Title: Older Men, Far Away 2/23
Author: Gileswench
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. Praise abjectly sought.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc., etc., etc. I
just let them have all the fun Joss won't. I own nothing except my
twisted mind which you really don't want. Please don't sue.
James was still whining when he and Giles got back to the flat.
"Why do you have to be so rude to them, Rupert? Can't you at least try to fit in?"
"Can't any of you at least try to grow up?" Giles snapped back as he flopped back into a chair. "The only subject you've added to your repertoire since you were seventeen is fine cigars. Only the price tag of your toys has matured. I really thought when you married Elizabeth you might settle down a bit. Then I thought fatherhood might make a difference, but no. You and Terry and Patrick and Gary will never grow up, will you?"
James poured himself a brandy. He lifted the decanter as an offer to his brother. Giles shook his head.
"Well, I've had about enough of your...your stuffiness," James retorted. "Do you know what Terry called you the other day? Do you?"
"Elucidate me," Giles drawled. "What does the godlike Terry think of me?"
"He said you were a drab, stuffy, middle class git who probably hadn't been laid in a decade."
James nodded emphatically to impress Giles with the severity of the criticism.
"It hasn't been as long as that," Giles protested.
"And at least I got married and had kids," James continued. "What have you ever done for the human race?"
"I do think averting the apocalypse half a dozen times or so has probably done more for humanity as a whole than straightening a few teeth and siring a pair of young ingrates."
James took a sip of his brandy to cover how befuddled he was. Rupert had always been able to argue him to a standstill, even when they were children. At last his brain latched onto the thing that had been troubling him ever since Rupert had shown up on his doorstep.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked. "Your Slayer's alive, her witch friend has gone back to California, so why are you in London?"
Giles frowned and rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.
"Bloody Council put me on a leave of absence," he admitted. "They said I was too close to the situation in Sunnydale to go back. They know from experience that Buffy won't accept anyone else as her Watcher, so they didn't bother sending a replacement. I've been away from her too long, James."
"Why not take your leave in California, then? It's a big place, I hear. Why would the Council even know what part of the state you're in?"
Giles gave a mirthless laugh and stood.
"Because they know me. And they know Buffy. And they've been trying to keep us apart since the day she turned eighteen. I can't go there, just now. So that's why I've returned to the bosom of the only family I have left."
"See, this is why I'm glad I washed out of the Watcher program," James said. "Dentistry was a much better career for me. I could go where I liked, set my own rules - within the guidelines of the BDA, of course - and generally live my own life. I made pots of money, and now I'm retired and divorced, I have nothing to do but enjoy myself. You should try that sometime, Rupert."
"I'm not like you, James. I hate to...just drift. I like to have a purpose; something important to do. Someone to matter to."
James rolled his eyes.
"You're not going to go on whingeing again about how you want to be with your Slayer, are you? That's over. Let it go. Get on with it. Find a pretty bird and fuck her blind. It'll do you a world of good."
"That's your solution to everything, isn't it?" Giles asked. "Find a girl and get laid."
"Well it always works for me," James shrugged. "Look, the fellows and I are going out to a new club tomorrow night. Why don't you come with us and meet someone new? As your identical twin, I feel in a unique position to remind you that you are far from past it and not so bad looking when you remember to lighten up a bit. You could borrow something of mine if you want to look your best."
"Might I remind you of the fact that you actually own a bright pink shirt and leather trousers? I think I can dress myself, thanks all the same."
"I never wear them together, you know," James protested. Then another factoid wended its way into his stream of consciousness. His face brightened. "So you'll come with us? Really?"
Giles shrugged.
"Someone has to stay sober."
"We're hiring a limo."
"To remember where the bodies are buried the next morning."
*****
Willow inspected Anya's new passport. She frowned.
"I thought your name was Jenkins," she said.
"I thought it was Emerson," Cordelia added as she turned into the airport parking lot.
"Sometimes it's nice to have a change," Anya said, taking her passport back. "I like my new name."
"Anya Emmaline Christabel Pankhurst?" Buffy screwed up her nose. "How did you come up with that one?"
"I met them in 1912."
"Met who?" Buffy asked.
"Emmaline and Christabel Pankhurst," Anya replied as if that answered the question. She looked at the three blank faces and sighed. "They were a mother and daughter team: the leaders of the most violent faction of the British Suffragette movement. One of the women in their movement had been scorned by her fiancé who didn't think women were intelligent enough to have the vote." Her voice turned wistful. "Christabel was an amazing speaker. And Emmaline's cook made the best fairy cakes. I learned a lot from them."
"About feminism?" Willow hazarded.
