TITLE: Death brings Clarity
AUTHOR: JK Philips
RATING: PG (angst-fest)
DISTRIBUTION: Not sure what all sites are out there, but if you want it, you can have it.
Just please email me your URL, so I know where my story is going. And of course, give
proper credit.
SUMMARY: From “Spiral” to “The Gift” followed by my own attempt to put things right.
Giles has a moment of clarity, but it’s too late. How he deals with Buffy’s death and how
she comes back to him.
SPOILERS: Everything up to “The Gift”
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.
EMAIL: jkphilips@hotmail.com. Would love feedback. This is my first fanfic. :)
MY WEBSITE: (for archivers) www.geocities.com/jkphilips_fiction/

Part 2: The Funeral

Dawn stood alone. Willow leaned on Tara, sobbing brokenly. Xander white knuckled Anya’s wheelchair, perhaps not even aware of the tears streaming down his own face. Various friends of Buffy and Joyce stood in small clusters around the open grave. But Dawn stood alone, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

Giles stepped beside the girl to fill the space that Joyce and Buffy had left. Dawn curled into his gentle touch and wept desperately against his chest. But for Giles, the tears would not come.

Beloved sister, Devoted friend
She saved the world
A lot


Dawn had insisted on adding the last. The simplicity of a 14-year-old girl. It amused him to wonder what strangers would think of Buffy’s gravestone when they passed by a hundred years from now.

The service finished in a blur, and now came the condolences, the soft words of sympathy given to Dawn, to him, to Xander and Willow and Anya and Tara. They were her family. After a short time, they were the only ones left beside the grave, each at a loss as what to say to the others.

“Xander, I don’t want to be here anymore. Can we go?” Anya, as usual, breaking the silence with her blunt statement.

“Yeah, sure. Meet you guys back at the house?”

The group nodded solemnly, and Xander turned the wheelchair towards the parking lot. The two witches followed, Tara pausing to ask Dawn, “You want to ride with us?”

Giles shook his head and answered. “I’ll drive her. We’ll see you there in a little while.” He watched Dawn for a moment. She had drawn apart from him and wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders still shaking. She startled when he touched her. “We can go whenever you’re ready.”

“Yeah, time for depressing pot luck and Aunt Ellen’s pink Jell-O goo.”

“Goo?”

“Don’t even ask what’s in it. Just put some on your plate and you can dump it in the trash when no one’s looking.”

Giles glanced back as they left the cemetery, longing for the chance to say his private goodbyes to Buffy. He knew there would be all the time in the world for that. At this moment he needed to watch over her sister and her friends. It was what she would have expected of him.

He sat in his red BMW for several minutes, not even putting the keys in the ignition, before Dawn turned to him and sighed.

“We’d get there a lot faster if you actually started the car.” It was meant to be cute sarcasm, but neither of them laughed.

“Dawn, I was at the lawyer’s today. We need to talk.” He met her eyes. Her tears had stopped for the moment, and she simply waited for him to continue. “I’m to be your guardian now. That is... that is if you want me to be.”

“What about my Dad?”

Giles whipped out a handkerchief and polished his glasses. He knew they were clean. It was only nervous habit, his way of avoiding meeting her gaze. “He’s still in Italy on business. I’m sure once we’re able to get a hold of him...” He trailed off, unwilling to offer the girl empty promises. How could he know whether the man would want his 14 year old daughter suddenly thrust back into his daily life after 6 years of occasional phone calls and summer visits? “I know he’s living in Spain, now, but he might move back to LA or take you back to Spain with him or...”

Dawn interrupted, saving him from needing to say more. “No, no, it’s ok. I mean, I want to visit him and stuff. But Dad was never good at the sticking around part, you know? You... you always stuck around for Buffy.” Her eyes grew wide. “Unless... well Buffy was your Slayer, and I’m not, so maybe you don’t wanna...”

“Shhh.” Giles laid one hand over hers as he slipped his glasses back on. “If this is what you want, then I’ll be happy to have you.” He squeezed her hand slightly as he said it, then turned back and started the car. “We better hurry back before someone finishes all of Aunt Ellen’s ‘goo.’ ”

“Giles?”

