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summer_of_giles2011-07-27 08:34 am
rebelxxwaltz.livejournal.com) wrote in summer_of_giles2011-07-27 08:34 am
Entry tags:
FIC: The Ivory Tower (Giles/Buffy- FRT) Part 2/3
Title: The Ivory Tower: Part 2
Author: mischiefmagnet
Rating: Yep… still T. Let the UST fest continue!
Pairing: Indicators of future Giles/Buffy
Fic Summary: An AU season 4 scenario. What if Giles was never sent to be Buffy's Watcher? Things get interesting at UC Sunnydale when Buffy meets a handsome history professor who is English, variably tweedy, and happens to have a pocket full of stakes. A stand-alone retooling of 'The Freshman', with other installments hopefully to follow.
Word Count: Whole fic is around 15,000
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. Not mine, just playing. Will give back when finished (maybe).
Spoilers: Definite spoilers for everything up to the beginning of season 4, despite the AU nature of the story.
Notes: There are some literary/pop culture/historical references in this fic, which I will explain in notes at the end for those who are at all interested. Also some info on characterizations. This fic contains a few instances of borrowed/slightly altered dialogue from S4 x 01, 'The Freshman'.
xxxxx
Well, didn't this just take the cake. Not only had Buffy gotten her ass handed to her and her shoulder dislocated by some 80's night vamperella, she had also managed to put the tackle on an extremely handsome and perplexed history professor. What was Willow going to say about this one? Well, at least she didn't appear to have damaged him… he was getting up, tall and surprisingly solid-looking body unfolding slowly.
"Dear Lord, are you alright?"
Her wrist and shoulder prickled with sharp pain as Professor Giles chivalrously assisted her. He was regarding her with concern in his- wow- stunningly green eyes, and by this point he was probably wondering whether her vocal chords were actually functional or if he should try sign language or smoke signals in order to get through to her. He was probably brainy enough to know both. "Umm… I'm okay, professor." She hissed as she tried to roll her shoulder. "I mean, I've been better, but-"
"It looks like your shoulder is dislocated. I- Perhaps I could make a sling out of my jacket until we can get you some medical attention? I'm sure campus security could take you to the hospital-"
Buffy managed a smile, shaking her head. Her brain was telling her to hold up her hand dismissively, but she suddenly realized that it was still cradled within his larger one. It tingled pleasantly. As her fingers brushed against his palm he finally seemed to notice their joined hands as well, coloring slightly as they broke apart. Rubbing the back of his neck, he regarded her expectantly.
"Oh, no. Seriously, I'm fine." Her voice was almost convincing, but her arm hung limply at her side and a purple bruise was quickly forming on her cheekbone.
Shrugging out of the tweed jacket, his tall form stepped closer. "Now really, I must insist." He folded the garment in half, turning it sideways and arranging the arms so that they could be tied together once the makeshift sling cradled her arm. As he was about to reach for her injured extremity three objects fell out of the pocket of his jacket, clattering noisily onto the asphalt. The tinkle of glass was joined by the distinctive cadence of wood and the rustle of paper.
Looking down, Buffy felt her heart jump into her throat as she discovered the identity of the items. A very small notepad, a bottle of holy water and… a very pointy stick, expertly sharpened.
What the hell was her history professor doing with a stake?! He had gone stock still, peering down at the items as though grasping for a way to explain away their presence or perhaps pretending he had never seen them before. The Slayer, in spite of her pain, managed to cross her arms over her chest and raise an eyebrow. English, tweedy, and out in the middle of the night with a pocket full of anti-vamp supplies? In Buffy's experience this generally only meant one thing.
They stared at each other, neither initially willing to tip their hand. The air between them was tense, thick with a mutual cloud of secrets. The penetrating green eyes were not unpleasant to wrestle gazes with, but Buffy didn't have the patience for a lengthy stalemate. She cleared her throat. "So… is that a stake in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
A slight twitch of an eyebrow and a wry smile quirking at the corner of the mouth were his only reaction to Buffy's flippant comment. He knew when he was beaten, but he did still have his dignity after all. 'Professor' Giles sighed, bending to retrieve the fallen items. "Errr, well then. My flat is just a bit further along this path. Will you allow me the honor of tending to your injuries?"
She was about to open her mouth. She wanted to say no, to yell at him and ask why she couldn't go anywhere without the Council haunting her every move like some kind of... creepy stalker. He interrupted her, though, and his words held such respectful sincerity that she felt her anger draining away.
"I promise to explain myself," he said. His expression was serious, but his eyes were kind and steady. Buffy conveyed her agreement with a nod as her feet moved of their own accord. "After all, it's not every night that one meets a Slayer." He twirled the stake, deftly slipping it back into the jacket pocket as they turned onto the narrow garden path.
Shocked at his sudden candor, Buffy stared at his broad back as he led her through the yard. What was he doing here, in Sunnydale? Had he been sent here to keep an eye on her? She already had a Watcher… well, technically. Perhaps her assumptions were incorrect and he wasn't from the Council at all? Shaking her head, Buffy gripped her injured arm and followed Professor Giles through the wild and unkempt back garden. An overgrown trellis dominated the side of the shed, flowers and vines mingling haphazardly.
Twice in two days this man had surprised her. The Slayer's jumbled thoughts turned over and over, remembering in fragments what had happened the last time she met a stranger who was so mysterious and evasively helpful. And good-looking, her traitorous mind added. Fortunately she was far too curious about the tall Englishman to allow thoughts of Angel to overwhelm her again.
He unlocked the door and Buffy followed him cautiously, noticing his care in making no direct gesture of invitation. She was at once eager and frightened to find out more about her suddenly enigmatic professor. Her train of wild conjecture was derailed by the suddenly bright kitchen and a polite inquiry.
"I'll just run and get the first aid kit. Would you care for some tea?"
xxxxx
Steam snaked out of the blue and white china teapot, sending out comforting wisps of bergamot and Moroccan mint. They had a stabilizing effect on Giles as he concentrated on his task, gingerly supporting the Slayer's forearm as he bound her injured wrist. Buffy Summers was perched on a stool in front of his kitchen island, looking battered but calm. The soft light in the room revealed more cuts and scrapes than he had originally noticed, though most were essentially superficial. It certainly had been an interesting day, beginning with her appearance in his class and culminating in this unexpected encounter. He hadn't intended for her to know about him. Not yet. He had his assignment, she had her Watcher, and the Council saw no compelling reason for their business to mix. Apparently the universe had other ideas, however.