"About Marxism. Christabel's sister, Sylvia, was a very prominent Communist. At first, I was intrigued. Her views seemed to match with mine. Then I realized, watching her work with the poor, that there were two things Marx didn't take into account about human nature."
"What's that?" Cordelia asked. She pulled into a parking spot and everybody began to pile out of the car.
"Greed and snobbery. It works on paper, but not in the real world," Anya pontificated as she pulled out three suitcases and handed one of them to Willow who was struggling with her own suitcase and laptop. "I mean, share the wealth, everybody's equal, brotherhood and harmony...it's never really going to happen, is it?"
The others grabbed their luggage out of the trunk.
"But...but, that's the whole point of America," Willow protested. "Democracy. We're all equal. No matter who's got the most money or anything."
"Okay," Anya said, "if everybody's equal and you're at the trendiest restaurant in New York and there's only one table left and you and Donald Trump both walk in the door at the same time, who's going to get the table? You or the guy who was probably diapered in thousand dollar bills?"
"She's got you there, Will," Buffy admitted. "Any maitre'd in the world is going to give that table to The Donald. But that doesn't mean it isn't worth working toward. Equality. Something that's right is always worth it...and did I just say that? God, I sounded like Giles."
"See," Willow said perkily, "you miss him so much you're channeling him. I wonder if he channels you when he forgets to be all responsible and grown up."
"Giles? Forget to be grown up?" Cordelia scoffed. "You've got to be kidding! That would be like expecting him to know anything about designer clothes or serious shoes."
The girls walked through the front door and headed for the ticket counter. A thought struck Cordelia.
"Hey," she whispered to Buffy, "who's footing the bill for this, anyway? I'm totally broke."
"Anya's got it," Buffy assured her.
"She's got that much money? How?"
"Y'know, sometimes with Anya, it's just better not to ask."
*****
Some hours later, four weary young women trudged off their international flight and into Heathrow airport. Anya found a payphone and made arrangements for a place to stay. Nobody wanted to know how she knew where to book them in, or how she was going to pay for their accommodations. Even Cordelia had finally accepted that it was safer not to have the answers to some questions.
"Okay," Anya said when she got through making arrangements, "I've got it all worked out. The hotel isn't exactly The Plaza, but it's clean and cheap - for London - and I'm too tired to drive all the way to Bath now."
The other three shared an uncomfortable look.
"Drive...?" Willow squeaked nervously. "Um, Anya, did you ever actually...learn to do that?"
"Don't worry," Anya said airily. "I've got an international driver's license in with my passport and everything. Oh, and I arranged a rental car."
She picked up her bags and headed off. The other three shared another nervous look.
"And I thought the Slaying was gonna kill me," Buffy muttered.
"It did," Cordelia reminded her. "Twice."
"I think Anya's driving might be the third time that's the charm."
Still, there was nothing for it. Willow, Buffy, and Cordelia picked up their bags and followed Anya.
*****
"Could you just try to fit in for one night?" James begged as he selected a jacket. "Please don't embarrass me."
Giles had to laugh, though he did his best to stifle it. He double-checked his reflection in the mirror.
"Don't embarrass you?" he snorted. "I thought you and your friends were beyond shame. Sometimes you remind me of Buffy and her friends when I first met them at sixteen - except that they were already more mature and responsible than you are at forty-eight. At least when they made ridiculous mistakes I could chalk it up to youth and inexperience."
They headed for the door of James' flat.
"All the same," James persisted, "just try to be nice to my friends and don't get in the way of our good time."
"I promise not to stop you all making monumental asses of yourselves," Giles swore solemnly.
"Thanks," James said in relief. A moment later, he realized exactly what his brother had said. "Hey!"
*****
"So what do you guys want to do tonight?" Buffy asked.
"Well, we could always see what's on the BBC," Willow suggested.
"No way," Cordelia protested. "We can watch TV anytime. How many chances will we get to check out the London night life?"
"Or night unlife," Buffy offered. "I wonder if English vampires are different from American ones."
"Why don't you ask Spike?" Anya asked.
"Maybe 'cause he's out of his mind?" Willow suggested.
"And maybe because I really don't want to talk to him anymore," Buffy added. "Anyway, he's not exactly here, so let's not even talk about him, okay?"
"No problem for me," Cordelia said. "I didn't want to talk about vampires in the first place. I just want to go out dancing."
"And possibly drinking?" Anya asked.
"Very possibly," Cordelia agreed.
"Dancing and drinking to forget our crappy lives," Buffy mused. "Sounds like a solid plan."
"Which has never exactly worked for any of us in the past," Willow reminded them.
"But we had fun while it wasn't working," Buffy said cheerfully. "Let's ask at the desk where people go for actual good times around here."