The Soulmate Series

Losing Your Life (Chapter Twenty-Eight of Soulmates)

Giles isn’t Buffy’s Watcher anymore. He isn’t anyone’s Watcher.

Willow can scarcely believe what has happened. So, despite the fact that Giles asked specifically to be left alone, she’s going to see him. It’s better than sitting at home for another night, worrying about what that last conversation with Angel might mean, and besides, she has a feeling that, out of everyone, she’s the one Giles would least mind having with him right now, because she’s the one who could come the closest to understanding what he’s going through. He’s had his whole life ripped out from under him for no good reason, all because he was doing what he thought was right.

Yeah, Willow understands what that’s like.

It’s daylight still, but it seems gloomy and dark, perhaps because someone she cares about is going through something so horrible. Being a Watcher means everything to Giles; he’s sacrificed so much for his calling, more than Willow ever thought about before, and this is how he’s been repaid. She hates the Watchers’ Council right now. If she were at their headquarters right now, she’d set the whole place ablaze, watch them scream and beg for their lives, make them suffer.

She should despise herself for such fantasies, and all the more because she knows she’d more than likely carry them out, given opportunity and a match, but she doesn’t, maybe because she so desperately needs villains she can just hate on a visceral, primal level, without any complications getting in the way. Complications like the ones that keep her from being able to spew her venom on her own tormentor.

But she’s not going to think about herself and her own despair right now. Today is about Giles and his pain, his anguish. There are so many tomorrows for Willow to think about her misery. So, as she stands in front of Giles’ door and knocks, she clears her mind of everything but the man she thinks of as a father and resolves to listen and care and do her best to make things better.

She knocks. There is movement inside, she can hear the shuffle of footsteps, but he doesn’t answer the door. For a moment she thinks of leaving, but something tells her to stay, so she knocks again. Another long moment, but this time she hears the footsteps approach the door, then a clumsy working of the locks she thought he never used, and then the door opens.

Giles is bleary-eyed and reeks of scotch. She’s not surprised that he’s drunk, but it makes her sad. He must have drunk so much in a short time to get to this state.

“Hi, Giles.”

“Willow?” He peers at her through squinted lids, even that one word slurred as he speaks.

“I was going to say that I wanted to check on you and see if you’re okay. But I kind of already knew that you’re not. And that makes sense, what with everything that happened today. So the truth is, really, that I figured that you might need someone to talk to and I thought I might be as good a person as any.”

She watches the emotions he’s too inebriated to hide play across his face: the trace of reserve that makes him want to send her away, the shock that she’s here, and the gratitude - the gratitude that evokes so much pathos.

“Come in. I-I apologize for the state of things, I just...”

“It’s okay. I showed up unannounced. That means I won’t judge you on how untidy your apartment is.” She’s trying for a bit of levity. It may or may not have come off, but Giles seems thankful for it just the same.

“Yes, well, th-that is most appreciated.” Even drunk, Giles still has that formality that sets him apart even from the other adults in Willow’s world. She’s glad of that. She’s never told him, but it’s one of the things she likes best about him, something that speaks so much of who he is, or at least who she believes him to be.

She sits down on the sofa, hoping he’ll join her, worried that standing will lead to him falling down in some undignified manner that will make her cry. She doesn’t want to cry, not tonight, not when she wants so much to be a rock. After a few seconds, she pats a place a comfortable distance away from her and hopes he’ll get the hint. Bless him, he does.

Clumsily, he lands, more than sits, on the couch beside her, but quickly moves to get up again. “Tea. I should make you some tea.”

Her hand on his arm restrains him. “Giles, really, no. I’m not thirsty. Just stay right here, okay?”

He looks at her rather sadly. “You think I’m intoxicated, don’t you?”

What does one answer to a question like that? “Umm...yeah, kind of. I mean, you are, aren’t you?”

There’s a sigh before his answer. “Yes.” He pauses before speaking again. “You should leave. It’s not appropriate for you to see me in this condition.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? And besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen you like this before. You were drinking the night that...well, on a really bad night a while back and...” She could kick herself. Way to go, Willow. Remind him of the death of the woman he loved. You’re really good at this cheering up thing.

His eyes are shadowed but soft, somehow, and she’s surprised there are no tears. “I’m certainly setting a poor example. You know, this is not the right thing to do, turning to alcohol every time there’s a crisis in one’s life. I hope you don’t ever model your behaviour on mine.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Obviously you haven’t. It’s not as if you haven’t been through a crisis or two of your own lately. Perhaps I ought to learn something from you.”

There’s nothing she can say to that. It’s not as if Giles knows that she almost committed suicide a couple of weeks ago, after all, so she just changes the subject.

“What happened, Giles? I know some of it from Buffy, but she was so big on ‘not worrying’ me that pretty much all she said was that you’d been fired and that you didn’t want to see anyone. I don’t see how she thought that was the explanation that wouldn’t worry me, but...well, that’s Buffy, I guess.” She smiles, letting Giles know that her words were meant with affection - which they were. Buffy screws up as often as (or more often than) she gets it right, but her intentions are as good as good can be; Willow can’t fault her on that score.