“Yes?”

“Can we put the top down?”

“Of course.” He reached for the control, but her finger beat him to it.

“Buffy always liked to ride in your car with the top down.”

“Hmm... I rather thought she didn’t. She always complained about the wind messing her hair.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t always tell you everything.”

Dawn fiddled with the radio until she found something that Giles knew would give him a headache if they had to drive more than five minutes. But since they didn’t, he let her pick the station and remembered fondly the arguments he’d had with Buffy over her exercise music.

***

Giles parked himself on the couch, holding a glass of punch he never drank. Willow had taken over the role of hostess from one of Joyce’s gallery friends, and Giles was grateful not to have to put up a brave front and make small talk with people he barely knew.

Anya pulled her wheelchair alongside him, mostly because it was one of the few places she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. “Who are all these people?”

Giles shrugged. “Some of Joyce’s friends, some of Buffy’s friends from school, some of Dawn’s. I really don’t recognize many of them.” He glanced over at the ex-demon. “How are you feeling?”

“Sad that Buffy’s dead. Sad that Xander is hurting so badly, and I can’t make it better. Guilty that a part of me is happy that it was Buffy and not Xander.”

“Those are all normal reactions, Anya, but I meant how are you feeling, physically?”

“Oh, yes, well, the doctor says I’m getting better. I should be using crutches next week.” A moment, then, “What are crutches?”

He was saved from further conversation when Xander returned with a tray of food and punch for both he and Anya. Tara and Dawn joined them a moment later, everyone eating in awkward silence. Giles swirled the punch in his glass, wishing it were Scotch, and not feeling particularly hungry.

Within a few hours, the house had emptied of all but the Scooby gang, comfortably arranged around the Summers’ living room. The mournful silence soon gave way to recollections of their time with Buffy, stories that sometimes even brought the sound of laughter back into the house. Giles’ pain medication was wearing off, but he was too tired to go to the car and fetch it. So he just let his side ache for the time being, as he closed his eyes and let their voices and occasional laughter wash over him. He could almost imagine they were back in the Library or in the Magic Box, almost imagine that he would hear Buffy’s voice at any moment.

And then, as it became dark, the conversation lapsed back into silence. Dawn brought him his painkillers without being asked. If she could tell so easily that he needed them, then he would take them without argument. They must have made his head fuzzy, because when Willow finally broke the long silence, she made absolutely no sense.

“Sitting in a Paris café. Buffy’s trying to order in French, but ends up insulting the waiter’s mother.”

Xander shook his head. “And the award for most random comment of the day goes to...”

“Anywhere But Here, Xander.”

“Oh,” he said flatly, then “Oh!” with more understanding. “I can top that. We’re playing sand volleyball on the beach, and we’re totally kicking ass ’cause Buffy’s the Slayer, which completely makes up for Willow’s lame ‘I can’t even get it over the net’ bunts. For the final round we’re playing against like ten Swedish...”

“Xander!” Willow swatted him on the arm and rolled her eyes. “At least it’s better than Amy Yip at the waterslide park.”

“What can I say? My tastes have matured.”

Dawn plopped down on the sofa next to Giles, coming dangerously close to knocking his drink in his lap. “If you two could come back from your own little world, maybe you could clue us in to what you’re talking about?”

“Yes,” Anya shifted in the wheelchair. “I’d like to know who this Amy Yip is and why you were at the waterpark with her.”

“I wasn’t.”

“It’s a game that Buffy, Xander, and I used to play in high school,” Willow supplied helpfully. “If you could be Anywhere But Here, where would you be? I guess I just thought of it when I was wishing I was, well, anywhere but here.”

The room was silent again.

“I would be home having sex with Xander.” Anya looked at the somber faces around her. “Oh, are we done playing that game?”

A knock at the door prevented any response. Dawn jumped up to answer it, and Giles admonished her, “It’s after dark now. Don’t specifically invite anyone in.”

