Giles/Anya, PG-13, written for Marishna's birthday and fondly dedicated to her.
Done
When an insistent knock woke him in the middle of the night, many
possibilities presented themselves to Giles as to whom his visitor was,
none of them particularly pleasant. The last person he would have
expected however was Anya. Wasn’t she supposed to be on the other side
of the planet, a happy young bride on her honeymoon?
Frowning, yawning, and blinking, he opened the door wider, inviting her
to enter without a word in case she now needed a vocal invite. He
didn’t even need to think about it; certain reflexes would never leave
him, even if he had left the Hellmouth.
She nodded gratefully, silent as he was, and stepped in. He noticed,
all at once, the small travel bag that hung from her shoulder, the
rumpled clothes, slight trembling of her body, deep shadows under her
red eyes. Something had happened. Something bad. He felt a tightening
in his chest. It had to be too late for him to do anything, and if they
were gone – if even one of the children he had started to think of as
his was gone, hurt, lost – he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Better to
keep pretending that they were all safe and happy. That Sunnydale
wasn’t a dangerous place to live in. That he hadn’t abandoned them.
He guided Anya to the living room, tightening his housecoat around him,
as a wave of cold seemed to slide over him. She sat down without
prompting; her gaze lost in whatever grim thoughts haunted her. He
watched her shiver and wrap her arms around herself.
“Would you like some tea?” he finally offered, upbringing and politeness taking over for uncertainty. “It will warm you.”
“Warm?” she repeated questioningly, as if the concept was foreign to her.
“It will only take a minute.”
It took longer than that, and Giles remained in the kitchen the whole
time. More and more, he was filled by that dreadful certainty that she
had some terrible news to announce. He cursed himself for his weakness,
but didn’t go and ask her what it was. A drop – just a drop, really, no
more – of scotch in his tea gave him the courage he needed to return to
her and finally know.
She wasn’t where he had left her. Her bag was still there, at the foot
of the sofa, but no trace of Anya, no sound to guide him. One by one,
he checked all the rooms, ending with his bedroom. That was where he
found her, asleep on top of the covers. There was a wet stain on the
pillow under her cheek. With a quiet sigh, he folded the blanket over
her so she would stop shivering. For a long time, he watched her sleep,
pondered waking her up. What had happened to bring her here? He was
afraid to know, but not knowing was driving him insane.
Eventually, he left the room, turning off the light and closing the
door quietly behind him. Before the strength could leave him, he went
to the phone and dialed the Californian number he knew so well. When
Buffy answered the call, he could have wept in relief.
Anya slept well into the afternoon of the next day, and Giles hesitated
then gave up on the notion of waking her. It was better to let her get
some rest, certainly. At least as long as she slept he didn’t need to
ask her why she had come to him. Buffy had told him, in a few words,
about the wedding debacle, about Anya having disappeared. He couldn’t
have explained why, but he hadn’t revealed that she was right there
with him.
“Could I have something to eat?”
The question startled him; lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard her
approach. He raised his gaze from the book he had vainly been trying to
read. Apparently, she had found her bag, which he had left in the
bedroom, and the en suite bathroom and made good use of both. He
noticed, also, how she avoided his eyes.
“Certainly,” he answered as he stood. Formality in the face of
confusion seemed like the best answer. “Is there something in
particular that you would like?”
She shrugged. “Anything will be fine.”
Giles had thought that retiring from being Buffy’s Watcher would have
put an end to odd occurrences in his life; how wrong he had been, he
reflected wistfully as he scrambled eggs, toasted bread, and brewed
tea. There he was, cooking a late breakfast for an ex-demon who had
just failed to get married and crossed the world to come visit him. He
wished he knew why she had come all this way, however.
“Have you ever wished,” she started and then faltered. He turned to
her, found her standing by the door. For the first time since arriving,
she met his gaze.
“Have you ever wished Willow’s blank slate spell had never ended?”
Suddenly, he knew why she was there. Did she dream about it, sometimes,
too? About kisses that should never have been but that had felt so
incredibly normal? About a dream that had come to such an abrupt end?
Did she wake up at night and wonder why that had been the fantasy and
this was the reality? He had tried to forget about all of it, about the
mess that his feelings were ever since leaving California, but to see
her here, to know she was single, to hear her ask this simple question…
It was all coming back to him, and now there was no more guilt to be
had toward Xander since the young man had broken things off first.
“Well? Have you?” she insisted, the hint of impatience and fear in her
tone bringing a smile to his lips. He took a chance and hoped for the
best.
“I have wished it,” he murmured, unaware of how much these simple words would change their lives. “I do wish it.”
“Done.”
~the end~
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The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.
