Summary: A Wesley fic. Felt sorry for the guy.
Spoilers: Through GD2.
Disclaimer: Joss is the one who created them. I just make them all angsty.
Well, so does he, but I do it without permission.
Rating: PG
Feedback: Yes! Please please yes.

My father always hated my destiny. He didn't accept it from the moment my
grandfather revealed that I was to be a Watcher someday. Of course, that my
father hated it was a wonderful reason for me to embrace the Watcher
teachings. I've always hated my father as much as he did me. But somehow,
all of his predictions in my life have come to pass.

That I would fail. That I would be a coward. And, that in the end, I would
be alone.

I have. I'm sure to have made him proud in that respect. That I lived up
to, if not surpassed, all of his expectations.

He's a violent man, my father. Crude, dirty. I was raised in the lowest of
neighborhoods until I was eight and my grandfather whisked me away. Dad saw
fit to beat me on occasion, just to teach me that I was not the one with the
authority. He would call me and assure me that one day, I would go back and
need him. My, was he surprised when I informed him that I was to be Watching
an active Slayer. Angry, harsh.

But I was confident that, given time, my Slayer would be a success. And that
she is, though credit cannot go to me. No, it goes to her real Watcher, the
man who set aside the tense, strict Counsel rules and loved her.

I so wanted her to like me. It sounds very prosaic and naive, but I wanted
to slip smoothly into the spot of her previous Watcher, and have her trust me
and work for and with me. My ego swelled that I had been given to the most
successful Slayer in history-- After all, why would they give her someone who
wasn't of use to her?

Which makes me wonder, in fact, why they gave me.

It's not to say that I didn't try. And I know now that perhaps I failed so
heinously because I *was* so unbending, and I tried far too hard. To prove
my father wrong, to prove that I would make something of my life and another
human's live-- a special human's life-- meant more to me than I could have
described. And so, after two months of training to meet her, I went. Eager
and with all of my knowledge being learned from books, I hoped that she would
receive me with open arms. Perhaps her other Watcher was too old, perhaps he
couldn't keep up, perhaps she simply didn't like him. All of these thoughts
rushed through my head hopefully on the airplane.

Buffy broke all my expectations, as I was warned she might. She was not only
strong headed, but ruled with her heart instead of her mind. Several times I
tried to refute that, but would later regret my interference at all in her
battles, for she won them all by relying on her emotions.

Several times, too, I tried to befriend her. I began to accept that it was a
different life than what I had been trained for, I accepted that her friends
knew she was the Slayer, I accepted that she went to school and wanted a
normal life. I didn't deal with these things very well, but I accepted them.


And still, after knowing her, I tried to change her, like only a fool would.
I wanted her to bend to my way of thinking, my strict, unyielding,
disciplined mind. Even as I saw her brilliance in battle, her extraordinary
mind, her magnificent heart, I wanted her to credit me with some of what she
was, though I had done nothing. She was perfect when I met her, and perhaps
even more so when I left. I had been told I was being presented with a
strong willed warrior with no taste for orders, and I had, in truth, been
given to a young girl with a heart that showed through in her eyes and
happened to have a strength more powerful than ten men.

She's been through so much. And I tried to change her eternally optimistic
and radiant perspective on life. Unlike one who had been through a thousand
wars and seen death nightly, she retained a childlike innocence that I am
deeply ashamed I tried to reform.

And I maintain that, no matter what mistakes I made along the way, I wanted
her to like me. She had a wonderfully diverse and unique group of friends, a
bright witch, a willing young man, an ensouled vampire, a strangely detached
werewolf, a girl who didn't seem to care much about the necessity of Buffy's
life, but in reality cared deeply enough to risk her life if the occasion
called for it. And a Watcher who loved her like she deserved. I tried to
fit in sometimes, when I thought that the reception would be slightly better,
and I even managed to exchange a smile or two with Mr. Giles, but none of
that made me a part of them.

I was an outsider, as I've always been.

I can't even describe the... hurt, for lack of a better word, that resided in
me as she continually rebuffed any and all efforts to befriend her. Her
Watcher was unhelpful in the beginning, but by the end I rather think he
pitied me, pitied the fact that I apparently had no heart when it was so easy
to fall in love with the girl. And though I never showed it, I did fall in
love with her, as all of her friends loved her. It was hard not to. She had
such an exuberance about her, a light that splashed off of her in waves; When
she was smiling at a friend, looking at her demon lover, touching Mr. Giles
on the shoulder, even mocking me. It came to a place where, when she did
make little, snide, witty comments about me, I would have to work at keeping
my face blank from either amusement or grief.

