VI
When awareness first tickled the edges of Giles's consciousness, he held his breath, dreading what was to come. But a slight movement of his head didn't bring the expected headache crashing against his skull. He hesitantly opened his eyes, waiting for the pain, surprised when there was none. He felt slightly...disconnected, as if his reality wasn't quite real. And the inside of his mouth was gummy and pasty. But considering what he'd done to himself last night, he really felt surprisingly decent.
Of course, he hadn't actually tried to get up yet, either.
He sat up cautiously, wary of any sudden movement. On the nightstand was a glass of water and he drank it gratefully, wondering where Buffy had learned about the treatment for hangovers. For it was certainly Buffy who had left it for him, just as it was Buffy who had left his pajamas, now crumpled at the foot of the bed. He glanced down at himself in disgust. He always felt so grubby when he slept in his clothes. But he hadn't been in any shape to get undressed last night. He'd been lucky to have made it to bed, and he knew he had Buffy to thank for that as well.
He rubbed a hand over his stubbly face. He couldn't see the bedside clock clearly without his glasses, but from the quality of the light, it was probably some time after seven. He needed to get cleaned up and go next door to use the phone. There were people who needed to be contacted.
At the memory of yesterday, a chasm yawned open in his chest, making his breath catch. His father was dead. It still didn't seem real, hadn't sunk in. Perhaps today, dealing with all the arrangements, would bring it home. Only he didn't know if that would make the ache in his heart worse or better.
He swung carefully out of bed. While he didn't feel too bad, all things considered, he also didn't feel like pushing it. He shuffled off to the bathroom. He'd let Buffy sleep in. Poor thing, she probably needed it. She hadn't been sleeping well before this, and then to have to pick up the pieces yesterday when he self-destructed.... She deserved better than that.
There was no hot water. Giles realized the fire had probably gone out in the stove and Buffy hadn't known how to re-stoke it. A trip to the kitchen confirmed his suspicions, and it was the work of just a few minutes to fill the hopper and get the fire going again. He'd need to show Buffy how to tend the stove.
While waiting for the water to heat, he went upstairs, hoping he could get his clean clothes without disturbing her. The stairway doors were open, probably to let as much heat as possible filter up from downstairs, not that it did much good last night. Poor Buffy, how had she fared all night up there?
A glance at the empty bed told him that she hadn't and he frowned. Where could she be? He grabbed his clothes and headed downstairs again, worried now, his imagination working overtime. Chalworth was an exceptionally safe place, especially for a slayer. But there were always dangers.
When he entered the parlour, he let his breath out in relief. She was curled up on the couch, fast asleep, a blanket pulled up to her nose. She must have been freezing last night. He smiled affectionately; she looked so young in sleep, so innocent.
Guessing there would be hot water by now, he went back to the bathroom to clean up and get dressed. Simply washing the previous day's grunge away made him feel considerably more human, and a shave went a long way toward improving his appearance. If his complexion still looked a little gray, if there were still shadows under his eyes, they could be easily dismissed as being caused by grief, rather than by far too much whiskey.
Back in the parlour, Giles noticed that the room was beginning to warm up. Buffy was still asleep, though she sniffled and shifted slightly, pushing the blanket down to her chin. He frowned; he didn't want to wake her, but if she woke on her own and found him gone....
"Buffy?" he called softly. He bent close and touched her shoulder and she slowly opened her eyes, blinking to focus. "Why are you sleeping down here?"
She rubbed at sleepy eyes. "Too cold up there. And the couch isn't that much lumpier."
"I'm sorry. The fire went out. We've got heat again, it'll warm up soon."
They gazed at each other for a long moment, awkwardly.
"You okay?" she asked, her voice still small from sleep.
He nodded. "Better than I have any right to be, actually." He gazed at her again. "I'm sorry about last night."
"'S okay," she said with a tiny shrug. "I understand."
"But you shouldn't have to...."
"This week will be full of strong emotions, you said. We'd better get used to it."