She was peering at him, studying his face with quiet attention. Apparently disinterested in his application of first aid, she showed no sign that he was causing her further pain. Her curiosity intrigued him, and was mirrored by his own. He allowed himself the momentary luxury of looking into her eyes- were they grey, green, hazel? He found that her intense focus made him feel self-conscious. Blimey, he was probably even blushing. Carefully, he put the final touches on the binding for her wrist, securing it with a small square of medical tape.
Wiggling her fingers, the Slayer tested the wrapping. Satisfied with his work, she gifted Giles with a small smile. "Thanks."
He answered with a brief grin of his own before returning his attention to the first aid box, looking for antiseptic wipes to tend the cuts on her face. Best to get the easy bits out of the way first, before dealing with her dislocated shoulder.
"So, how long have you been a Watcher? I hear the pay's great but the benefits kinda…suck."
Apparently she'd had enough of the silent tension hovering between them, and decided to cut right to the chase. He paused in his rummaging, mildly surprised by her direct question. He plucked the glasses off of his face, polishing them deliberately for several moments before replacing them. "Interesting choice of words. Gallows humor?" He leaned on the counter, bracing his hands on either side of the first aid kit as he awaited her reply.
"Nah. Not so much with the Marie Antoinette. More like a… Slayer water-cooler joke."
"Marie Antoinette wasn't hanged, she was executed by guillotine." His eyes spotted the antiseptic wipes under a roll of gauze, and he turned his attention to plucking the packets out of the metal box.
"Off with her head, huh? I forgot I'm dealing with history guy. I guess the professor bit isn't a total act."
Ripping open the first antiseptic packet, he looked to her for permission to tend her face. She nodded slightly, watching his hands. "I assure you, my qualifications are in order." The Slayer's eyebrow twitched slightly as he cleaned her largest scrape. "How did you know I was a Watcher? Did you… sense me?" His tone was inquisitive, loitering around the edges of intellectual curiosity.
A slightly puzzled expression came over her features, and she bit her lip thoughtfully. "Sense? You mean like fashion sense? 'Cos I guess the tweed was kind of a giveaway. Watchers don't leave home without it."
He chuckled slightly, trying to ignore the softness of her cheek as his fingers made incidental contact with her skin. "That, errr, wasn't what I was referring to, exactly. Surely Merrick taught you how to sense a Watcher's magic?"
The Slayer's eyes went wide at the mention of her former Watcher. "Merrick? You knew him?"
Dabbing at some of the smaller scrapes, he wondered if he might be revealing too much. "I did."
"How well?" she blurted, hardly letting the response leave his lip before exclaiming. "I mean, I…" She gave an embarrassed laugh, looking down at her bound wrist. "Sorry. Did you know him well?"
With her cuts all taken care of, Giles allowed himself to relax onto the other stool. He reached for the pot of tea, silently inviting her to join him. She pushed her empty teacup forward. He poured the tea, gathering his thoughts. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to tell her- Merrick had been her Watcher, after all. "I knew him quite well, for a time. I trained with him when I was, well, quite a bit younger than I am now." He sipped his tea, letting the warmth spread down his throat and into his stomach. "He taught me many things, both during our acquaintance and afterwards through his diaries. We also exchanged the occasional letter over the years."
She looked at him with awe. "Diaries? You mean those books that he used to write in all the time? You've seen them?"
"Yes, they were returned to the Council after Merrick's, ummm, unfortunate demise. An active Watcher's diaries are generally studied quite meticulously after his passing, and I was privileged to examine them, once…" He could see her eyes filling with tears, cursing his clinical description of the situation. "He was a good man. I am sorry you lost him."
Releasing a ragged sigh, she kept the tears at bay. "Wesley never talks about him. I don't think they knew each other, at least not well. They're certainly nothing alike." The irritated frown on her face caused him unaccountably to smile as he thought of the fierce warrior before him trying to get along with someone as incurably pedantic as Wyndam-Pryce. "I bet you know Wes too, huh? You guys are all like… members of a big spooky country club or something."
"Yes, I'm afraid I do know Wesley. Though I don't believe he is aware of my presence here, and I would prefer to keep it that way." Giles crossed his arms, unable to resist a small grin as his sarcastic response made her beam. Her smile lit up the room like sunshine.
The Slayer leaned forward, carefully sniffing her cup of tea before she chanced a sip. "So what are you doing in Sunnydale?"
Leaning back, he decided to keep his answer simple. He had already told her more than he had intended. He shrugged. "Watching."
She turned her attention away from the tea, glaring at him. "Cryptic much? I've dealt with guys like you before and it usually ends up spelling big trouble for Buffy. You wanna give me a little bit more to go on?"
As interested as he was in her statement about others like him, he put a lid on his desire to know more. "I assure you, if I discover anything significant I shall make sure you receive the necessary information."
"Thanks for the fuzzy and slightly ominous guarantee. If I'm not satisfied, do I get my money back?"
He smiled mildly back at her as an answer, taking in her flushed cheeks and slightly narrowed eyes. She was angry, and he couldn't really blame her. Until he had anything to tell, however, it was best to keep the details of his assignment under wraps.
Standing, Giles motioned for her to do the same. "We should take care of your shoulder." He walked around to stand directly behind her, noticing how her back tensed at his presence. She jumped, startled, as his hand touched her shoulder. "I won't lie. This is going to be painful, but once the shoulder is re-located your range of motion will return very quickly."
She appeared to relax slightly, steadying under his grip. "Okay."
With his other hand he grasped her upper arm, pulling it slightly outward and lining the limb up to get the best possible leverage. His query was softly spoken, breath tickling the shell of her ear. "Ready?"
Nodding, she inhaled unevenly. Wanting to make her discomfort as brief as possible, Giles wrenched her arm upward and pushed the ball of her shoulder down and in. She released a small yelp as the limb popped back into place, slumping against him in pain-drenched relief.