Giles seems to be struggling to sober up enough to collect his thoughts. Willow would offer to make him coffee, but she’s got a feeling that if she leaves the room, something will be lost, so she stays right where she is and hopes Giles can tell the tale all on his own.

“Of course you remember Buffy’s birthday.”

“Well, yeah, it was yesterday. I even went to her house and gave her that new top, remember?”

“Yes, yes, quite right.” Giles seems almost irked with her for interrupting, so she looks at him apologetically and he continues. “Well, there’s a test that Slayers are supposed to be given on their eighteenth birthday, a test that all Slayers are supposed to pass and...well...I didn’t test Buffy.”

Okay, Buffy wasn’t the best test-taker in the world, but Willow had a feeling that Slayers probably didn’t get a written exam, so why was Giles so reluctant to give this test to Buffy? She was a fantastic Slayer, probably the best who’d ever lived. She could pass any test with ease.

“Why didn’t you...?”

“Because I would have had to take her powers, leave her helpless. And after...well, after, how could I possibly do such a thing?”

Oh. Willow couldn’t have spoken now if her life depended on it; she could not have found the words. One more thing that was her fault. If only she had never told Giles she’d ben raped, he’d still be a Watcher. Because of what happened to her, he hadn’t tested Buffy...he’d lost his job - his vocation - all because of her.

She found her voice after a minute. “I’m sorry.”

Giles looked utterly dumbfounded. “My dear girl, what are you sorry for?”

“Because it’s my fault. Because you’re not a Watcher anymore because of me...”

“Don’t. Because I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you...sorry I can’t do anything to make things better for you. And I’m even sorrier that without what happened to you, I would have cruelly given that test to Buffy. I would have taken away her powers, put her through so much pain and fear... I am so grateful that you saved me from doing that. I could never have forgiven myself.” His eyes are clear and Willow could swear he’s sober, at least sober enough that he’ll mean what he’s said tomorrow. “How could I ever live with myself after doing something like that to her? She’s like a daughter to me.” There’s a pause during which Willow’s heart nearly shatters.

“So are you, you know. I realize I’ve never said anything, and heaven knows I haven’t proven to be very good at the job, but you’ve always been the daughter I never had. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t able...and that I’ve never let you know that.”

Willow’s eyes are full of tears as she speaks, her words a hoarse whisper. “I know.”

"You and Buffy and Xander are...well...my family, really. Of course, that’s the problem, at least according to Quentin Travers. He says that my fondness for Buffy, my fondness for all of you, makes me an incompetent Watcher, that I’m not fit for the job. He’s sending someone else, a traditional Council type, to take over. And now all I will be is a librarian.”

This is almost more than she can bear. How could anyone say such things to Giles? As if Buffy would be half the Slayer she is without him. Giles could never be just a librarian.

“Giles, you’ll always be Buffy’s Watcher, no matter what that creep from the Council says. The fact that you don’t follow their stupid rules makes you better than they are, not worse. You make a difference, a real difference. Don’t listen to them. What have they ever done besides sit around in their ivory tower pretending that they know about demons and darkness, making arbitrary rules and pretending that they’re important in the fight against evil? As if evil gives a damn about rules! They don’t know anything!” Willow is nearly shouting as she finishes, more overcome than she should be. Her feelings have bled out and now she’s wondering what Giles thinks of her rather heated outburst.

He looks at her with so much understanding. “No, indeed, they’re not much help, are they?”

“They didn’t even bother to warn you about Gwendolyn Post. Did you actually buy that excuse about the memo?”

As an attempt to lighten the mood, it’s clumsy, but Giles chuckles in a way that Willow almost believes isn’t forced. “No, I must confess that I never really thought they were being entirely truthful on that score.”

“Jerks.” As an understatement, that word takes the cake, but it gets an even more genuine chuckle from Giles and that’s what matters most.

“Indeed, there are other words I might use, but you’re not old enough to hear them.”

“Shucks. Spoilsport.” She snaps her fingers and achieves a decent simulacrum of a playfully downcast expression. The least she can do is try to resurrect the old optimistic and cheerful Willow from the ashes she sometimes think are all that’s left of her.

None of it, however, seems to have fooled Giles in the slightest. “How are you holding up, Willow?”

Just what she didn’t come here to do: answer questions about herself. But if she must, she must, so she takes a quiet breath and composes herself. She knows she looks calm and strong as she says, “I’m fine. Really. It’s not easy, but I’m getting through it.”

He looks pensive. “You’re a better liar than you used to be. That’s a frightening thing.”

If Willow was hoping he was sarcastic, her hopes are quickly dashed. Nothing in his tone or mien gives the slightest hint of even the driest of dry British humour. She decides to pretend he was joking anyway.

“Oh yeah, I’m real scary.”

This time she’s not getting away with it. “You are, Willow. I’m very worried about you.” His eyes are full of concern and fear and Willow is torn between so many different emotions. There is nothing she can do but burst into tears - they cover all the bases in the mad landscape of her psyche right now.