Amusement because.... Well, Buffy can be downright amusing. Grief because it
turned out my father had been right all along. I would fail. I would always
fail. And then, because I simply had nowhere else to go, I would go back to
his home, even as an adult, and let him rule my life.

I would apologize meekly and walk into the house that had been my living
nightmare for eight years, and I would serve him as a slave in penance for
what I had done. I had no will of my own. I took orders, that's what I did.
And when I weakened, he would be there to pull me up and take me home and
chain my soul up. Like he had always planned. Like he had always wanted.

Trying doesn't seem to work, though. Because right now, I don't have
anywhere to leave to. I don't have an escape. I have been relieved of my
Watcherly duties, for being unable to control either Slayer. I have been
released from the hospital, where I was held for injuries sustained in the
first three seconds of the battle. And my father has already called. Smug,
knowing. I am thirty-four years old, and yet he beckons to me like I'm a
disobedient child. And I will go.

I stand now at the window of my apartment and look out, thinking over the
conversation. My father's horrible laughter. I hate that man. I look down
at the packed boxes that litter the room and sigh helplessly. Get a job.
Researching? That would be possible, but I'm unfamiliar with most books that
aren't centered on some sort of demon.

Everything that I loved and held dear has been taken away from me, ripped
from my hands like a child's toy. The Watcher's Council has made certain
that I dedicated my life to my calling, and then, when I was willing to do
almost anything for my job, they took it from me. I admit that I have no
answers.

A soft knock on the door interrupts my thinking and I call out. "Enter if
you are able!"
The door swishes open, and Mr. Giles stands there, looking very much
concerned over something. Immediately I start to worry. He looks at me a
moment and I lift my eyebrows, leaning in imperceptibly. "Is it Buffy? Is
she all right, Mr. Giles?"

He starts to smile and I'm disturbed. As he sees the surprise register on my
face, he walks over quickly and stretches out his hand and I shake it,
curious. "Yes, she's fine old man. I like that your first concern was with
her." Suddenly he adopts a serious expression, and I'm left even more
disconcerted before. "You know now, do you not?"

Without needing to think, I know what he means and lift my head. I know why
he was fired. I know that it's impossible to not love this girl. "Yes."

"All right," he nods, still serious. "I have an extra bedroom. I've been
informed through... a friend of mine that your Watcher station has been
revoked. They're taking your apartment away, correct?" Stupefied, I nod
again and he continues. "You'll stay with me. That is, until you find a job
and your own housing."

Uneasy, I shrug. "Mr. Giles... While I'm grateful for your generosity, I
don't know quite what to say. I am under orders to leave Sunnydale. And, to
be quite frank, I'm not much use here. I could see the point if I were, but
we both know that I'm not."

He pauses, considering. "No, that's very true. However, it's also true that
when I first arrived, very much like you did, I was inexperienced with
fighting the forces of evil. Conjuring them, yes, but not fighting them. I
was a regular rogue in my day. And Buffy still knocks me on my back when we
train. You have time, Wesley."

My voice is dull. "Who would I stay for?"

"Me." My head whips around to see Buffy standing there, small and smiling in
the light from the lamp. She walks forward slowly, uncertainly. "Look,
Wes... You're a total dork. And way too disciplined. And unbending. And
did I mention a dork?"

She pauses and I speak up. "What was the point here again?" I ask dryly.

Buffy grins. "So was Giles. Still is sometimes. We could use your help, if
you want to give it." She looks down and her hand slips into Mr. Giles's.
"I could use your help. There are some things that, God help me, I don't
want to graduate from. Stay. And that's the only time I'm going to ask."
The grin is back.

Her eyes are almost hopeful and I begin to blush proudly. Cautiously, I
raise my head in assent and then they're both smiling so broadly at me that I
can't help but smile back. Buffy turns to Mr. Giles and gives a short
squeal. "Yay! A new Watcher to train."

The both of us chuckle at her on cue and she squeezes Mr. Giles's hand before
turning on her heel and bouncing out the door. I look at him, suddenly
awkward and shift my feet. "Ahh... I do appreciate this, Gil.. Mr. Giles."

He blinks for a moment and then shrugs. "It's really quite all right. But
if you like, you can call me Giles. I've gotten accustomed to it. Or
Rupert. Just please try to stay away from whatever nick name the children
come up with."

I grin easily and nod. "And of course, you can call me... Well, still
Wesley."

He smiles and we start out the room, talking, suddenly in a comfortable
place. And I realize that my father was wrong. He wasn't right about
anything, really. The way he sees me isn't how I am. I didn't fail, after
all.

It just took me a little longer than I'd hoped to succeed.

The End

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