.
I'd hold off on that celebration just yet,
Buffy bristled defensively. If my Giles says he has other stuff to consider, he means exactly that. He's the original Mr. Deliberation. He'll check all his boxes, and put dots on his eyes before he makes any final decision.
If you say so,
she haughtily sniffed back. If he's your Giles, then you must know him better than I do.
Uh, don't go getting any weird ideas. It's not like I'm going to live here with Giles,
Buffy curtly fired back, he face flaming pink at the woman's insinuation. This woman obviously had some ridiculous idea about her relationship with the Brit. When I say my Giles, I mean it in the sense we're just good friends. Really good friends.
The older woman fixed a skeptical frown upon the pert young blonde. Over the last weeks, she'd seen the warm looks that passed between her client and this pert young blonde. They might think they'd been able to hide their affair from the rest of the world, but she could see there was something going on.
Buffy could see Mrs. Callaway continued to doubt her word. And we're colleagues,
she further amended, asserting the innocence of her relationship with Giles. You know, business partners in the business sense,
she pouted. He's going to help me run our school.
Yes, of course he is, dear,
the older woman smirked, but there was a judgmental quirk to the angle of her cynical smile. She winked as if sharing some special clandestine information. Mr. Giles told me all about your special school. He said that privacy was very important to the two of you. Well, you'll both find plenty of that here.
Incensed that the woman persisted in believing her outrageously unfounded perception about her and Giles, Buffy took a deep breath, prepared to volley back with a witty and scathing slayer remark. That protest, however, fell silent when the realtor's phone rudely rang out, and the woman whipped out the instrument to check who was calling.
Excuse me, Ms. Summers,
Mrs. Callaway apologized, her tone oozing with a false sincerity. I really must take this call. It's very important.
Discharge any further conversation with Buffy, she started for the library's double doors, seeking out privacy for her business. She paused in her exit, turning back long enough to deliver one last message. If Mr. Giles has any questions, I'll be right across the hallway.
With that, she spun smartly on her stiletto heels, and clacked majestically out of the room, leaving Buffy alone to scowl as her brain seethed with various images of torment for the presumptive woman.
She was no sooner out of earshot when two pairs of footsteps clanged thunderously down the iron treads of the spiral staircase. Awakened from her malicious thoughts of destruction, Buffy sighed, and glanced up to see her sister zealously hurtle headlong down the last few steps.
This library is so perfect for Giles!
Dawn gleefully announced as she bounded exuberantly over to her sibling. You should see all the bookcases. Some of them go way up the wall. To get to the top, you have to use these ladders that roll back and forth. . .
Dawn did a comical mime of the freewheeling action before resuming her litany of discoveries. There's a sunny room where Giles can do research, so no more hiding in dusty gloom. There's space for some chairs in there for the rest of us. I'm voting for something tush compatible. To accommodate long multiple hours of boring reading.
Having said her piece, the teen bounced off to explore another corner of the library, leaving her sister to shake her head in exasperation. A few seconds later, a cautious Willow descended the same spiral stairs, her pace more sedate, and unhurried than the teen's.
Dawnie's right, this place is pretty impressive,
the red head announced, adding her spin to the teen's opinion. As she sauntered over to her slayer friend's side, Willow made a grimacing face, and gave an exaggerated shudder of disapproval. Though if you ask me, not so hyped about those ladders,
she squeamishly confessed. I'm not usually a fraidy cat when it comes to heights, but I got half way up one of those contraptions, and when I looked down all I could think of was Wile E. Coyote falling off the cliff to land on the canyon floor with a poof of dust.
Bringing the full vision to life with appropriate sound effects and a dramatic downward arc with her hand, Willow gave another shiver. Nodding in sympathy, Buffy craned her neck back, looking up at the balcony above them. Frowning thoughtfully, she trumped her companion's offered scenario with a burning concern of her own.
If a person did fall,
she mused, pointing vaguely in the direction of the wrought iron ceiling. Would they land on the floor up there? Or. . .
she continued, pouting thoughtfully, her arms gesturing with an exaggerated demonstration. Would they do the full Looney Tune anvil drop and dive with the final splat way down here?
Before Willow could comment, Dawn came flying back from her brief exploration. Where's Giles?
she demanded.
Jerking her chin at the open gateway to the cellar, Buffy vented an annoyed sigh. Downstairs, checking out the basement,
she answered with a pout. Apparently, the last guy built some fabulous vault down there. Made it some sort of personal booze bordello for his vintage wine.
I didn't know Giles was into wine,
Willow frowned. I thought he was more of a hard fisted potent potable liquor consumer. Isn't Scotch usually his poison of choice?
Buffy shrugged. Actually, I think he was needing a little me alone time to detox from Mrs. Callaway,
she confessed to the wiccan. She was really laying it on thick. Tried to browbeat him into buying this place. The woman is like a reality land shark. The moment she smelled weakness, she was after him for blood. Even got all hands-on grabby, and everything.
Luckily, Giles didn't completely fall for her sales ploy. First chance he got, Giles rabbited, and went to ground.