There are arms around her now and soothing murmurs of “there, there” and other words she can’t quite make out. The more she cries, the guiltier she feels. She was supposed to be here to support him, not burden him with her weakness and sorrow. She struggles to pull herself together and sits up as he senses she wants him to let her go.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because here I am crying all over you and you’re the one who’s having the bad time and...”

“I wasn’t raped and I wasn’t set on fire by my own parents. I think it’s safe to say that you’ve had a worse time of it than I have.”

“But Giles, they took away your...your vocation today. I mean, this is what you worked your whole life for and...”

He holds his hand up, forestalling her from saying anything more. “Willow, as you so eloquently pointed out, I will always be Buffy’s Watcher. She herself said as much earlier today and, strangely enough, your assertion makes me even more certain it’s true than ever. Yes, this has been a blow and yes, I indulged in a rather dramatic bout of self-pity and excessive drinking, but deep down, I know that everything will work itself out. For me, at least. But...you...you have no such luxury.”

There’s no getting past this. “No, I really don’t. But that doesn’t mean that I should wallow in it and expect everyone to cater to me or anything. I mean, I’m always going to feel...not good. And I’m just going to have to learn to live with that - toughen up, you know?”

“You shouldn’t have to. It isn’t fair.”

How many times has she herself thought that very thing? Hysteria wells up within her, but she tamps it down. “That’s not the point, is it? Life isn’t fair.” Trite, but what else can she say? She isn’t ready to let go and open herself up to all those horrible thoughts and feelings that roil around her mind, especially not with Giles.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” There’s something almost frightening about his intuition as he concurs with her platitude. He can see the line and he pulls back rather than step across.

“When are they going to send the new bozo?” Willow’s back ‘on’ now, playing the role. Giles sighs, but allows it without further objection.

“Soon, I’m sure.”

“Well, cheer up. Just wait ‘til he meets Faith. Can you imagine her with some by-the-book Council drone?”

Genuine laughter results from that observation, on both their parts.

“Indeed, that’s better revenge than even I could concoct.”

“The new guy’s toast.”

Silence follows a slightly weaker bout of merriment and it soon turns awkward. Time, she knows, to take her leave, to head home to her empty house.

She gets up from the sofa, Giles standing quickly as well.

“I’d better be going.”

“Yes, I’m sure your parents will be worried.” That remark catches her too far off-guard for her to cover her reaction in time. Giles notices and tumbles to the truth.“They’re not home, are they?”

“Not really, no. They’ve been gone since the day after...you know.” Willow really doesn’t want to talk about the fact that the last time she saw her mother was with a torch in her hand, about to set her daughter on fire.

“They just...left?”

“Yeah. I went downstairs the next morning and they were already gone.” She stops him before he can sympathize. She can’t take it. “It’s no big deal, okay? Really. I’m used to this.”

For a moment, she’s blissfully assured that Giles is letting the matter drop, but then...

“Those wretched... How on Earth can they treat you so badly?”

“It’s okay, Giles.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is. Really.” And then she goes farther, says something she has always known would open her up to more pain than she can bear if she gave voice to it. “After all, I have you.”

But the expected blast of agonizing cold water, the politely-delivered rejoinder that what he’d said earlier had simply been an inebriated attempt to make her feel better, never comes. What happens instead is that her eyes lock with eyes filled with fatherly concern and affection. “Yes, you do.”

Those three words mean everything to her right now. Maybe he really does see her as a daughter, maybe it really is okay that she sees him as the father she’s always wanted. Maybe tomorrow when he wakes up, he’ll still mean it. Please let it be so.

Moments pass and then, once again, there’s that awkward sense of having stayed too long. This time, she really has to leave. She’s too tempted to unburden herself, to tell a man who was also wronged by Angel - albeit without his soul - the truths she’s still hiding, and she knows she can’t do that.

“I’m gonna go home now, you know, before it gets really dark.”

“Are you sure you’ll be safe? You’re more than welcome to stay here.”

“No, but thanks. I just kind of need to sleep in my own bed and all, you know?”

“Are you quite sure?”

Why is he asking again? Can’t he just let her go? “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“I know I asked this before, but are you quite sure there isn’t anything you need to tell me?”

“Giles, this maybe isn’t the best time for that, okay?” The tears are back and Willow is wondering how she’ll get home if she can’t see clearly.

He’s a bit abashed. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to...I’m quite sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just...I just want to go home. We can talk another day. But really, there isn’t anything I need to talk about. I’m serious.”

He may or may not believe her, but he acts as if he does and all that’s left is to exchange good-byes and then Willow is out the door and into the descending twilight. Soon she’ll be home.

Home. Funny how some words don’t mean anything at all. Still, at least it’s somewhere safely away from Giles’ discerning eyes or Angel’s oppressive obsession, so it has something to recommend it. It may not be where the heart is, but emptiness isn’t the least of all virtues, is it? She keeps walking, and she tries to be upbeat when she reaches her destination and unlocks the door to her silent house. Welcome home, Willow.


Tbc...