XVI
The clock read eight-fifteen when Buffy woke up, a little surprised Giles hadn't called her yet, especially with Lovejoy and company due in forty-five minutes. And he was always complaining about how long it took her to get ready.
He wasn't in the parlor, nor in the kitchen. Maybe he'd overslept, too. Then she heard a thump and a muffled curse from upstairs. Nope. He was awake.
"Giles?" she called. Both doors stood open as they usually did. "Giles?" she called again heading up the narrow steps.
He wasn't immediately visible in the small room, but there was a pile of boxes in the middle of the floor, boxes which hadn't been there the night before. "Giles?" she called again. "Where are you?"
At the far end of the narrow room was a small door, about waist high. And it was out of there a disheveled Giles poked his head. "In here," he said disconsolately. "In a flat panic."
"Why?" she laughed as he ducked back in. "What's in there?"
"God only knows," his voice carried through the opening. He followed it a moment later, pushing yet another box. "All along I kept thinking there were a lot fewer...things...than I thought there ought to be. But I figured he'd just got rid of some of it. A pretty lame notion-he never got rid of anything. But I woke up this morning suddenly remembering this storage area. And the bloody thing's absolutely crammed!"
"Anything important?"
"I don't know!" he whined. "And the appraisers are due within the hour."
He was almost beside himself with fretting. "Well, okay, here, let me help you. We don't need to catalog anything, do we? I mean, that's what Lovejoy's gonna do, right? All we need to do is see what's in them so we know if we want to keep it."
"All right. Why don't you...see what's left in there and I'll start going through this lot."
"I'm on it," she grinned and ducked into the cubbyhole to pull out boxes.
Most of the stuff was useless: old dishes, decorations, a box of old record albums which were warped from too many summers in a hot attic. And, of course, more books. Mostly they looked like legal volumes so could easily be gotten rid of, but there were some old historical ones Giles set aside for himself.
Buffy had gone back inside for more boxes when she heard him gasp. "Oh, my God."
"What?" She poked out of the cupboard.
He had the most peculiar look on his face: shock, amazement, surprise, delight, embarrassment, awe.
"What is it?" she asked again.
He didn't say anything, just looked at the box, speechless. She crawled over to him, wanting to see what he saw. On the top of the box was an old, scruffy teddy bear. Obviously well-loved, minus one ear and most of its fur.
"Was that yours?" she asked, picking up the old bear. He was partly filled with sawdust and he leaked when she moved him.
He nodded. "Until I was six. Then my father said big boys didn't keep teddies. And I never saw him after that. I assumed they'd got rid of him, but she must have put him in here." He shook his head.
"What else is in there?" She kept the teddy bear in the crook of her arm and looked at the contents of the rest of the box. It was filled with memorabilia of a boy; child's composition books, grade reports, a couple of childish drawings. An envelope contained a curled lock of sandy blond hair.
"First haircut?"
"I have no idea. I assume it was something like that."
There was a tiny red bow tie. "First tie?"
He nodded. "That I do remember. I'm surprised the whole bloody suit isn't here. It was blue, with short pants. I was five, and I hated it."
"I think I remember it in the pictures," she said. "How do you know it's not?"
"What's not?"
"In here. The suit." She looked into the box again, feeling something wrapped in tissue. "Maybe this is it."
He took the bundle from her, folded back a corner of the tissue, then smoothed it out again. "No, that's not the suit." He set it back in the box carefully.
"What is it?"
He swallowed. "It's my christening gown."
"Your what?"
"Christening gown." He pulled the bundle out again, slipped a finger under and loosened the tape. Inside the tissue was a tiny long white baby dress, all crocheted lace. Tucked inside was an envelope. He pulled it out and she looked at the certificate of baptism, dated just a few weeks after he was born, and a photograph of his parents holding their infant son in his long white gown. His mother was beaming, and his father looked so proud....
Buffy studied the photo intently. "This is so cool."
"I had no idea she'd kept any of this."