For several moments they were still and silent. His hand was gently holding her arm as he braced himself against the counter for support, her upper back and tousled blonde head leaning against his chest. Gradually, her breathing began to calm, the pressure of her head just above his heart lessening as she steadied. He remained still, not wanting to startle the girl with any quick moves to release her. Absently, he slid his hand down her arm, cupping her elbow supportively.
Once she recovered enough to realize the strange intimacy of their position, the Slayer sprang away from him, looking embarrassed. He himself was alarmed by the way his body thrilled at the smell of her hair, how her skin felt so warm and vital. Had it really been that long since he'd been this close to a woman? Alarm bells rang in the rational part of his mind while the other parts were busy contemplating how wonderful she felt. As was usual for Giles, rationality managed to win out by a narrow margin. He quickly took a different tack, hoping to distract them both from the moment of indiscretion. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you receive these injuries?"
Straightening, the Slayer looked as though she had been snapped out of a trance. "Oh! It was Sunday…" She trailed off, stretching her limbs and rubbing her repaired shoulder.
Giles' eyebrows crinkled. "Sunday? But today is Friday…"
"I guess I should start from the beginning, before this starts sounding like some kind of... Smiths song," Buffy cringed.
xxxxx
Half an hour later, Buffy was on her third cup of tea and had finally finished relating her story about Eddie and the vampire gang to the newly discovered Watcher. She left out not a single detail; she was just happy that someone was finally listening to her, unlike Wesley who might as well have told her to jump off a bridge. His expression was thoughtful as he digested the information, face leaning against his hand. "Well, the evidence is certainly compelling. And you think there may have been other victims on campus?"
Buffy shrugged. "That's the problem- I don't know. Eddie could be the first, the last, the only… I wish I had found out more, but she had me cold. I can't believe I ran away." Shaking her head, Buffy looked down. What would he think of her? She was supposed to be the Slayer, and couldn't even handle a one-on-one battle with a skanky Cyndi Lauper with fangs.
"You were probably right to retreat in this case. They had you surrounded. If you had taken out the leader, the others may not have been so willing to stand by and watch."
He patted her hand, and she wondered how she could already feel so comfortable with him, here in his home. He had given her more care and support in the past hour than she had managed to squeeze out of Wesley in nine excruciating months. "I guess so."
Straightening his back, he regarded her seriously. "Sometimes strategy is imperative when you can't achieve immediate victory. With time and research, you may be able to help others. You are the Slayer, yes, but that doesn't mean that slaying is your only duty."
"Thanks for the reminder. You should try telling that to Wesley sometime!"
"If he doesn't know it already, he's more of a pillock than I thought."
"Just call him Mr. Pillock, then." Buffy tilted her head, wondering why Professor Giles had suddenly turned so pink. "Whatever that means."
He cleared his throat. "Never mind. It's nearly gone half past four, you had better be getting back."
"Damn, is it that late already? Good thing there's no class on Saturdays. I think I could use some R and R. Why do I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day even without double Psych to look forward to?" She sighed, standing up and rolling her neck in a circle.
"Would you like me to drive you? The vampires could still be out there." They walked to the door together.
She flashed him a grateful smile. "Nah. Sun will be coming up in less than an hour. They're probably seeking cover by now. Besides, I'm already pretty well healed up. Your patch job worked wonders."
Examining the area of her face where the most cuts and bruises had been, he looked impressed. The worst were still visible, but fading. "Slayer healing, how fascinating." He reached out a hand as if to touch the spot where the biggest gash still showed, drawing back at the last moment. He looked down briefly, giving her an apologetic look. "Sorry."
"It's cool. Umm… thanks for fixing me up."
"It was no trouble. Please, feel free to come to me anytime you need assistance. If I come across any pertinent information I'll be in touch." He opened the door for her, leaning against the frame as she passed.
Feeling the warmth radiating from his sturdy form as she exited, Buffy shivered involuntarily. Briefly she remembered what it had been like to lean against him, the strength she had felt in his chest and arms as he fixed her shoulder. Definitely of the manly. "Okay. It's been fun."
"Indeed. Oh, and Miss Summers?"
She looked back, meeting his steady green gaze. "Call me Buffy."
"Buffy… your psychology professor, Maggie Walsh? That woman isn't what she seems. I would advise that you use caution around her."
Raising an eyebrow at his unexpected remark, Buffy gave an agreeing nod. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again."
"Goodnight."
Tired mind reeling from all the new information she had absorbed in the past few hours, Buffy broke into a jog upon reaching the sidewalk. Professor Giles was a Watcher who had known Merrick. She wondered what he could have learned from Merrick's diaries, what he must know about her. And hadn't he said something about Watchers and magic? They would so have to pick back up with that thread of the conversation sometime. And his warning about Professor Walsh… it was just one mystery after another.
When she reached Stevenson Hall Buffy let herself into her dorm room as quietly as possible, hoping that she wouldn't disturb Kathy's snores. Her roommate appeared to be out like a light, so the Slayer crossed the room and proceeded to snuggle gingerly beneath her cream and purple floral comforter. Her shoulder was still a bit sore, but the professor had done a good job. It should be fully healed after a few hours' rest. Buffy fell asleep quickly, exhausted, subconscious mind wrapped in remnants of the weirdly satisfying hum that had overtaken her body as a certain Englishman healed and supported her…
xxxxx
The next day when he returned home from his Saturday morning office hours, Giles found an unmarked envelope slipped under his door. It was held closed with a wax medallion bearing an official Council stamp. He pried off the seal as he sat down at the desk, slicing expertly beneath the still-soft red wax. The contents of the envelope were curious. There was no direct communication for him, just a document listing certain enquiries made with the United States Immigration and Naturalization Service with regards to his credentials and employment eligibility. The Council may not have been particularly tech savvy, but they were natural bureaucrats and experts at safeguarding their information. This envelope was their way of telling him that someone was showing an unhealthy interest. His money was on Professor Walsh.
He thought he had been careful, especially while speaking directly with the woman. Sometimes, however, his tendency toward sarcasm could not be kept at bay. He had probably given her too much to wonder about at their last meeting in the library- a person who liked to dissect things as much as she did would scarcely be able to resist.
