Fic: Scent of a Slayer FRT B/G

[gileswench.livejournal.com]

Title: Scent of a Slayer
Author: Gileswench
Contact: gileswench@yahoo.com
Date: 6/13/07
Spoilers: General spoilers for the entire run of BtVS, but once the curtain comes down on Joss' S7, all bets are off.
Summary: Giles POV on his Slayer and his smelly knowledge of her
Rating: FRT
Pairing: B/G (mentions of B/A, B/R, B/S, G/Jenny)
Category: Romance
Distribution: If you've had my permission in the past, you have it now. All others, ask and ye shall receive.
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. Praise abjectly sought.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc., etc., etc. I just let them have all the fun Joss won't. I own nothing except my twisted mind which you really don't want. Please don't sue.
Notes: This fic brought to you courtesy of Ishtaritu's prompt of 'Scent'







She's lovely, yes. Everyone notices that about Buffy. Her bright smile, her wide eyes, her deft movements and unique style; these things are obvious to anyone with eyes.

Ah, but her scent...that's what intoxicates me so.

It's never quite the same twice, although I know she sticks religiously to the beauty products she likes, only changing if one goes out of production. Yes, I know every time that happens because she's utterly incapable of mentioning it less than seventeen times per hour for the first week after it becomes unavailable. I know. I've counted. I've compiled statistics. Sometimes, it's been the only thing that kept me from committing violence, and yet Buffy wouldn't be Buffy if she didn't have some irritating habits. Sometimes, when you love someone, even the annoying things they do become if not precisely lovable, familiar enough that you'd miss them.

Really, anyone who expects love to mean no further strife or conflict isn't mature enough to be in love. Besides, what fun would make up sex be if there were nothing to make up for?

What was I saying? Oh, yes, her scent! So sweet. I remember when we first met she smelled of bubble gum and raspberry lip gloss and some sort of tutti-frutti...hair...thing. Possibly it may have been conditioner, but I'm not certain. Oh, and there was this hand cream she used for a while that smelled of coconuts. She was so young and uncertain, and that was reflected in a cacophony of smells that enveloped her.

One day I came into the library to discover she and Willow had been trying perfume samples they'd acquired somewhere. I sneezed half the day. Willow looked desperately guilty and ran to the ladies' room to wash away the evidence, but Buffy just laughed and told me 'if you can't stand the perfume, Giles, get out of the library'. Of course I told her the library was a place of learning, not a bordello. She asked me what a bordello was. I blushed and sneezed and stuttered and finally ordered her out of the room.

The next day during training, she asked me why I couldn't have just said whorehouse. I didn't give her an answer, but I noticed within days that the bubble gum and tutti-frutti had disappeared.

Of course, it may have had more to do with the events of her seventeenth birthday than my words. I'm under little illusion that I have the power to change anything about her. She's not an easy woman to live with, but then I never have liked a woman who doesn't challenge me.

At any rate, bubble gum and tutti-frutti made way for peppermints and strawberry-scented hair. Her lipstick was no longer flavored, since there was nobody to taste it. Her demeanor was grim, but somehow she still smelled of hope.

When I went after Angelus at the factory, my nostrils were filled with the stench of death and smoke and bile. I wanted nothing more than to end my miserable existence and his at the same time. But when Buffy held me, the scent of strawberries pulled me back from the abyss of despair, if I may be forgiven for using such an appallingly sentimental term. I hated her for making me want to live again, and yet she was my lifeline. I didn't have it in me to let go.

Then there was that terrible summer when she was gone from me. Four months without seeing her smile, hearing her voice, feeling her touch...and without smelling her scent. It wasn't anything inappropriate, of course. She was still a child - at least legally - and I was still in mourning for Jenny. Still, all that summer the smell of roses made me ill, and the smell of strawberries made me look about myself in case Buffy was suddenly near.