I think I'll join Giles for some tomb raider reconnoitering,
Dawn announced, skipping toward the basement entry. This place is like one huge Watcher Wonderland, with room for all his books and weapons. And the stuff other people left behind, that's so cool! It's like getting something extra for free! I can't wait to see what's hiding downstairs.
Letting out geeky squeal of excitement, Dawn threw a final saluting wave to her two companions, and with her footsteps clumping enthusiastically, she traipsed down the winding stairs, off in pursuit of the missing Brit.
Great!
Buffy grumbled to her best friend. That hussy is turning my own family traitor! Now even my sister thinks Giles should buy this place.
Would that be so bad?
Willow asked, sensing the slayer's negativity. I realize this place has some rough and unready edges that need to be fixed, but Giles is a big boy. I'm sure he knows what he'd be getting into.
I guess so,
Buffy sighed, but she sounded unconvinced. Nervously digging her toe into the floor, Buffy frowned, laying out her fears to her companion. It's just. . .this place is so far from, well, everything he needs. If he buys this house, he'll be isolated out here in the hinterland all by himself,
Buffy worriedly groused.
And you know, Giles. He doesn't exactly get out much to socialize. And we'll probably never get to see him, so he'll be stuck in this crumbling dump every night, rambling around his with his books, and his booze, and listening to his mouldy oldy music. That much alone time isn't healthy for a man his age.
I think Giles will survive,
Willow assured her, offering hope with a smile. Plus, if he builds the school out here, we'll be seeing him on a near daily basis, so if he starts wearing Kleenex boxes on his feet, or storing his pee in jars, we can do a Scooby intervention.
The cold glower Buffy returned said she wasn't even mildly amused by Willow's humor. That was when true comprehension finally hit the wiccan, and a knowing smile slowly spread across her face. Now she understood where all this had been heading all along. Buffy's complaints had more to do with her own needs and desires than it did anything about Giles lifestyle. Her companion wasn't worried that the house in question was out in the middle of nowhere. It was just too far away from Buffy.
I'm serious, Willow,
Buffy irritably protested. The way that woman keeps tempting him with bathtubs and bookshelves, I'm not sure he's thinking straight. She just won't stop with the all the pressuring, and the selling.
Her laser beam glare redirected toward a movement across the hall. Willow followed the look, and noticed the realtor, visible as she wandered about the living room, her ubiquitous phone pressed to her ear.
Pressuring people to buy is her job, Buffy,
Willow sanely pointed out.
Yeah, but does she have to be that good at it?
Buffy miserably grumped. Especially with Giles. Oh, and get this!
she exclaimed, remembering another personal nerve the woman had managed to punch. Ms. I Can Get You To Like It Hard Sell thinks Giles and I have some sort of hanky panky deal going on the side.
She gave an exaggerated shiver of aversion. If you ask me, it's all wishful thinking on her part. Where else would she come up with that crazy idea?
Willow shrugged, having nothing to offer in explanation. Let me guess,
she sighed, nodding toward the other woman who was chatting animatedly at her phone. Another important call she just had to take?
Buffy rolled her eyes disdainfully, following with a dismissive sniff. Normally, I'd complain about her constant slacking off,
she complained. But the breaks give Giles' brain a chance to detox from her evil powers of persuasion. Speaking of our Homey Shopper. . . Marching over to the winding spiral staircase, she peered down into the darkness of the basement entry with a frown.
He and Dawn have been down there for a while. Maybe we should send out a search party.
I know this is a big house,
Willow uneasily scowled at her friend. But I doubt they've lost their way. Knowing Giles, he's probably just checking out the plumbing.
This place probably needs a Tito special, complete with a full copper re-pipe,
Buffy vindictively muttered her conclusion. Well, he's already paid for one of those on our Sunnydale house,
she said with a diffident shrug. Maybe Giles and Tito can work out some special a deal. Like a two for one plumbing discount. With all the work this house is going to take, maybe Tito will just have to permanently move in with him.
That's the spirit. I knew if you looked hard enough, you'd find a brighter side,
Willow cheerily enjoined. At the slayer's bewildered look, she explained. At least with Tito here, he won't be living alone.
I guess there's always that,
Buffy chuckled in reply.
The two women turned to each other, and shared a smile. A moment later, the library filled with peals of giggling laughter. From across the house, the raucous noise distracted Fiona Callaway from her call. A glance into the library revealed her client's two companions, the blonde and the red head, gasping for breath and hugging themselves as they staggered around the large refectory table. Her client himself, was nowhere in sight, nor was the youngest of his intruding companions.
With a dismissive shrug, she turned her back to the scene, concentrating her attention on the receiver in her hand, and the voice at the other end.
That's right, Mr. Santerras,
she said, her voice singing with a gloat of self-satisfaction. My client is very interested in the property. I realize the price I mentioned is lower than we'd originally hoped, but I think if you're willing to make that sacrifice, he'll take this house off your hands. Why, it's practically a done deal!