There was no cause for alarm; even the Initiative wouldn't find any type of paper trail to identify him as a Watcher. As far as he had been able to tell, the Initiative, and the U.S. government by extension, hadn't reached that level of awareness yet concerning the existence of the Slayer or the Council. His information would add up plain on the page for Maggie Walsh to see, and there would be nothing more to it…
…unless the Slayer had reported to Wesley and he had shown an interest. That could complicate matters, although he doubted the man could move so quickly. He almost wished there were classes today, so that he could ask her.
He was also disappointed that he wouldn't have the opportunity to check on her injuries. After all, how could he pass up a chance to see Slayer healing in action? It was pure curiosity, totally academic. Nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he'd been thinking about her all day, almost to the point of distraction. As he rummaged for sandwich ingredients Giles wondered whether it had anything to do with the magic, the call in his blood, telling him to protect and defend the Slayer.
Watchers in general never thought much about the ramifications of the rituals and other magically imbued trials they endured as they became official Council instruments. Most would never even come close to meeting a Slayer, their magics remaining dormant and unheeded. For someone like Giles who had dealt with magic in the past, however, it was a bit more complicated. Add a Slayer to the mix and he couldn't help but notice the sparks that crackled relentlessly in the depths of his abdomen.
Loosening his tie, Giles stared at the slices of whole wheat bread. He held out little hope that a turkey sandwich would calm the flutters, but even a worried Watcher needed to eat.
xxxxx
This is all just too
much for me. I have
decided to take off.
Sorry I didn't have
time to say goodbye but
I need to be by myself.
Good luck this year.
--Buffy
Quite honestly she wasn't sure which was worse; her bedroom at home, or the one at Stevenson hall. The first was already full of packing crates less than a week after she had moved out. The other? Well, her dorm room was now the spitting image of Eddie's, made more stark and unsettling by the still-inhabited appearance of her roommate's half of the space. The bedroom at home had her mother, who kept repeating the phrase, "I didn't think you'd be back so soon" like Buffy was some sort of freak for being there. On the bare mattress in the dorm room, there was the note-- and that was the straw that broke the Slayer's back.
Buffy hated everything about that note. She hated the words, she hated the message, and she hated the way it made her feel when she read it. It made her feel small, and she hated herself for actually agreeing with some of the things that were written on that paper. She was overwhelmed, yes. Did she feel like running away? Probably. But she wasn't going to. She had done the splitsville thing once, and it had been nothing but heartache for herself or anybody else. The further away she tried to get from her past, her friends, her mistakes… the more she tried to escape them, the more they seemed to stay on her mind.
Right now, watching the sunset through the blinds on her window, what she really wished she could do was to go back. Back to a time when she was happier, when she had Merrick and her friends beside her, when her mom hadn't been using her room as extra closet space. Things had changed so much so fast, and all her old comfort zones had fallen off the map. Home with mom was awkward. The high school and its strangely cozy library were toast. Her Watcher was busy with his adding machine. The mansion meant thoughts of Angel and a dozen other types of badness, and that was so not where she wanted her head to be right now. Wasn't there anyplace left in Sunnydale where she could clear her thoughts and just be Buffy again?
Oh. Well, there was that one place…
xxxxx
The afternoon had been a restless one for Giles. He had tried to read, busied himself with cleaning the house, and even attempted to distract himself with television. That had been somewhat of a failure; his pent up energy and his buzzing, tingling insides demanded some sort of physical activity. Thus he had spent the past hour or so doing what any Californian, transplant or otherwise, would do- he jogged, running aimlessly until sunset faded into the purple glow of evening.
Letting himself back into the flat, he took several deep breaths and gave his limbs a final stretch. The run had done its job, and Giles felt like he might finally be able to sit down and do something productive. Failing that, he could always head back out into the darkening night and see what the Initiative were up to. Some of the weekend operations were quite a bit more complex, since the organization's members weren't as busy maintaining their civilian cover.
First things first, though. He toed off his running shoes and crossed the room, peeling off his sweat-dampened white t-shirt as he went. A shower was most certainly the first order of business. Perhaps the steam would further clear his mind and help him decide on a course of action.
xxxxx
"…when it's dark and I'm all alone and I'm scared or freaked out or whatever, I always think, 'What would Buffy do?' You're my hero."
At first she thought that going to The Bronze had been a huge mistake. Visions of Angel from behind Buffy's eyelids seemed to pop out all over the dimly lit space, and the sameness of everything just made her feel even more insignificant than she had to begin with. Thank God for Xander, and the million ways that his earnestly delivered pep talk full of poorly remembered movie quotes was exactly what she needed in this moment. She realized how much she had missed her dark-haired friend, and found that his words built her up tremendously- even enough to ignore his lighthearted comment concerning what she may or may not be wearing.
Breaking into the newspaper office had seemed perfectly reasonable and oddly satisfying after that. Buffy was so relieved that she was beginning to feel like herself again, she was hardly even nervous about it. What had all the Slayers who came before her done without friends like Xander to give them that little boost when they needed it? Slayers weren't supposed to have an entourage, but it had certainly worked for Buffy. She was still here, after all. And Xander was right- she couldn't let one snarky vamp break her. She was still Buffy, definitely not Betty Louise or anybody else, and this Slayer was ready to kick some ass.
The research was fruitful after a fairly short time, largely due to the effectiveness of their teamwork. Xander folded the old newspaper in half and sandwiched it beneath his arm. "So, Psi Theta it is. Who would have thought the vamps would start their own fraternity? Guess they have more school spirit than we knew." Xander shrugged. "Oh well. It's all Greek to me. You ready?"
Buffy rolled her eyes at Xander's cheesy pun and turned her attention back to the map, noticing the location of the abandoned frat house near the farthest edge of campus. She tilted her blonde head, contemplating for a moment. It occurred to her that she had a new acquaintance in that part of town who was British and tweedy, with pockets full of stakes that he might be willing to share. The vamps had stolen her weapons chest, and he had told her to come back any time she needed him, right? She turned to Xander, her changeable gaze now steely gray with resolve.
"Yeah, I'm ready. Just need to make one stop on the way."
xxxxx
Notes for this chapter:
1. Fifty million bonus points to anyone who can guess what tea Giles is serving when Buffy visits his flat… (no guessing,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
littleotter73 !)
