II
Buffy stared out the window at the clouds below them reflecting the late-afternoon sun. Next to her, Giles was reading. No news there.
Things had been awkward between them this morning. He'd picked her up, made sure she had her passport and her suitcase, then drove them to school silently. It was like he was still mad at her, but she wasn't sure if he was mad because she'd meddled, or if he was mad because of what had happened to Ms. Calendar. Or if it was something else entirely.
When they got to school, he reminded her to be at the library at noon, and they'd gone their separate ways. When she got to the library, he wordlessly locked his office and escorted her from the building, remaining mostly silent throughout the drive to the airport.
It was only once they'd gone through customs and were waiting at the gate that he seemed to relax.
"I'm sorry this won't be more of a vacation for you," he said quietly. "I doubt we'll even get to London."
"That's okay," she answered. "We can do that next time."
He smiled, and she was grateful for the expression, one of the first she'd seen since he got that letter on Tuesday.
"Where exactly are we going?" she asked.
"The town is called Chalworth; it's quite small, located about three hours west of London."
"I guess I need to study my English geography."
"You're unlikely to have seen Chalworth on any map. But you might have heard of Bath, or Bristol, two of the larger towns nearby."
"All I know about Bath is that the Wife came from there."
"What? Oh, yes," he chuckled. "I don't suppose you've ever read The Canterbury Tales."
"Only the Cliff Notes version," she admitted. "I didn't get the point."
He smiled. "Well, I have some bad news for you, Buffy. My father's house is filled with books, and none of them are the, uh, Cliff Notes version. Not only that, but unless he got radical in his old age, there won't even be a television."
Buffy curled her lip. "Yikes. Well," she sighed, then gave him an innocent smile, "I guess you'll just have to entertain me."
He raised his eyebrows. "Well, that should prove to be a distraction, if nothing else."
"Distraction is good," she smiled. Then her smile faded. "Isn't it?"
He looked at her, the sadness back, but some gentleness in his expression, too. "It is." His gaze was still intense, and it was all Buffy could do to keep from squirming. "I'm sorry for yesterday, Buffy," he said quietly.
"So'm I," she whispered.
"I know you mean well, and I appreciate your concern, honestly. But...but there are things I'm simply not prepared to discuss right now. I can't."
"But I-"
He held up a hand. "Shh. No more." The hand rested on her shoulder. "This week...will be a difficult one. I agreed to your coming along because I...well, I wanted to get you out of Sunnydale for awhile. But I also wanted you with me because you can make me smile. I think I'm going to need that, these next few days. But I need the Buffy full of strength, courage and good humour. Not the one who's afraid, cowering, and slinking around apologizing every other minute. All right?"
She looked at him, wanting more than anything to be everything he needed her to be. "I'll try," she said softly.
He gave her a smile. "Good girl."
They boarded the plane, a cramped 727 which would take them on the first leg to Montreal. Buffy got the window seat with Giles sitting next to her silently. He made sure she had everything she needed: a soda, a pillow, a magazine. But other than that, made no attempt at conversation. It wasn't like he was purposely shutting her out, it was more like he was...preoccupied. It just didn't occur to him that she'd want to talk.
And to be fair, she didn't know what she wanted to talk about anyway. She just wanted to know that she could. But his nose was buried in a book like usual, so it wasn't even an option.
Buffy sighed, looking out the window again, watching as the reflection of the sun faded off the clouds. If this was how it was going to be, it was going to be a long trip.
After a brief layover in Montreal, they boarded a wide-bodied jet for the final leg of the journey. So far, Buffy had been very quiet, but Giles could tell she was watching him uncertainly. As if she wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say. Or how to say it. He felt a little guilty that he'd spent the first leg of the flight reading, or rather, pretending to read, so as not to have to face her and talk to her. Sometimes her dear concern was more than he could handle. He hoped bringing her on this trip wasn't a mistake. They'd be spending a lot of time together, in close quarters. If the present level of tension continued throughout the trip, they'd likely be at each other's throats before too long. They were both capable, if they set their minds to it, of savaging each other quite thoroughly. Some of her flip comments had been too often uncomfortably close to the mark. And he'd had to bite his tongue on more than one occasion before he said something he knew he'd later regret.
Perhaps once they got to England, once he saw for himself exactly how his father was.... Perhaps he'd settle down then. He had to hope so. For both their sakes.
Giles again gave Buffy the window seat, but this time there were only two seats in the row, giving him an aisle seat and a little more room to stretch out. Airplane seats were definitely not made for the long-legged. Buffy sat, as usual, with her legs tucked under her, and he envied her the ability to curl up like that. But she suggested he stretch his legs out in front of her seat, a move which made him feel less cramped.
Following the obligatory drinks run, the flight crew dimmed the lights and passed out pillows and blankets. They also started the movie, some inane comedy even Buffy refused to watch. As it would be after noon before they arrived in London, they would need to get their rest now.
Easier said than done. Giles closed his eyes, thin blanket pulled over him, and willed sleep to come. But it remained stubbornly elusive. He was tired; he hadn't slept well in weeks, not since.... By now, he was so exhausted he ought to just be able to close his eyes and let go. But he was too aware of his surroundings: the soft conversation of the people behind him, the drone of the jet engines, the dim flicker of the film, and most especially of the young woman at his side. She curled on her side, blanket tucked up to her chin, her knees pressing against his thigh. Her proximity wasn't uncomfortable, he was just very aware of her.
He watched her for several moments; observed the dark shadows beneath her closed eyes, the paleness of her complexion. She still wasn't back to full strength after her bout with flu earlier in the month. He probably shouldn't have allowed her to
come with him. But he'd wanted to get her out of
Sunnydale, away from Angel and his insane
obsession.
She sighed and wriggled, tucking the blanket closer to her chin with a sniff.
"Are you all right?" he whispered.
Her eyes opened. "I'm freezing. There's, like, this draft all along the outside wall here."
"Do you want to switch seats?"
She shook her head. "But I could use another blanket."
He pressed the attendant's button, then stood up and reached for his jacket from the overhead bin. When the attendant came by, he asked for a second blanket, then gave Buffy the blazer. "Slip that on, it'll help."
She pulled the jacket on; the sleeves hung down well past her fingertips and she grinned, rolling them back. The second blanket arrived and he used it along the bulkhead, forming a barrier between it and Buffy. She tucked up again and he smoothed the blanket over her. "Better?"
She nodded. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," he smiled.
She settled down again and he watched her for several minutes. She wasn't asleep, he could tell. Perhaps she'd been having as much trouble sleeping lately as he had. Not that that was surprising. Well, with luck, they'd be able to sleep in most days. Their time would be spent visiting his father in the convalescent home until... Until it was over. And then dealing with the house and the arrangements. Stressful, but not really taxing, at least not for Buffy. Perhaps the open spaces and slow pace of Chalworth would do her good.
He closed his eyes again, willing himself to relax.