She passed him back the photo. "Well, you're gonna keep it, aren't you?"
"What for?"
"To keep." What kind of question was that?
"But for what purpose? It's been forty years here, taking up space. If I take it home it'll just take up more space. I never even knew these things existed. Most of them I have no memories of. They serve no purpose."
"At least keep the teddy bear."
"He's falling apart, Buffy. I've managed almost forty years without him. Well, once I got over being devastated at losing him, that is. I don't see any point in...."
"You have to keep him."
"Why?"
She grinned. "'Cause I'll tell Willow about him otherwise."
He chuckled. "I don't care if you tell Willow. He's just an old bear, from when I was very small." He shook his head. "I can't get over her keeping all of this."
"I can," Buffy said. "Mothers keep stuff. When I was little we lost a bunch of stuff in an earthquake. Including a box of my baby stuff. And my mom always said it was the one thing she was sorriest about losing, because that stuff couldn't ever be replaced. I think she wanted me to have it when I was older, I don't know, maybe to pass on to my kids." She looked at him. "Maybe that's why your mother kept it, too. Something to pass on to your children."
She couldn't quite decipher his look: gentleness, but a touch of sadness, too, she thought. "You know I don't have children."
"Well...someday, maybe."
He smiled kindly. "Except for you, that is. If you'd like to keep any of it, though I have no idea why ever for, you're welcome to do so."
"You mean it?"
"Buffy, you're probably the closest thing to a daughter I'll ever have. We've been playing at father and daughter all week, we might as well just extend the metaphor."
She looked at him curiously. "You really think of me as your daughter?"
"No," he said immediately. "I think of you as my slayer. And I am your watcher. And that goes far beyond father and daughter. Beyond friend, beyond mentor, beyond teacher, beyond consort.... I've often tried to find the words to describe what we are to each other. And the only ones I can come up with...are watcher and slayer."
She got to her knees, putting her arms around him and hugging him tight. He was right. It wasn't father and daughter. She had a father, thanks, and she loved him a lot. But it wasn't just friend, either. It was more than that, so much more. He was her watcher. He was her Giles.
She let him go, looking again at the box. "I don't know what I'd do with all that stuff, either," she admitted. "But I'd like to keep the bear."
He made a face. "He's falling apart, Buffy.
And he smells."
She picked the beat-up teddy bear up, sniffing. "He smells like mothballs. A little airing out ought to
take care of that. And I can sew up his tears, keep
him from leaking any more." She stroked a hand across his battered head. "Maybe give him a prosthetic ear."
He chuckled, stroking the teddy bear, too. "All right, if you'd like to keep him, you may," he said.
She smiled, hugging the bear lightly, not wanting any more stuffing to leak out. She just adored the idea of cuddling Giles's old teddy bear. It was stupid, she knew, but she couldn't help it. Somehow it made her feel closer to him, made him that much more real. He wasn't just her watcher, he was a real person named Rupert Giles who had a teddy bear when he was little. That was...neat.
"He'll sit on the shelf in my room with all my other stuffos," she explained. "He have a name?"
"Not that I can recall."
"Can I give him one?"
He looked sideways at her. "Why am I petrified at what you're going to come up with?"
She grinned. "I want to call him Bertie."
"I'll never forgive Elizabeth for letting that slip," he sighed. "The last time I was called Bertie, I think I was wearing that tie."
"I think it's cute," she insisted.
"You would." He chuckled. "All right, if you want to call the bear Bertie, you can. But how he got his name is something you may not share with the others."
"Cross my heart," she vowed. But she knew that as soon as she told Willow the bear's name she'd figure out where it came from.
He stood up, folding the lid of the box back up. "How much is still in there?"
"Just another couple. See, aren't you glad you went through them?"
"Not as much as you are, I'll venture to say," he commented wryly. She just grinned, set the bear safely back on the bed, and ducked back into the closet.
The last two boxes were more old decorations, vases, flower pots and other items which had no value to him. They were just finishing with the last one when the doorbell rang.