2. Marie Antoinette was beheaded on 16 October, 1793.
3. The 'Smiths song' Buffy mentions is actually Every Day is Like Sunday by Morrissey. At least she was close!
Part three, this way!
Author: mischiefmagnet
Rating: Yep… still T. Let the UST fest continue!
Pairing: Indicators of future Giles/Buffy
Fic Summary: An AU season 4 scenario. What if Giles was never sent to be Buffy's Watcher? Things get interesting at UC Sunnydale when Buffy meets a handsome history professor who is English, variably tweedy, and happens to have a pocket full of stakes. A stand-alone retooling of 'The Freshman', with other installments hopefully to follow.
Word Count: Whole fic is around 15,000
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. Not mine, just playing. Will give back when finished (maybe).
Spoilers: Definite spoilers for everything up to the beginning of season 4, despite the AU nature of the story.
Notes: There are some literary/pop culture/historical references in this fic, which I will explain in notes at the end for those who are at all interested. Also some info on characterizations. This fic contains a few instances of borrowed/slightly altered dialogue from S4 x 01, 'The Freshman'.
xxxxx
Well, didn't this just take the cake. Not only had Buffy gotten her ass handed to her and her shoulder dislocated by some 80's night vamperella, she had also managed to put the tackle on an extremely handsome and perplexed history professor. What was Willow going to say about this one? Well, at least she didn't appear to have damaged him… he was getting up, tall and surprisingly solid-looking body unfolding slowly.
"Dear Lord, are you alright?"
Her wrist and shoulder prickled with sharp pain as Professor Giles chivalrously assisted her. He was regarding her with concern in his- wow- stunningly green eyes, and by this point he was probably wondering whether her vocal chords were actually functional or if he should try sign language or smoke signals in order to get through to her. He was probably brainy enough to know both. "Umm… I'm okay, professor." She hissed as she tried to roll her shoulder. "I mean, I've been better, but-"
"It looks like your shoulder is dislocated. I- Perhaps I could make a sling out of my jacket until we can get you some medical attention? I'm sure campus security could take you to the hospital-"
Buffy managed a smile, shaking her head. Her brain was telling her to hold up her hand dismissively, but she suddenly realized that it was still cradled within his larger one. It tingled pleasantly. As her fingers brushed against his palm he finally seemed to notice their joined hands as well, coloring slightly as they broke apart. Rubbing the back of his neck, he regarded her expectantly.
"Oh, no. Seriously, I'm fine." Her voice was almost convincing, but her arm hung limply at her side and a purple bruise was quickly forming on her cheekbone.
Shrugging out of the tweed jacket, his tall form stepped closer. "Now really, I must insist." He folded the garment in half, turning it sideways and arranging the arms so that they could be tied together once the makeshift sling cradled her arm. As he was about to reach for her injured extremity three objects fell out of the pocket of his jacket, clattering noisily onto the asphalt. The tinkle of glass was joined by the distinctive cadence of wood and the rustle of paper.
Looking down, Buffy felt her heart jump into her throat as she discovered the identity of the items. A very small notepad, a bottle of holy water and… a very pointy stick, expertly sharpened.
What the hell was her history professor doing with a stake?! He had gone stock still, peering down at the items as though grasping for a way to explain away their presence or perhaps pretending he had never seen them before. The Slayer, in spite of her pain, managed to cross her arms over her chest and raise an eyebrow. English, tweedy, and out in the middle of the night with a pocket full of anti-vamp supplies? In Buffy's experience this generally only meant one thing.
They stared at each other, neither initially willing to tip their hand. The air between them was tense, thick with a mutual cloud of secrets. The penetrating green eyes were not unpleasant to wrestle gazes with, but Buffy didn't have the patience for a lengthy stalemate. She cleared her throat. "So… is that a stake in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
A slight twitch of an eyebrow and a wry smile quirking at the corner of the mouth were his only reaction to Buffy's flippant comment. He knew when he was beaten, but he did still have his dignity after all. 'Professor' Giles sighed, bending to retrieve the fallen items. "Errr, well then. My flat is just a bit further along this path. Will you allow me the honor of tending to your injuries?"
She was about to open her mouth. She wanted to say no, to yell at him and ask why she couldn't go anywhere without the Council haunting her every move like some kind of... creepy stalker. He interrupted her, though, and his words held such respectful sincerity that she felt her anger draining away.
"I promise to explain myself," he said. His expression was serious, but his eyes were kind and steady. Buffy conveyed her agreement with a nod as her feet moved of their own accord. "After all, it's not every night that one meets a Slayer." He twirled the stake, deftly slipping it back into the jacket pocket as they turned onto the narrow garden path.
Shocked at his sudden candor, Buffy stared at his broad back as he led her through the yard. What was he doing here, in Sunnydale? Had he been sent here to keep an eye on her? She already had a Watcher… well, technically. Perhaps her assumptions were incorrect and he wasn't from the Council at all? Shaking her head, Buffy gripped her injured arm and followed Professor Giles through the wild and unkempt back garden. An overgrown trellis dominated the side of the shed, flowers and vines mingling haphazardly.
Twice in two days this man had surprised her. The Slayer's jumbled thoughts turned over and over, remembering in fragments what had happened the last time she met a stranger who was so mysterious and evasively helpful. And good-looking, her traitorous mind added. Fortunately she was far too curious about the tall Englishman to allow thoughts of Angel to overwhelm her again.
He unlocked the door and Buffy followed him cautiously, noticing his care in making no direct gesture of invitation. She was at once eager and frightened to find out more about her suddenly enigmatic professor. Her train of wild conjecture was derailed by the suddenly bright kitchen and a polite inquiry.
"I'll just run and get the first aid kit. Would you care for some tea?"
xxxxx
Steam snaked out of the blue and white china teapot, sending out comforting wisps of bergamot and Moroccan mint. They had a stabilizing effect on Giles as he concentrated on his task, gingerly supporting the Slayer's forearm as he bound her injured wrist. Buffy Summers was perched on a stool in front of his kitchen island, looking battered but calm. The soft light in the room revealed more cuts and scrapes than he had originally noticed, though most were essentially superficial. It certainly had been an interesting day, beginning with her appearance in his class and culminating in this unexpected encounter. He hadn't intended for her to know about him. Not yet. He had his assignment, she had her Watcher, and the Council saw no compelling reason for their business to mix. Apparently the universe had other ideas, however.
