The clock whirred as the small hand slowly moved to cover the eleven. Giles watched the second click around the numerals on the face for several long seconds before turning back to the open book before him. He slid his glasses down the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes in a complicated combination of sleepiness and worry. The couch, which he spent more and more time on, was not the most comfortable place to settle into a good REM sleep, and Buffy's increase in nightmares and fear of being alone covered the rest of his sleeplessness.
With increased frequency, Buffy stole over in the middle of the night, sheepishly asking to stay the night. She always offered to camp out in the livingroom but Giles, ever the gentlemen, always insisted that she take his bed. This was the third night in a row that Buffy had slept over, and Giles was wishing he had invested in a new couch rather than the battered vintage one he had chosen from an ad in the "Thrifty Nickel."
A noise broke him from his reverie, and he looked up to see Buffy herself, looking young and lost in his own robe. Her hair was tangled on one side of her head, and remnants of eyeliner she hadn't bothered to wash off was smeared under her eyes. She looked as though she hadn't slept a week. "I am turning into a regular Rip Van Wrinkle," she joked feebly, and pushed her palms against her eyes. "Sorry. I'm too tired to be witty."
"Well, you -- " Giles fumbled, closed his books. "You slept nearly twelve hours last night."
"Did I really?" She walked into the kitchen, and opened her friend s refridgerator. "What a loser."
"Buffy, we should really --"
"Eat?" She interupted. "I know. I'm starving." With her usual tact, she continued. "God, Giles, do you ever shop for like, actual food?"
"Buffy, I was going to say that we should talk."
Buffy closed the door quickly, the shelves inside rattling. "Do you hear that Giles? That is the inside of your fridge crying out for food." She headed back towards the bedroom. Giles followed her.
"I'm concerned. These nightmares, this sleeping, it's not like you."
The small girl stopped in the doorway and turned to her protector, her trusted advisor. "Giles, this has not been the best time for me. If you're concerned how this might affect my work..." She trailed off.
"Really, I'm not, Buffy. I'm worried about you, the person, not Buffy, the vampire slayer."
"That's sweet of you, Giles. But that's not your job. I have to get dressed if we're going to go get breakfast."
As the door closed between them, Giles felt the things left unsaid grow up like a wall of vines, penetrable, but only with tremendous work and of tools of steel.
* * *
Giles knew only too well the nightmares that Buffy feared so desperately that she avoided sleep, and the dreams that she clung to with such ferocity she wouldn't wake. It had been a tough year for her, perhaps her most difficult yet.
He remember those years ago, when she had first come to him. Ferocious, smart, poignant, and confused and scared underneath it all. These past six years he had guided her, molded her, trained her mentally and physically. Had he trained her too much, or not enough? Or was it that he neglected to train her emotionally, was that where he failed her?
This woman before him, quiet and grave, circles of pain and sorrow beneath her eyes, this was not the vibrant girl of yesterday. She ate silently, avoiding his eyes. Any attempt at conversation she cut off by gesturing to her full mouth and smiling to make a joke of it. And he took it'silently, unwilling to push her.
After high school, Buffy went to Sunnydale Community College, so she could stay nearby and guard the Hellmouth against reopening. She had dreams of going on to a real University after she got her Associates Degree, but after her mother died, at the hands of the New Master, she knew she could not leave. She had to stay here, in the central locale of the vampires, and rid the world of them. If she had to pick them all off one by one, she would do it. Giles knew she had the will.
With Willow and Xander away at school, Buffy was lonely those years. She continued to study, she eventually got her BA over the internet, but she felt disconnected from the world around her. She was unsure of people, less trustful as she grew older and learned more about human nature, and therefore had no real close friends. She clung to the hope that Xander and Willow would return after they graduated.
