This Little War

Disclaimer and Notes: Still Mutant Enemy's toys. Still happily playing with them. Written for the second turning of the Buffy Lyric Wheel. Lyrics courtesy of Fairfax. Spoilers for seventh season. Thanks to Rhi and Nicole for the beta.

Giles walked into his house, feeling every bit of his age, and stopped. Even here, he couldn't escape the reality of so many Potentials, gathered in one town; though the number of Potentials weren't great, they were numerous enough that the Summers house alone couldn't support them. There were a dozen camped out here in his house; one stood guard duty just inside the door, in front of the stairs, and now smiled and lowered her crossbow.

“Evening, Mr. Giles,” she greeted, speaking English with a thick Pakistani accent. “I was beginning to worry you weren't coming home.”

“Thank you.” He blanked on her name, barely caught himself in time so that the pause wasn't noticeably significant. "It's all right, I'm here now." He looked at her, so young - younger than Dawn, if his memory served correctly; he couldn't keep track of who was who anymore, among the Potentials - and tried to smile. He was sure it didn't reach his eyes, but it didn't matter; the girl was already taking up position behind him, and he moved slowly up the stairs to his room, his thoughts heavy and dark.

Seeing the Potentials reminded him of how he'd first met Buffy, seven years before. He'd been so sure, he remembered, so sure that she'd never learn, never succeed at being a Slayer when she seemed hell-bent on not being one, and he'd fail her miserably. Fail at being a Watcher, and then have to bury her, and then the next one would be called. Yet, somehow, she'd managed: defying the odds, dying only to be resurrected; juggling love and friendships and school and all the things he'd been taught were distractions to a Slayer's higher purpose.

Giles reached the top of the stairs, opened the door to his room, and shut it, leaning heavily against the solid wood. For a moment, he closed his eyes, giving in to the tiredness that never seemed to go away. What good was it to have a library full of arcane books and full-speed Internet access when neither could give a man a night's peace? Nothing seemed to matter anymore, not when he felt like he'd failed Buffy in a thousand ways.

Sighing deeply, he walked over to the dresser that stood underneath the window on the far side of the room, and emptied out his pockets — loose change, his pocket watch, a few receipts, his keys — as he stared out the window. Somehow, it had seemed so easy at first — move to Sunnydale, watch for the arrival of his new assignment, show her the way, eradicate vampires, and figure out what kind of evil a town sitting on a Hellmouth could spawn. Nothing to it, right? Just send the girl out and pick up the pieces…if there was anything left to pick up.

He'd tried. Oh, how he'd tried. But Buffy wasn't like other Slayers he'd studied — she wasn't even what Merrick, her first Watcher, had reported her to be, and Giles had often thought that Merrick hadn't really bothered to understand her. Or perhaps he had, and Giles had been too cock-sure he'd known how to change her, how to influence her, how to ensure her survival, how to make sure she followed the rules. He knew you could doubt anything, if you thought about it long enough, but he thought, perhaps, that he had enough distance now from that first year to know that he'd been completely and utterly wrong about some things — and Buffy's ability to survive what life had thrown at her was something he kept forgetting to take into account.

Had he been wrong to turn Spike over to Robin? Was it worth Buffy's complete dismissal of his advice, the shut door in his face? Had he been blind, again, to the dynamics of Buffy's relationships — or had he and Buffy never been good at communicating and understanding each other? He suspected it was more the latter than the former, and he wished he could somehow break through all the misunderstandings, the barriers between them.

They'd always been at cross-purposes, he recalled. She hadn't wanted to be the Slayer; he'd wanted her to be one, to act like she was truly the Slayer of her calling — or at least, the Slayer ideal that had been pounded into his brain from childhood. He'd come to realize over time and bad experience and lots of regret he never shared that Buffy had been right from the first - that asking a teenager to give up her life for Good was a sucky deal. Now he wished life was as simple as it had seemed, all those years ago. Hindsight — and the relief of having survived — painted rosier pictures of past apocalypses than events warranted, but Giles knew instinctively that what they faced was far scarier than anything that had come before.