He smiled, hearing his words repeated back at him. "I-I have to go next door, use the phone. People I need to call. If...if you want to get some more sleep, the bedroom is free again."
She smiled and tried to cover up a yawn. "What time's it?"
"A little after eight. You can go back to bed if you want. I just didn't want you to wake up and not find me here."
A look flashed across Buffy's face, too quickly for him to catch it. "Thanks."
Another look passed between them: still awkward, getting better. "I'd better go." He reached down and brushed a lock of hair from her face, a gesture that turned into a gentle caress of her cheek. "Back in a few." She didn't say anything, just gazed at him with those wide, wonderful accepting eyes, the ones which seemed to comfort him by their mere glance. "I'm very grateful you're here."
"So'm I," she whispered and they shared a smile.
Then he left her side, heading for Mrs. Peavey's.
He was back within half an hour, expecting to find Buffy still asleep, or rather, back asleep, and was surprised to hear splashing and off-key singing coming from the bathroom. He smiled. Ah, the resilience of youth. Had he ever had that much energy? He went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, fixing a cup of tea. A quick check of the larder revealed scones and jam as well as milk, bread, cheese, cookies, juice, ham, pickles, plus other essentials: paper towels, toilet paper, soda, teabags. He smiled. She'd done well. It wasn't much, but it was enough to live on for a few days. He found the package of lightbulbs and took one, changing the bulb in the stairway, pleased to be able to see the stairs again.
His tea was done and he took it and a scone through to the dining room, shaking his head at the mound of books and papers which covered the small table. More things to be gone through. Rather than clearing a spot, he went into the parlour, sitting on the couch instead. It was still warm from Buffy's presence and he smiled. He felt bad about what he'd put her through last night and vowed to make it up to her. He'd had his wallow; now it was time to act responsibly.
He heard the bathroom door open. "I'm back," he called.
"Hi," she called back. "Be there in a minute."
"Take your time." He got up, heading into the hallway. "Do you want toast or a scone?"
"Scone."
"Tea, milk or juice?"
"Juice." She poked her head out of the bedroom, tugging a sweater over her head. "What, are you playing stewardess?"
He chuckled. "I just figured as long as I was out here...."
She laughed and ducked back into the bedroom and he went into the kitchen, finding a glass and pouring her juice. He set out a scone and the jam jar, then went back to the parlour, sitting down and thumbing through the magazine on the top of the nearest stack.
She came out a few minutes later, her damp hair pulled back in one of those atrocious clips all the girls were so fond of, a long-sleeved sweater and jeans, and thick socks. He briefly wondered if she was the type to go in for those awful fuzzy animal slippers he'd seen in the shops.
She flopped onto the couch next to him, drinking her juice and munching on her scone. He smiled. She'd been so responsible, so adult last night. Today she was just a teenager, a bright, energetic spot of delight in his life.
"So how'd it go?" she asked.
"What?"
"Next door. Whoever you had to call."
"Oh, fine. Mrs. Peavey will take care of the friends and neighbors. I think she's pleased to do it-gives her something to do."
"Knowing Mrs. Peavey, she'll probably call the whole town," Buffy grinned.
"Buffy, the whole town is the friends and neighbors. It's not that big a place and everybody knew my father. You don't live your whole life in a place like this without people getting to know you."
She looked a little stunned. "Oh."
He went on. "I've got an appointment with the funeral home first thing tomorrow morning to go over everything."
She nodded. "If everybody knew him, then we should expect a big elaborate funeral thing?"
"Not at all." Giles shook his head. "He wasn't big on ceremony, especially for himself. He left very specific instructions regarding what he did and did not want. I haven't read them carefully, but I don't doubt he wanted it to be simple. He wasn't a flashy man."
Talking about his father made him melancholy again and he sighed. He wished he could cheer up, for Buffy's sake especially. She didn't deserve to have him shuffling around glumly for the next week.