When she came back to us of her own accord at last, there was still peppermint, but strawberries had disappeared in favor of lemons, astringent and sharp. It took some time to get used to her new smell. The others had all been softer, gentler. Then again, I don't suppose it's possible to send one's lover to Hell gently. Still, that new harder, more businesslike aspect was difficult to see when I remembered how much softer she used to be.

Perhaps that was when I began to develop the feelings that would one day grow into our current domestic bliss. I really can't say for certain. All I know is that I was glad when the lemons went. They never smelled quite right on her.

Next up was a spicy perfume and shampoo that wafted cinnamon through the air. I smiled the first time I smelled that because I thought this was a case of a young girl trying too hard to be grown up. Later I grew to like it because I felt the maturity was real. Even though I loved it, I still hated it as well because of the changes it heralded. Buffy had grown. She'd graduated high school, averted another apocalypse, and had the grace to watch her lover walk away without breaking down. Not that I was sorry to see Angel go, you understand. Still, I realized that it was hard on Buffy. She didn't need to know about the special dartboard I kept for evenings when I was particularly depressed. In fact, she still doesn't know about it.

For the better part of the next year, it seemed as though I hardly knew my own Slayer. Each time I saw her, we seemed to be at loggerheads, and her perfume changed with every passing whim. The bottle I gave her for Christmas turned out to be something she'd already stopped wearing at least a month before.

Then suddenly in the early summer, she seemed to find her center. From then on, I could always tell when she walked into the room by a soft scent of rosemary. I'm sure she was quite unaware that the herb has been considered an aphrodisiac for some centuries. All I know is that I found it intoxicating, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it with young Riley and his muscles hanging about all the time.

Sorry, I know the boy never did anything to me - not deliberately. I just hated to see him with her because it reminded me that there was no place for me in her life.

I'd made up my mind to leave and head back to England in a fit of pique. I even told Willow about my decision knowing she'd never be able to effectively keep a secret. Somehow, though, everyone was too distracted to pick up on her painfully broad hints that something was amiss with me. Really, the lack of observation was pathetic. One would think they'd have all been killed on routine patrol if they couldn't pick up on signals better than that!

In the end, though, Buffy did what she always does. She acted on instinct. Without knowing how close she was to losing me altogether, she came to me and said she needed me in her life again. I know what she was asking for was my knowledge and my skills rather than my heart, but she got all three. Really, when it comes to Buffy I can't deny her anything, even when she doesn't ask for it. Well, aside from my favorite chocolates. She can get her own box.

The rosemary continued from that time on. I never did ask if she understood its meaning. It stands for remembrance and love. She often pretends not to, but I know Buffy remembers everyone she failed to save and every mistake she's made. There are times when I wish she could let that burden go, at least once in a while. Still, I know those dark memories can serve their purpose. As to love, Buffy's heart is easily bruised, but it's only because she gives it so completely. She's learned to protect it, but the love and generosity are still there.

And as much as she likes to pretend to be...what is it she calls it? Ah, yes, an airhead. As much as she likes to pretend to be an airhead, Buffy is really very intelligent. She's certainly capable of using her brain well.

So rosemary. Yes, it seemed appropriate to me. It still does. But as she grew more restless for the hunt, another scent became more prominent: vampire dust. There were days when the smell was almost overpowering. And later came the antiseptic air of hospital, where she spent so many days hovering over Joyce. I did what I could to help. Spent far too much time watching Dawn through her awkward teenage phase, brought casseroles on the premise that I'd cooked a great deal more than I could eat and didn't want it to go to waste.

Knowing how much Buffy hated hospitals and anything that reminded her of them, it saddened me to realize how much time she was spending there.

Oh, and she stopped smelling of Riley and his bloody aftershave before Joyce was released from hospital. He just took off one night. Pillock. If he'd really cared that much for Buffy he'd at least have stayed until her mum was out of immediate danger. Still, it was really none of my affair. I just can't say I was as sorry as I'd have liked to have been to see him go.