Still, he chose to stay and fight, chose this little war, win or lose. He'd considered running — it would've been easier a few months ago, when he'd been out scouring for Potentials and leaving messages where he couldn't go that haven would be in Sunnydale for the ones he couldn't physically retrieve. All he'd have to do then was not come back, but Willow or one of the others would have eventually found him. He couldn't, in good conscience, leave Buffy alone, and that was the crux of it, wasn't it? He couldn't leave her alone, and she wanted nothing more than to be left alone, at least by him.

Had there ever been a time when she'd wanted him to be there for her? Oh, sure, she'd been grateful after her second resurrection, but she'd taken for granted that he would be there. She'd never asked if he minded; he'd never told her that he did resent the father role she'd placed him in, and aside from that, he'd brushed at least some of her dependency off on post-resurrection confusion. He'd made allowances, made sacrifices, made changes to his life so that she wouldn't have to worry, but he'd never once asked if she truly wanted him to be around. He'd tried to leave, and the Scoobies tried to get him not to, and she'd never once pleaded, just looked at him like he was betraying her yet again, until finally he couldn't stand it any more and had to turn away. Had to cross the Atlantic to a place that was no longer home to him and cling to Willow's emails about what was going on, hoping that he wasn't being an old fool, that he'd made the right choices, that he was really standing in the way of her continued development, and then coming back, aware that nothing had really changed.

“So much you don't know, Rupert. Do you think she'll ever listen to you now that you've managed so well to turn her away from you?”

Giles didn't turn; he knew it was the First, masquerading as his beloved Jenny. “She'll listen when it matters,” he said firmly.

“By then it may be too late,” the apparition noted. “Do you really want that? I'll still be here, no matter what you do. There is no good without evil.”

“You are not the only power in this universe,” Giles retorted, turning angrily. “You are not Jenny and you are not the only thing this world needs.”

“So you'll send little girls to their deaths,” the spirit mocked. "And you'll run in the corners of your mind, hoping that you're right and I'm wrong and life is black and white. Don't you know it's never been that way, Rupert? Nothing is as it appears."

He stared at it for a long time, saying nothing, not trusting himself to say anything.

"You know," it said finally, "you used to be so much more fun to torment when you were drunk."

"If that's the best you can do," he retorted stiffly, "you'll be better off finding your entertainment elsewhere."

The First vanished, and Giles let out a shuddering breath.Somehow, he knew he wasn't going to sleep any time soon. Silently, he prayed that Buffy would accept whatever help he could give. Resolutely, he switched on the light, and began pouring through the book he'd left on his bedside table, hoping it held some answer, some key to fighting the first Evil, something he could offer Buffy, anything that she'd accept. It was all he had to give, and still it would never be enough to heal the pain he knew he'd caused by his actions.

Finis ©5-17-03 Raine Wynd Comments are always welcome.

“Reckoning” by Ani DiFranco lyrics used are marked by an asterisk

you can doubt anything *
if you think about it long enough*
cuz what happened always adjusts to fit
what happened after that

and it's hard to feel like you are free
when all you seem to do is referee
remember when it was just you and me
steppin' up to bat?

and win or lose*
just that you choose this little war
is what kills you
and either/or it's that this war
is maybe also what thrills you

we thought we left possession behind
but truth is i was yours and you were mine
and now i've replayed a thousand times
exactly what was said
cuz nothing is as it appears*
in the funhouse mirrors of your fears
on the roller coaster of all these years
with your hands above your head

and win or lose
just that you choose this little war
is what kills you
and either/or it's that this war
is maybe also what thrills you

i don't care how fast you run
just tell me, baby, that when you're done
with your little marathon
you still got cab fare home
cuz the finish line is a shifty thing
and what is life but reckoning?

and, you know
you are still the song i sing
to myself
when i'm alone

and win or lose
just that we choose this little war
is what kills us
and either/or it's that this war
is maybe also what thrills us

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