Willow married, and settled down with her husband in a California beach town that wasn't far from Sunnydale. But now that Willow was expecting her first child, she was afraid to return to her hometown, knowing what lurked there. Giles knew that Willow would become a Watcher, he did not doubt it even in passing musings, but she would have to conquer her fears first. As for Xander, he was still plugging away at school. He was working on a psychology degree, planning to be a Ph.D. Buffy had long since given up hope that he would return to Sunnydale. They saw each other on holidays, when Xander came to see his family, but the dinamic between them had changed. Maybe it was the tragic air that Buffy breathed, and carried around her; maybe it was Xander outgrowing childish beliefs in vampires and ghouls, looking back on all that had happened with a closed mind, seeing all as a distant dream, a story, a game that they had once played at. This past year had been the worst. She had faced, and won, her toughest battle, and when she have been rejoicing, she found herself in mourning. In the last moments of sleep was when Buffy felt Angel the strongest. Just before she woke, he came to visit her. His breath on her neck, his lips on her eyelids, so soft, his hands in hers. She held on to these fragments as long as she could, clinging to them for her life, but always she woke, and always he was gone.
And the nightmares of him haunted her, as well. Their last encounter was a memory she would never blot from her mind. He was weakening, he was begging her. Buffy dropped her fork, pressing her palms against her temples as the pictures filled her mind.
"Do it," Angel pleaded, she could hear him clearly. "Do it before it's too late. Can't you see that I'm losing control? I'm losing my soul, Buffy. I could kill you if you don't kill me. Do it."
She remember the feel of the crossbow, shooting forth it's deadly arrow. She fell back a few steps, from the force of her emotions as much as the kick of the bow. She had expected Angel to melt into a pile of dust, all of the others did. But he didn t. He fell back, gasping, clutching the wood that protruded from his chest. Blood spilled onto his hands.
She had run to him, crying freely.
"Angel?" she whispered, looking at the wound in his chest in horror, and then to his face. "What have I done?"
His hand reached up, touching her cheek, stroking back her hair. "My soul." He coughed, a wet cough, a cough with blood in it. "My soul."
Buffy had kissed him. And then, simply, quietly, he was gone. Before her eyes, his form became dust, molded in the shape of his body. She knew, rationally, that she had done the only thing that she could. Angel was becoming a monstor, corrupted and controlled by Colin, after all these years. He had been fighting with his instinct for nearly four years, and was losing control. His soul had saved him from the cold and impersonal death that most vampires suffered. He had died, like he was born, a human. Oh, how she missed him.
Buffy realized that Giles was watching her intently. She glanced up at him where he sat, meal untouched.
"Giles, why don't we ever talk about Angel?" She leaned forward as she spoke, studying his face carefully. "it's been nearly a year."
"Buffy, you never want to talk about it." He looked surprised that she brought it up. "I've been wanting to bring it up, but... Our relationship seems so, proffesional now. I only realized how... unravelled you've become... this last couple of months."
"By unravelled I suppose you mean, insane?" Buffy pressed her cheek against her hand, looking thoughtful. "I have come undone. I'm guilty, and unhappy, and lonely. I killed the one man capable of loving me. And I'm afraid to make friends with people, should they find out the truth and think I'm suffering from delusions of grandeur and I'm wacko. I'm all alone, Giles."
"You're not alone, Buffy." He was speaking from his heart, the flustered, absent Giles gone; an intense, emotional Giles before her. "You have me. I am your Watcher, I care for you. Not just because it's my job, but because..." he trailed off. "Because we've seen, and experienced, so much together. I am your friend, Buffy."
"I suppose you'd have to be," Buffy mused. "To sleep on that lumpy couch of yours for me." She looked as if she wanted to say more, but help back. The waitress came by, setting the check on the table between them. She winked at Giles before moving on.
Buffy laughed. "Did you see that? Pass city."
"Hmm? Pass what city?"
"Our waitress was hitting on you, G-man. Didn't you notice?"
"No, I was thinking." He looked uncomfortable, but took the plunge. "Would you, um, would you like to stay at my apartment on a more semi-permanent arrangement? I mean, until you feel comfortable staying on your own again."
Buffy beamed. "I was going to ask you if I could."
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