Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Summary/Timeline: Post Chosen, Post Not Fade Away. The “Core Four” are quietly going about the business of training Slayers and protecting the world, when Buffy has some interesting prophetic dreams. Written as a response to the world “determination” for the WatcherLove celebratory ficathon.
Disclaimer: These characters aren’t mine. Plot lines aren’t even really mine; they’re just beamed to me via satellite. All hail the mighty and benevolent Joss for making it all possible.
Distribution: WatcherLove. The best place for G/Wes.
Feedback: Welcomed and appreciated. Concrit is valued as well.
Notes: I apologize to all the Dawn lovers out there, but she's not in this little episode. I’ve tried to leave everything else intact (or give good reasons why it’s not). Demons are from Occultopedia.com, Cornelius’ prophetic words have been twisted from a translation of Nostradamus’ work found here: http://www.sacred-texts.com/nos/. [Thoughts] *Emphasis*
Thanks: To Elizabuffy, the marvelous: you always make it better, woman who wields the change tracking of doom. You rock. All corrections are hers, all remaining mistakes are mine.
Wesely gritted his teeth, not caring that Giles would hear the sound. This time he wasn’t going to back down. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face. He panted. Both were but small signs of the enormous energy he was expending.
He tried to distract himself. Latin declensions never helped, so he tried to remember all of his newly acquired Fyarl and then swore in his own head when he remembered the language wasn’t complicated enough to actually have conjugated verbs.
But he had to concentrate on something! This wasn’t a contest he could lose; not when so much was at stake: his dignity, his reputation, dear gods, if he didn’t overcome this he would never live it down!
One month earlier. . .
Giles set his tea on the desk and settled into his chair. He glanced at the wood paneled walls covered in bookshelves, and his desk, covered in paperwork. He wouldn’t have imaged that he’d ever enjoy mornings, not after the schedule he kept in Sunnydale, but, occasionally, the ritual of making tea, the first glance at the desk, and the welcome comfort of his office reminded him to enjoy the simplicity of unruffled quiet. None of the slayers ever pulled themselves out of bed before ten, and since their instructors weren’t much better at keeping early hours, he usually had the time between 10 and 11 to bask in the precious silence.
Then the phone rang.
“Giles?” Buffy asked as soon as he picked it up, “Why haven’t you and Willow, or the coven or somebody figured out a way for me to live without prophetic dreams? Seriously, after all of this, I train slayers, we rebuilt the council, we live in England. Do I really have to deal with dreams on top of that?”
“Do I even need to dignify that with an answer?” he drawled.
“At least, would you mind not showing up naked in my prophetic dreams?” she returned.
“W-what?” he cleared his throat, “Did you say . . .”
“Yes, and although I know that your manly bits are just as manly as the next person’s, do I really have to see them?”
He collected himself. “And just how sure are we that this was a prophetic dream? I do seem to recall your eyes glazing over when you noticed the ear piercing for the first time.”
“As if! Ok, I’ll admit that the thought of you and that cute guy you brought around a couple of months ago for drinks – as if we couldn’t tell he was boyfriend material, Giles, god – did kind of make me glaze over. You knew he was cute though and you wanted to flaunt him. But I know by now how to figure out which ones are prophetic and which ones are simply products of my diseased mind! You know you taught me that the first year. And . . . I know this one’s prophetic because I’ve never dreamed about Wesley in any way and Giles . . . I think he’s coming back.”
He sat up at that, “Wesley? You . . . Wesley Wyndham-Price, Wesley?”
“Yes, oh echo-ey one. Wesley.” The possibilities staggered Giles. The apocalypse in Los Angeles hadn’t been attended by the slayers because they were dealing with one of their own. But they hadn’t been able to tell Angel that, and everyone felt the pain of losing so many in LA.
“Buffy, please, just tell me what you saw.”