“I know, I know. I’ve lived here for how long?” She opened the door, and apparently recognizing the visitors, opened the door wider and stepped aside. As Cordelia and Wesley entered, Dawn threw Giles a glare and asked, “Angel’s here too. Am I allowed to invite him in?”

Xander spoke up. “Yeah, I guess Deadboy can come in.” He stepped over to the threesome. Wesley shook his hand awkwardly, but Cordelia simply threw herself in his arms and started crying.

“Oh, God, it’s just awful.”

Xander patted her on the back and led her to join the group in the living room. Wesley followed, seating himself next to Giles, but Angel hung back in the foyer, lounging against the wall and staring at nothing.

Cordelia continued to lean on Xander, sniffling and wiping her tears. “I just keep thinking maybe if I hadn’t been in Pylea, maybe I would have got a vision or something. I mean they sent Doyle a vision when that Indian was mad at all the Pilgrims or whatever. Buffy was only in danger then. They would have sent me a vision if she was going to die, wouldn’t they?”

Willow was up and moving towards the kitchen to play hostess. “Can I get you guys anything?”

“God, yes, I’m famished. We tried to leave LA sooner, but I had this vision, and we had to make a quick trip down the sewers, and then a quick trip to the showers. When we finally got to leave, Angel wouldn’t stop for anything. I guess he forgets that the living have to eat.”

Willow nodded. “Wesley?”

“Just whatever you have is fine.”

Willow snagged Angel on her way to the kitchen. Giles imagined she wanted to offer Angel a shoulder to cry on. He didn’t really care. There were enough people here that he hopefully wouldn’t have to deal with the vampire. He had thought he was over the pain Angelus had caused him, but his experience at the gas station made it clear he was not. And now, looking at Angel only reminded him of what he would never have with Buffy.

A touch on his arm drew his attention to the ex-Watcher beside him. “How are you holding up?” Wesley whispered, although in the quiet room it wasn’t as though they couldn’t be overheard.

Giles swirled his still untouched punch for a moment. “She was truly the finest there ever was.”

Wesley nodded and let that statement stand before he broached the next topic. “Does the Council think there will be a new slayer?”

Giles crossed his legs cautiously, still careful not to jostle his injured side more than necessary. “They aren’t sure. This is the first recorded instance of two slayers at any one time. Perhaps another will be Called. Perhaps Buffy already Called her replacement in Kendra. If that’s the case, then Faith is the Chosen One now.”

“A role that will be hard to fill in jail.” Watcher and ex-Watcher both fell silent. A world with no Slayer could end very quickly.

Giles glanced out the window. It had been dark for a couple hours now. Less than five days since Buffy had died, less than five days since the portal between dimensions had briefly opened, but already it seemed like an eternity. It would be a month or more before they cleaned out all the creatures that had slipped through into their dimension. The Watcher’s Council would have to send a special ops team to kill the dragon that had holed up in some of the Initiative caverns outside of town. There was no way in hell Giles would send his charges on a suicide mission after it. It was bad enough to send them on patrol every night, while he could only wait for their check-in call and imagine the worst.

The first night he had tried to go with them, had gotten in quite a heated argument with Xander over it. After all, he had gone with them to fight Glory, hadn’t he? In the end, Xander had finished the discussion with a not so gentle jab in Giles’ side that had brought him to his knees.

“See?” Xander had said. “You’re in no shape to fight anything. And you’re liable to get one of us killed trying to look out for you.”

Who would have thought five years ago that Xander would become the voice of reason?

“Time for patrol?” Xander’s question brought Giles back to the present, and the others quickly divided out the evening’s assignments, the added LA contingent allowing them to patrol in two groups.

Commenting on her need to have sustenance before slaying the undead, Cordelia left to retrieve both food and the missing Willow and Angel, who hadn’t yet returned from the kitchen.

Anya smiled sweetly at her boyfriend. “I am unthreatened by your attempts to comfort your ex-girlfriend. I know you want to marry me and not her.”

That was a bombshell that delayed patrol another hour.