She was peering at him, studying his face with quiet attention. Apparently disinterested in his application of first aid, she showed no sign that he was causing her further pain. Her curiosity intrigued him, and was mirrored by his own. He allowed himself the momentary luxury of looking into her eyes- were they grey, green, hazel? He found that her intense focus made him feel self-conscious. Blimey, he was probably even blushing. Carefully, he put the final touches on the binding for her wrist, securing it with a small square of medical tape.
Wiggling her fingers, the Slayer tested the wrapping. Satisfied with his work, she gifted Giles with a small smile. "Thanks."
He answered with a brief grin of his own before returning his attention to the first aid box, looking for antiseptic wipes to tend the cuts on her face. Best to get the easy bits out of the way first, before dealing with her dislocated shoulder.
"So, how long have you been a Watcher? I hear the pay's great but the benefits kinda…suck."
Apparently she'd had enough of the silent tension hovering between them, and decided to cut right to the chase. He paused in his rummaging, mildly surprised by her direct question. He plucked the glasses off of his face, polishing them deliberately for several moments before replacing them. "Interesting choice of words. Gallows humor?" He leaned on the counter, bracing his hands on either side of the first aid kit as he awaited her reply.
"Nah. Not so much with the Marie Antoinette. More like a… Slayer water-cooler joke."
"Marie Antoinette wasn't hanged, she was executed by guillotine." His eyes spotted the antiseptic wipes under a roll of gauze, and he turned his attention to plucking the packets out of the metal box.
"Off with her head, huh? I forgot I'm dealing with history guy. I guess the professor bit isn't a total act."
Ripping open the first antiseptic packet, he looked to her for permission to tend her face. She nodded slightly, watching his hands. "I assure you, my qualifications are in order." The Slayer's eyebrow twitched slightly as he cleaned her largest scrape. "How did you know I was a Watcher? Did you… sense me?" His tone was inquisitive, loitering around the edges of intellectual curiosity.
A slightly puzzled expression came over her features, and she bit her lip thoughtfully. "Sense? You mean like fashion sense? 'Cos I guess the tweed was kind of a giveaway. Watchers don't leave home without it."
He chuckled slightly, trying to ignore the softness of her cheek as his fingers made incidental contact with her skin. "That, errr, wasn't what I was referring to, exactly. Surely Merrick taught you how to sense a Watcher's magic?"
The Slayer's eyes went wide at the mention of her former Watcher. "Merrick? You knew him?"
Dabbing at some of the smaller scrapes, he wondered if he might be revealing too much. "I did."
"How well?" she blurted, hardly letting the response leave his lip before exclaiming. "I mean, I…" She gave an embarrassed laugh, looking down at her bound wrist. "Sorry. Did you know him well?"
With her cuts all taken care of, Giles allowed himself to relax onto the other stool. He reached for the pot of tea, silently inviting her to join him. She pushed her empty teacup forward. He poured the tea, gathering his thoughts. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to tell her- Merrick had been her Watcher, after all. "I knew him quite well, for a time. I trained with him when I was, well, quite a bit younger than I am now." He sipped his tea, letting the warmth spread down his throat and into his stomach. "He taught me many things, both during our acquaintance and afterwards through his diaries. We also exchanged the occasional letter over the years."
She looked at him with awe. "Diaries? You mean those books that he used to write in all the time? You've seen them?"
"Yes, they were returned to the Council after Merrick's, ummm, unfortunate demise. An active Watcher's diaries are generally studied quite meticulously after his passing, and I was privileged to examine them, once…" He could see her eyes filling with tears, cursing his clinical description of the situation. "He was a good man. I am sorry you lost him."
Releasing a ragged sigh, she kept the tears at bay. "Wesley never talks about him. I don't think they knew each other, at least not well. They're certainly nothing alike." The irritated frown on her face caused him unaccountably to smile as he thought of the fierce warrior before him trying to get along with someone as incurably pedantic as Wyndam-Pryce. "I bet you know Wes too, huh? You guys are all like… members of a big spooky country club or something."
"Yes, I'm afraid I do know Wesley. Though I don't believe he is aware of my presence here, and I would prefer to keep it that way." Giles crossed his arms, unable to resist a small grin as his sarcastic response made her beam. Her smile lit up the room like sunshine.
The Slayer leaned forward, carefully sniffing her cup of tea before she chanced a sip. "So what are you doing in Sunnydale?"
Leaning back, he decided to keep his answer simple. He had already told her more than he had intended. He shrugged. "Watching."
She turned her attention away from the tea, glaring at him. "Cryptic much? I've dealt with guys like you before and it usually ends up spelling big trouble for Buffy. You wanna give me a little bit more to go on?"
As interested as he was in her statement about others like him, he put a lid on his desire to know more. "I assure you, if I discover anything significant I shall make sure you receive the necessary information."
"Thanks for the fuzzy and slightly ominous guarantee. If I'm not satisfied, do I get my money back?"
He smiled mildly back at her as an answer, taking in her flushed cheeks and slightly narrowed eyes. She was angry, and he couldn't really blame her. Until he had anything to tell, however, it was best to keep the details of his assignment under wraps.
Standing, Giles motioned for her to do the same. "We should take care of your shoulder." He walked around to stand directly behind her, noticing how her back tensed at his presence. She jumped, startled, as his hand touched her shoulder. "I won't lie. This is going to be painful, but once the shoulder is re-located your range of motion will return very quickly."
She appeared to relax slightly, steadying under his grip. "Okay."
With his other hand he grasped her upper arm, pulling it slightly outward and lining the limb up to get the best possible leverage. His query was softly spoken, breath tickling the shell of her ear. "Ready?"
Nodding, she inhaled unevenly. Wanting to make her discomfort as brief as possible, Giles wrenched her arm upward and pushed the ball of her shoulder down and in. She released a small yelp as the limb popped back into place, slumping against him in pain-drenched relief.
For several moments they were still and silent. His hand was gently holding her arm as he braced himself against the counter for support, her upper back and tousled blonde head leaning against his chest. Gradually, her breathing began to calm, the pressure of her head just above his heart lessening as she steadied. He remained still, not wanting to startle the girl with any quick moves to release her. Absently, he slid his hand down her arm, cupping her elbow supportively.