Still, Christmas was good that year. All of us spent the day together. Joyce looked positively radiant and Buffy was truly at her best. The aromas of a grand feast filled the room, everyone relaxed a bit; it was one of the best days I ever spend in Sunnydale. Someone had brought a sprig of mistletoe that kept circulating the room. When it landed in Buffy's hands, she looked at me for a moment and my heart skipped at least two beats. Then the look was gone and she planted a wet smack on Xander's cheek, much to both my and Anya's dismay.

During this time Buffy and I seemed to spend most of our time together. I felt as though everything was changing between us, but in another way it felt as though nothing was really different, if that makes any sense. A part of me kept considering it more of a completion than a change. I suppose that would have been the case at least on my part. I'd been half in love with her for a very long time. Falling the other half of the way didn't seem so very strange. I even began cooking with a great deal more rosemary than I usually used. The scent comforted me, excited me, it seemed to fill my kitchen with the woman I loved.

But it was not to be. Not then. Joyce died. Suddenly Buffy was thrown headlong into the world of adult responsibility of a mundane sort as well as the mystical kind she'd been dealing with for so long. Part of me wanted to speak to her, tell her I would take care of her. But the words never came. She was in mourning, I reminded myself. Or she's never interested in me, I'd say to myself. Why should she be? I was old enough to be her father and hardly a romantic figure.

Mostly, though, it was cowardice. If she turned me down, I'd be forced to leave her and I couldn't bear the thought. And so I spent as much time in her company as I could find any excuse to justify.

Eventually, Glory's plot ended it all - or so I thought. I can still see her fall, smell the stench of death that accompanied it. I can't...it's more than I can cope with, really. Even now I hate to think of that moment.

You know, for a short time after Joyce's death, Buffy took to wearing her perfume. I suppose it was a way to feel her mother's presence. At any rate, it seemed to bring her some measure of comfort for a couple weeks. But I...I couldn't bear the smell of rosemary. I even binned the jar in my kitchen. Silly, really. Then again, few of us manage to remain entirely rational whilst in mourning.

This time I did go. Oh, it took me a ridiculous amount of time to let go and be on my way, I'll admit that freely. Again, that small irrational voice kept telling me Buffy would be back. It had been nearly five months when I gave up and told that little voice to go bugger itself. And of course I'd barely gone when Willow called to say Buffy was, indeed, back.

I raced back as quickly as I could. I don't know what I'd been expecting. I ought to have known this wouldn't be the Buffy I remembered. How could she be? She'd been dead for five bloody months. When she saw me she clung to me so tightly I thought at first she'd cracked one of my ribs. Even then, as I reveled in the miracle of her return, I knew in my heart something was very wrong.

Rosemary was gone, replaced with generic soap and cut-price shampoo. I couldn't even identify the scent it was trying for. It was sickly and somehow off. Underneath, instead of Buffy, I smelled...nothing, really. Nobody at all.

I did try to help. I honestly did. I contacted the Council and tried to arrange some form of counseling for Buffy. I begged them to send her some support - any kind of support. I tried to persuade them to give her a stipend so she could care for herself and Dawn. Could I get them to do a bloody thing? Of course not. Every time the Council had asserted itself in her life, Buffy had beaten them. They didn't enjoy being repeatedly trounced by a slip of a girl over whom they thought they should have complete control. And so when the opportunity came to snub her, well, they simply weren't big enough to let it pass by. Logic didn't even come into play; nor did basic humanity.

As for my personal efforts, well, they seemed destined to lead only to further disaster so far as I could tell. There was nothing I could do to fill that sinkhole of need. I'm not trained in psychiatry. I hadn't unlimited funds. I'm also, as I think I said before, very bad at saying no to Buffy. What she needed, I was unable to provide. And I must admit if I'm being completely honest that I couldn't bear to stand by and watch her self-destruction.