“You know it’s never as simple as that. All I got were flashes. Naked flashes. Of you, and him, together. Giles, that is more watchery goodness than a girl knows how to handle. I think my brain is a weird puddle right now….with things indelibly imprinted on it. Also, though, there were ritualistic markings as if you two were doing something magical. Flashes of flame, an image of Wes sitting in our infirmary while we all looked at him – and Giles, I’m not going to say this when it happens, but you stare! – and then something about things being unfinished. The full moon, too. Isn’t that in a couple of weeks? Oh, and the usual eight armed monster in some dark hole trying to strangle all of us. Another one. And something about the end of all time droning on over and over. I am so tired of demons that are freaky and live in dank holes. Can’t we just go back to vampires?”
His mind racing, he almost missed Buffy’s last remark.
“We can, and do, on a nightly basis. That’s what you train the other slayers for isn’t it?”
“Yes, Giles, I know, I know. I remember.”
“Buffy, was there anything . . . about Angel? Or Spike?”
Buffy was quiet for a second, then, all the teasing fled from her voice she replied, “There wasn’t anything Giles. I think they don’t have to fight anymore. I think they kinda did their last stand and get to rest now.”
Giles didn’t know what to say to comfort her. If she was in the office, he could’ve given her a hug.
“Buffy, you know you’ve got to come in.”
“I know Giles! Don’t worry, I’ll be there as soon as I can shower and brush my teeth.” She giggled, “Won’t he be surprised to find out Andrew’s stories were all fakes?”
“Yes, I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to hear you’re not silly enough to date a vampire named the Immortal.” Giles teased, then continued in a softer tone, “He might be happy to know we didn’t simply abandon him. I still think sending Andrew to Los Angeles was a bad decision, Buffy. Look at what a pack of lies he made up.”
She sighed, “Look, I know! You don’t need to go over that again Giles, especially when he gave them that awful, melodramatic brush off. But you were barely conscious, Willow couldn’t even walk, Xander was down for the count, and I could barely speak my own name! You know closing that hellmouth in Spain nearly got us. We had to send someone, and we just didn’t have anyone else. I’ve apologized over and over for sending him.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I’m sorry I keep bringing it up. I just wish there was something we could have done . . .”
“I know, me too Giles. But there wasn’t. And it’s all water under the bridge, right? We need to concentrate on the ‘here and now’ and the fact that we’ve got a kind of scruffy looking Wes appearing sometime soon. Can we just continue this conversation later? Talk with Will, will you? She went in early, too; maybe she can do a psychic reading or something?”
“More than 10 years of magic, and all you can suggest is a psychic reading? Perhaps Wesley is coming back to straighten you out.”
Buffy laughed at that, then interjected, “Be careful Giles, I got the impression that Wes was gonna be here–and soon–so keep an eye out for him, will you?”
“I will. Although if you saw the full moon we might have a little time – the next isn’t for three weeks. I suppose we’d better go over the Cornelius scrolls again. You know he probably predicted this at some point or another.”
Buffy sighed on the other end of the line. “How did I know you were going to say that? Research. Again. And the worst, most annoying, prophetic scrolls in the library. You’re not making this any easier. I was going to sleep in! Oh well. Bye.”
Giles put the phone down and released the sigh he’d been holding. His thoughts were as jumbled as Buffy’s dream. Wesley was coming back? Who, or what, was going to bring him back? And they were going to have . . . he balked at that. He’d never thought of Wesley as . . . he had eyes, he didn’t miss that the man was handsome, but . . . dear gods. And after the horror of Los Angeles, would the man even be sane?
After the fall of Sunnydale, they had needed so much time to simply recuperate. He wondered if Wesley would recognize any of them. Not that they’d changed all that much – Willow was still fiery-haired and beautiful and had a tendency to babble, Xander was still stronger than he looked and always stole the last doughnut. Buffy, too, outwardly looked and acted the same. Yet the four of them had built the council together, touching every aspect of it with their whole hearts. A school of 100 young women–more found every day by Faith and Robin—trained and taught by the four of them and whoever they could recruit and suit to the task. He took his glasses off, rubbed his nose, and started to gather the things he’d need for their research. Buffy would tell Xander on her way into the main compound, and they’d all probably gather there to read their Cornelius.
A knock interrupted his reflections, and Willow poked her head around the door.
“Uh, Giles? I think you should see who just appeared in the main hall. . .”
continued in Part II