Once she recovered enough to realize the strange intimacy of their position, the Slayer sprang away from him, looking embarrassed. He himself was alarmed by the way his body thrilled at the smell of her hair, how her skin felt so warm and vital. Had it really been that long since he'd been this close to a woman? Alarm bells rang in the rational part of his mind while the other parts were busy contemplating how wonderful she felt. As was usual for Giles, rationality managed to win out by a narrow margin. He quickly took a different tack, hoping to distract them both from the moment of indiscretion. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you receive these injuries?"
Straightening, the Slayer looked as though she had been snapped out of a trance. "Oh! It was Sunday…" She trailed off, stretching her limbs and rubbing her repaired shoulder.
Giles' eyebrows crinkled. "Sunday? But today is Friday…"
"I guess I should start from the beginning, before this starts sounding like some kind of... Smiths song," Buffy cringed.
xxxxx
Half an hour later, Buffy was on her third cup of tea and had finally finished relating her story about Eddie and the vampire gang to the newly discovered Watcher. She left out not a single detail; she was just happy that someone was finally listening to her, unlike Wesley who might as well have told her to jump off a bridge. His expression was thoughtful as he digested the information, face leaning against his hand. "Well, the evidence is certainly compelling. And you think there may have been other victims on campus?"
Buffy shrugged. "That's the problem- I don't know. Eddie could be the first, the last, the only… I wish I had found out more, but she had me cold. I can't believe I ran away." Shaking her head, Buffy looked down. What would he think of her? She was supposed to be the Slayer, and couldn't even handle a one-on-one battle with a skanky Cyndi Lauper with fangs.
"You were probably right to retreat in this case. They had you surrounded. If you had taken out the leader, the others may not have been so willing to stand by and watch."
He patted her hand, and she wondered how she could already feel so comfortable with him, here in his home. He had given her more care and support in the past hour than she had managed to squeeze out of Wesley in nine excruciating months. "I guess so."
Straightening his back, he regarded her seriously. "Sometimes strategy is imperative when you can't achieve immediate victory. With time and research, you may be able to help others. You are the Slayer, yes, but that doesn't mean that slaying is your only duty."
"Thanks for the reminder. You should try telling that to Wesley sometime!"
"If he doesn't know it already, he's more of a pillock than I thought."
"Just call him Mr. Pillock, then." Buffy tilted her head, wondering why Professor Giles had suddenly turned so pink. "Whatever that means."
He cleared his throat. "Never mind. It's nearly gone half past four, you had better be getting back."
"Damn, is it that late already? Good thing there's no class on Saturdays. I think I could use some R and R. Why do I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day even without double Psych to look forward to?" She sighed, standing up and rolling her neck in a circle.
"Would you like me to drive you? The vampires could still be out there." They walked to the door together.
She flashed him a grateful smile. "Nah. Sun will be coming up in less than an hour. They're probably seeking cover by now. Besides, I'm already pretty well healed up. Your patch job worked wonders."
Examining the area of her face where the most cuts and bruises had been, he looked impressed. The worst were still visible, but fading. "Slayer healing, how fascinating." He reached out a hand as if to touch the spot where the biggest gash still showed, drawing back at the last moment. He looked down briefly, giving her an apologetic look. "Sorry."
"It's cool. Umm… thanks for fixing me up."
"It was no trouble. Please, feel free to come to me anytime you need assistance. If I come across any pertinent information I'll be in touch." He opened the door for her, leaning against the frame as she passed.
Feeling the warmth radiating from his sturdy form as she exited, Buffy shivered involuntarily. Briefly she remembered what it had been like to lean against him, the strength she had felt in his chest and arms as he fixed her shoulder. Definitely of the manly. "Okay. It's been fun."
"Indeed. Oh, and Miss Summers?"
She looked back, meeting his steady green gaze. "Call me Buffy."
"Buffy… your psychology professor, Maggie Walsh? That woman isn't what she seems. I would advise that you use caution around her."
Raising an eyebrow at his unexpected remark, Buffy gave an agreeing nod. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again."
"Goodnight."
Tired mind reeling from all the new information she had absorbed in the past few hours, Buffy broke into a jog upon reaching the sidewalk. Professor Giles was a Watcher who had known Merrick. She wondered what he could have learned from Merrick's diaries, what he must know about her. And hadn't he said something about Watchers and magic? They would so have to pick back up with that thread of the conversation sometime. And his warning about Professor Walsh… it was just one mystery after another.
When she reached Stevenson Hall Buffy let herself into her dorm room as quietly as possible, hoping that she wouldn't disturb Kathy's snores. Her roommate appeared to be out like a light, so the Slayer crossed the room and proceeded to snuggle gingerly beneath her cream and purple floral comforter. Her shoulder was still a bit sore, but the professor had done a good job. It should be fully healed after a few hours' rest. Buffy fell asleep quickly, exhausted, subconscious mind wrapped in remnants of the weirdly satisfying hum that had overtaken her body as a certain Englishman healed and supported her…
xxxxx
The next day when he returned home from his Saturday morning office hours, Giles found an unmarked envelope slipped under his door. It was held closed with a wax medallion bearing an official Council stamp. He pried off the seal as he sat down at the desk, slicing expertly beneath the still-soft red wax. The contents of the envelope were curious. There was no direct communication for him, just a document listing certain enquiries made with the United States Immigration and Naturalization Service with regards to his credentials and employment eligibility. The Council may not have been particularly tech savvy, but they were natural bureaucrats and experts at safeguarding their information. This envelope was their way of telling him that someone was showing an unhealthy interest. His money was on Professor Walsh.
He thought he had been careful, especially while speaking directly with the woman. Sometimes, however, his tendency toward sarcasm could not be kept at bay. He had probably given her too much to wonder about at their last meeting in the library- a person who liked to dissect things as much as she did would scarcely be able to resist.
There was no cause for alarm; even the Initiative wouldn't find any type of paper trail to identify him as a Watcher. As far as he had been able to tell, the Initiative, and the U.S. government by extension, hadn't reached that level of awareness yet concerning the existence of the Slayer or the Council. His information would add up plain on the page for Maggie Walsh to see, and there would be nothing more to it…
…unless the Slayer had reported to Wesley and he had shown an interest. That could complicate matters, although he doubted the man could move so quickly. He almost wished there were classes today, so that he could ask her.