I couldn't watch any of them. How such a strong, capable, good-hearted group of people could all simply...disintigrate so quickly I'll never know. I felt as if they'd all become strangers. What's more, none of them seemed to want me except for Buffy, and the me she wanted wasn't someone I could be for her. Good lord! The effect Buffy has on my grammatical skills is simply appalling. Ah well. Love, I suppose, does make us do the wacky, as she says.

At any rate, Willow reeked of dark majicks; Xander was if anything less mature than he'd been at sixteen - a concept to give one nightmares - Anya kept nattering about not giving the shop back; Dawn was acting out as though she was six rather than fifteen; and Buffy...my Buffy was gone, it seemed. She'd been replaced with a near zombie. Then she started hanging out with Spike and coming home smelling of cheap whiskey and the must of his crypt.

Should I have left? I honestly don't know. I'm not sure I could have prevented any of what happened, and I'm certainly glad I didn't witness any of it. Still, there's that tiny voice that calls me a coward, tells me I ought to have tried harder with the fate of the world at risk. I suppose I'll never know for sure.

I made my choice, went on my way, and have regretted it every single day since. My only comfort is knowing what a penance it was for me to be so far from the people I love best. So far from her.

The house felt empty. I rattled about from room to room, took long rambles through the fields on Otto - my horse, you know - and felt lonelier than I ever had up to that point. It didn't help that the place had been mostly shut up since my mother died. There was a faint whiff of mothballs and floor polish in too many rooms. It faded as I spent months there, but never entirely went away.

Eventually circumstances required my return to Sunnydale, and we all know how spectacularly well that turned out. Still, while it no longer felt as though Sunnydale was home, at least I began to see a glimmer of Buffy again. When she held me desperately this time, she was aware of her strength, my fragility, and her surroundings in a way she hadn't been a few months earlier. She still smelled of cheap soap and shampoo, but at least I could tell the scent was meant to be an herbal one. Buffy might not quite be Buffy again, but there was a clear improvement. And as much as I'd like to take some credit, she did it entirely on her own.

I wanted to stay and spend a bit of time with her, but between Willow's situation, my own wounds, and some small fear on my part that once Buffy was done being relieved I'd come to the rescue she might well decide to take out her anger and frustration on me, well, I thought it prudent to go. I don't think she would have done it, and I don't think I'd have blamed her if she had, actually, but I didn't like to chance the question.

After that, I stayed away until the Bringers managed to take down Council headquarters. The less said about my final stay in Sunnydale, the better. I don't think anyone involved has a great deal to be proud of from that time. All I will say is that most of us survived, and those who did not fell bravely. What more could we ask?

It was after Sunnydale fell that things began to change between Buffy and me. It started with consultations late at night in my hotel room. She'd come knock on my door after returning from patrol with some of the new Slayers. We'd discuss who needed help with what, where to send girls, how many survivors of the Council I'd discovered...consider strategy, more or less. The organizational questions never seemed to end.

As much as the work needed doing, I came to the realization that what Buffy needed more than anything else was a break from running everything. She desperately needed to be a girl for a few days. And I'll allow that I was sick and tired of the messes thrown in my lap, as well.

Of course, I knew Buffy would never accept going off for days at a time while things were still so stressful. And so I resorted to a small ruse. I got a newspaper and left it open to the entertainment section that night. When Buffy came by to check in, I could see her looking at the film listings with longing. That allowed me to mention that I'd thought of going out to the movies the next afternoon. I casually asked if she'd like to come along. It took a bit of coaxing, but eventually I wore down her resistance.

And so it was that the next afternoon I sat in the dark next to Buffy watching some light, romantic comedy that would have held no great interest for me had I been alone. With her, though, it was a great deal more fun than I'd expected. I could smell her hair. Somewhere along the line she'd got a bottle of shampoo with a nicer herbal scent. Rosemary. I wanted to lean closer, but I resisted. There was nothing to be gained by making Buffy nervous around me. In the end, though, I felt her soft hair against my throat when she nestled her head on my shoulder...and fell asleep.