***

Finally alone: the others gone to patrol, the newly-engaged Anya taken home on the way, and Dawn upstairs in her room, for once not staying at Xander’s or Willow’s. Giles slipped the letters from his jacket pocket and set Dawn’s on the coffee table with his drink. He should have eaten something earlier, because now his hands were shaking. Must be low blood sugar, or perhaps the medication.

He hesitated before slipping his finger beneath the envelope’s flap and instead glanced towards Joyce’s well-stocked liquor cabinet. In the last five days he had been too busy with the things that had to be done to even think of a drink. Now tonight was his first night spent in Buffy’s house, a place that he would have to make his home, a place filled with her things, her scent, her life. How could he open her front door everyday and not see her? But this was Dawn’s home too, and she had already been through enough. He couldn’t ask her to move. This would simply have to be the first of many nights in Buffy’s house, and he would just have to deal with it.

One drink couldn’t hurt anything.

Giles sat at the dining room table, his fingers tracing the letters of his name across the envelope. He poured himself a generous helping of Scotch and downed half of it in one swig, grimacing as it burned the back of his throat. He opened her letter and read.

Dear Giles,

If you’re reading this, it means I must have died. Isn’t that how these letters are supposed to start? I don’t know, I’ve never written one. You think I would have, having the life expectancy of a Slayer, but I guess I never needed to worry about the people I leave behind.

Now that Mom’s gone, I’m all Dawn has, so I have to think about those things. I have to think about who’ll take care of her now. God knows Hank Summers proved himself Father of the Year when Mom died. Well, even before that, really. You’re the only one I can trust Dawn to. I know you’ll take care of her like you always took care of me. And not just ’cause she’s the Key or ’cause there’s a god after her, but because she’s Dawn and she’s my sister. I know you’ll make her go to her classes, do her homework, eat her dinner before dessert, and *never* let her leave the house in any of those short, skin-tight outfits Mom actually let me wear to high school. Oh, and when boys come to take her out on dates, you have to give them that “Ripper” glare, and if you happened to leave a crossbow or a sword lying around where they could see it, I wouldn’t hate that either. Mostly I know you’ll love her, because you always loved me.

And now, if I know you, you’re trying to be all British stiff-upper-lipped and trying not to cry. I only saw you cry the once, after Jenny died. You don’t have to go through this alone. Willow and Xander are grown-ups now, too. Don’t be afraid to lean on them, to let them help you.

Mostly, I know you’re blaming yourself. Don’t try to deny it, Giles, I know you. I obviously have no idea how I actually died, but it doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ve found some way to blame yourself, oh Watcher-mine. Listen very carefully to me, Giles: IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT! If anything, you have kept me alive this long. You have been the best Watcher and the best friend I could have asked for. I never would have made it this far without you.

Take care of yourself and take care of my sister. I love you.

Buffy

Giles wasn’t sure when the tears had started, only that his face was now wet. The glass in his hand was empty, and he didn’t remember when he had finished that either. He refilled it and walked to the window. He had buried Buffy today. It finally felt real to him, and he slid down the wall to his knees, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed. The full glass of Scotch tipped from his hand, spilling across the wood floor and rolling under the table.

“Giles?”

Dawn stood in the archway. He turned his face away from her, quickly wiping his tears on his sleeve. “I thought you were asleep. Is there something you needed?”

“No, don’t. Just don’t.” Her voice broke, and Giles realized she was crying too. “When Mom died, Buffy tried to be all strong and stuff. You know, like if I saw her fall apart I wouldn’t be able to handle it or something. It just made it worse, like she didn’t care that Mom had died.”

He felt Dawn’s arms circle his neck. “It makes me feel better to see you cry, like I’m not the only one who had their heart ripped out when she left.”

The last of his self-control slipped away, and he couldn’t contain the sobs that now wracked his body, could only wrap his arms around Dawn as she, too, broke. For the first time in five days, he wept for Buffy, for his Slayer, for the love of his life.

***

Buffy watched them. She couldn’t touch them, couldn’t speak to them. She could only watch as they mourned her.

***

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