But Buffy, displaying that streak of maturity which always surprised him, simply nodded as if she understood. "For what it's worth," she said softly, "I liked him. I mean, he was kind of...ornery, but he was, I don't know. Sharp. Nothing fake. It was...nice, kind of, meeting someone where there was no BS. He was just who he was, no apologies. I wish..." She swallowed and glanced away, then tried again. "I wish I could have gotten to know him better."
He felt his throat constrict. "So do I."
Suddenly, she looked sad. "I'm sorry, I..I shouldn't have brought it up. Made you think about it."
"It's all right," he said, hoping to reassure her that it wasn't anything she said, it was him. "He liked you, too. He was very impressed with you, with your skill, your courage.... The way you stood up to him, didn't back down when he challenged you. That won you more points than anything else you could have done, could have said. And," he looked away, unable to take in her dear, earnest expression any longer, "and you defended his son. It was very important to him that the slayer have proper support, that the watcher in her life be a strong guide for her. Especially after your losing Merrick. What you said to him went further to reassure him than anything I could have said." He looked at her again. There were tears in her eyes. "Thank you."
She smiled and didn't say anything, simply leaned over and put her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. His arms went around her and he hugged her tight, reveling in her sweet spirit, the love which was Buffy. He clung to that, used her strength when he had none of his own.
Eventually, the hug eased. He rested his cheek against her hair briefly, then lifted his head. Her tears were drying, though her eyes still glittered with them. He knew from the stinging that his did, too.
He sighed, letting her go. "I'm sorry, I hadn't meant to get so...emotional."
"That's okay," she said in a small voice, sniffing away her own emotions.
He rubbed a hand over his face, banishing the last of his tears and stood up. "Well, we should probably start to work sorting some of this mess out."
She nodded and stood with him, carrying their empty cups to the kitchen. "I did some cleaning up yesterday," she said. "Dusting, mostly. You were right, it doesn't look like he got rid of any of her stuff."
"Why am I not surprised? He never threw anything out. There's forty plus years of detritus in this little house. And I'll have to deal with all of it. God!" He shook his head.
"You don't actually have to do something with all of it, do you? I mean, isn't that what you were going to get the auction people or whatever they are to do?"
"Yes, but I need to know what's here first. To know whether any of it is worth keeping, or if it can all be disposed of. I know he's got some books I want, and there may be...other things. It all has to be gone through."
She made a face. "Okay, where do you want me to start?"
He sighed again. "Why don't you take the bedroom?"
"And I'm doing what with it?"
"Going through it, seeing what's there. Any books and papers, bring out to me. Anything else...." He shook his head. The whole idea of doing this now was oppressive. She was right; he didn't have a clue what to do with most of it. He didn't want to deal with any of it. "No."
She stared at him blankly. "Huh?"
"No," he repeated. "I can't deal with this right now. I can't bear the thought of spending the next week cooped up in this miserable little house sorting through God only knows what." He felt like spending a minute more here would make him go mad.
"It's gotta be done, Giles, you said so yourself."
"I know. But it doesn't have to be done today. Let's go out."
Another blank stare. "Out?"
"Out. Away."
"You mean...together?"
"What? Oh, yes." He smiled, chagrined.
He had no intention of running out on her again. "I just can't face this right now, I need to clear my head. Let's go out, I can show you around, let you see a bit of England. Then tomorrow, we can tackle this mess. What do you say?"
Her confusion turned to delight. "I say let's go! Where to?"
"I don't know, perhaps we could.... No, I do know. How'd you like to see Oxford?"
"Where you went to college? What's there?"
"You mean besides the best university in the world? Oh, there are churches, museums, libraries...." He smiled, teasing. "Shops.... College students...."
"Boys?" Her answering grin widened.
"Quite a number of them, yes."
"Cool!"
He chuckled. "Why don't you get changed and then we'll go."
She just smiled at him and headed to the bedroom, pleased to do what he said. He watched her go, smiling to himself. He was probably just running away. All of this mess would still be here when they got back. But perhaps, with a little chance to relax first, he'd be able to face it all later. Besides, it would be good to see Oxford again. He cleaned up the last of the breakfast things, then waited for Buffy to get ready.