When the lights came up, Buffy woke. That was when I asked her how she felt about Mexican. She smiled in a way I hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime, and said she loved Mexican. For my part, I loved watching her eat a real meal for the first time in far too long.

I took her back to our hotel and walked her to her room. Before she went in, she looked at me shyly from under her long eyelashes and asked if she'd been on a date without realizing it. I told her she was welcome to think of it that way if she liked. She didn't answer, but she blushed and smiled slightly. I chose to take that as a good sign.

Over the next few weeks, we relocated everyone else. At last it was down to me, Buffy, Dawn, Xander, and two girls who had no place to go as yet. Willow and Kennedy had already left to visit Kennedy's family before accepting assignment. I knew I would have to return to England again soon. A new Council was being formed and I was wanted. I'd had several more not-quite-dates with Buffy in the meantime. She still hadn't told me what she considered them and I'd made no attempt to kiss her. I didn't like to push, you understand.

Still, I'd taken her to films, restaurants, small shopping expeditions, and everyone else seemed to be taking it as read that Buffy and I were an item. I would have been well satisfied if I could have been as certain as they.

The time had come, though, when the question couldn't be put off much longer. I needed to know what my fate was and Buffy needed to decide what was next for her and Dawn. If nothing else, Dawn would have to be registered for school soon. And so I asked the fatal question: where would Dawn go to school?

I thought for some moments that Buffy wasn't going to answer. She kept looking at the floor for the longest time. At last she looked up at me and asked hesitantly if there were any way she and Dawn could come to England with me. I asked in what capacity she'd like to come over. After another long stretch of silence, she told me she'd like to see where this thing between us might lead.

That was when she took the initiative and kissed me. I was stunned and she was nervous, so it wasn't that much of a kiss, actually. Once the ice was broken, though, we made up for that pretty quickly. I'm not sure how precisely we made it to the bed, or on whose impetus, but suddenly there we were, making love.

For all it was so sudden, it wasn't desperate. No, it was playful. I couldn't stop smelling her, it seemed, and neither of us could stop laughing for pure joy. She buried her nose in my armpit at one point, then she sat back, pulled a face, and informed me I needed a shower. I returned the favor. She walloped me with a pillow. For some reason it's not the overtly erotic things I remember best about that afternoon in bed, but the silly ones. That, and I remember the jolt that ran through me when I could smell myself on her. God! That was a thrill! And when I realized I'd taken on a faint whiff of rosemary...well, let's just say I haven't made such a quick recovery in some time.

Afterwards, we lay in bed, basking in the moment. Buffy reminded me about that shower, but I just held her close and told her that would have to wait; I didn't want to wash her off me just yet. She said in that case, we should take a short nap and shower together later.

That, I decided, would do nicely.

Since that day, we've never been apart longer than we could help. I arranged for them to live with me and for Dawn to finish her education here. She decided to go back to America for college, though. I must admit that as much as I do love Dawn, I'm rather glad to have Buffy almost to myself.

Yes, about that 'almost', well, neither of us was thinking all that clearly when we tackled one another into bed in the first place. There's no excuse, I know, and we were both completely gobsmacked, but after the initial panic, we decided a baby wasn't such a bad thing after all.

There's one thing for certain, Annie is a perfectly spoiled little thing and the apple of her mother's eye. As for me, I can't help adoring her. She's walking, babbling proof of our love.

When Buffy first mentioned 'that new baby smell' I was rather flummoxed, I admit. But then I took the time to smell Annie, and found there was a unique scent to early childhood. She's starting to grow out of it now and I find myself wistful at its passing.

Buffy's scent has changed slightly, as well. The rosemary is still there, but now it's mixed with lavender. There's still the earthiness, but it's softened with that most comfortable of floral perfumes. I like it - no, I love it, as I love her.

Every night, now, I lie in bed and remember what it was to smell nothing but sheets beside me. I remind myself of that deliberately because I want to appreciate my family and just how lucky I am to have them. Then I bury my face in Buffy's hair and inhale deeply.

Intoxicating.