He was also disappointed that he wouldn't have the opportunity to check on her injuries. After all, how could he pass up a chance to see Slayer healing in action? It was pure curiosity, totally academic. Nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he'd been thinking about her all day, almost to the point of distraction. As he rummaged for sandwich ingredients Giles wondered whether it had anything to do with the magic, the call in his blood, telling him to protect and defend the Slayer.
Watchers in general never thought much about the ramifications of the rituals and other magically imbued trials they endured as they became official Council instruments. Most would never even come close to meeting a Slayer, their magics remaining dormant and unheeded. For someone like Giles who had dealt with magic in the past, however, it was a bit more complicated. Add a Slayer to the mix and he couldn't help but notice the sparks that crackled relentlessly in the depths of his abdomen.
Loosening his tie, Giles stared at the slices of whole wheat bread. He held out little hope that a turkey sandwich would calm the flutters, but even a worried Watcher needed to eat.
xxxxx
This is all just too
much for me. I have
decided to take off.
Sorry I didn't have
time to say goodbye but
I need to be by myself.
Good luck this year.
--Buffy
Quite honestly she wasn't sure which was worse; her bedroom at home, or the one at Stevenson hall. The first was already full of packing crates less than a week after she had moved out. The other? Well, her dorm room was now the spitting image of Eddie's, made more stark and unsettling by the still-inhabited appearance of her roommate's half of the space. The bedroom at home had her mother, who kept repeating the phrase, "I didn't think you'd be back so soon" like Buffy was some sort of freak for being there. On the bare mattress in the dorm room, there was the note-- and that was the straw that broke the Slayer's back.
Buffy hated everything about that note. She hated the words, she hated the message, and she hated the way it made her feel when she read it. It made her feel small, and she hated herself for actually agreeing with some of the things that were written on that paper. She was overwhelmed, yes. Did she feel like running away? Probably. But she wasn't going to. She had done the splitsville thing once, and it had been nothing but heartache for herself or anybody else. The further away she tried to get from her past, her friends, her mistakes… the more she tried to escape them, the more they seemed to stay on her mind.
Right now, watching the sunset through the blinds on her window, what she really wished she could do was to go back. Back to a time when she was happier, when she had Merrick and her friends beside her, when her mom hadn't been using her room as extra closet space. Things had changed so much so fast, and all her old comfort zones had fallen off the map. Home with mom was awkward. The high school and its strangely cozy library were toast. Her Watcher was busy with his adding machine. The mansion meant thoughts of Angel and a dozen other types of badness, and that was so not where she wanted her head to be right now. Wasn't there anyplace left in Sunnydale where she could clear her thoughts and just be Buffy again?
Oh. Well, there was that one place…
xxxxx
The afternoon had been a restless one for Giles. He had tried to read, busied himself with cleaning the house, and even attempted to distract himself with television. That had been somewhat of a failure; his pent up energy and his buzzing, tingling insides demanded some sort of physical activity. Thus he had spent the past hour or so doing what any Californian, transplant or otherwise, would do- he jogged, running aimlessly until sunset faded into the purple glow of evening.
Letting himself back into the flat, he took several deep breaths and gave his limbs a final stretch. The run had done its job, and Giles felt like he might finally be able to sit down and do something productive. Failing that, he could always head back out into the darkening night and see what the Initiative were up to. Some of the weekend operations were quite a bit more complex, since the organization's members weren't as busy maintaining their civilian cover.
First things first, though. He toed off his running shoes and crossed the room, peeling off his sweat-dampened white t-shirt as he went. A shower was most certainly the first order of business. Perhaps the steam would further clear his mind and help him decide on a course of action.
xxxxx
"…when it's dark and I'm all alone and I'm scared or freaked out or whatever, I always think, 'What would Buffy do?' You're my hero."
At first she thought that going to The Bronze had been a huge mistake. Visions of Angel from behind Buffy's eyelids seemed to pop out all over the dimly lit space, and the sameness of everything just made her feel even more insignificant than she had to begin with. Thank God for Xander, and the million ways that his earnestly delivered pep talk full of poorly remembered movie quotes was exactly what she needed in this moment. She realized how much she had missed her dark-haired friend, and found that his words built her up tremendously- even enough to ignore his lighthearted comment concerning what she may or may not be wearing.
Breaking into the newspaper office had seemed perfectly reasonable and oddly satisfying after that. Buffy was so relieved that she was beginning to feel like herself again, she was hardly even nervous about it. What had all the Slayers who came before her done without friends like Xander to give them that little boost when they needed it? Slayers weren't supposed to have an entourage, but it had certainly worked for Buffy. She was still here, after all. And Xander was right- she couldn't let one snarky vamp break her. She was still Buffy, definitely not Betty Louise or anybody else, and this Slayer was ready to kick some ass.
The research was fruitful after a fairly short time, largely due to the effectiveness of their teamwork. Xander folded the old newspaper in half and sandwiched it beneath his arm. "So, Psi Theta it is. Who would have thought the vamps would start their own fraternity? Guess they have more school spirit than we knew." Xander shrugged. "Oh well. It's all Greek to me. You ready?"
Buffy rolled her eyes at Xander's cheesy pun and turned her attention back to the map, noticing the location of the abandoned frat house near the farthest edge of campus. She tilted her blonde head, contemplating for a moment. It occurred to her that she had a new acquaintance in that part of town who was British and tweedy, with pockets full of stakes that he might be willing to share. The vamps had stolen her weapons chest, and he had told her to come back any time she needed him, right? She turned to Xander, her changeable gaze now steely gray with resolve.
"Yeah, I'm ready. Just need to make one stop on the way."
xxxxx
Notes for this chapter:
1. Fifty million bonus points to anyone who can guess what tea Giles is serving when Buffy visits his flat… (no guessing,
littleotter73 !)2. Marie Antoinette was beheaded on 16 October, 1793.
3. The 'Smiths song' Buffy mentions is actually Every Day is Like Sunday by Morrissey. At least she was close!
Part three, this way!