Angels and Visitations
a Buffy:the Vampire Slayer fanfic by Dianna
Disclaimer: Joss and Co. own Buffy and Giles and Jenny and Angel, (though, when they're done with Angel, they can send him to me if they like) This fic is intended as a sincere form of Flattery. Characters NOT MINE. Please don't sue. (And the song "Tomorrow, Wendy" was written by Andy Prieboy and can be found on Concrete Blonde's Bloodletting CD.)
Rating: PG-13 to R. No serious naughtiness, but allusions are made, so. Read at your own risk.
Buffy leaned against the tombstone and sobbed. She took another slug from her flask of Whisky and turned to trace the letters with her fingers. Jennifer Calendar.
Buffy wept for Jenny; for how cruel she’d been to her; for Giles, whom she cared for almost more than anyone. [Funny how it’s taken a tragedy for me to realize it,] she thought, and sobbed all the harder.
Not killing Angel had killed Jenny. Which had hurt Giles. Who had gone off and nearly gotten himself killed by Angel. Which she wouldn’t have been able to bear. She wept, and took another gulp, the liquor burning a trail down her throat, and settling into her empty stomach, warming it against the chill February air. She leaned back against the stone and let the warm sensation fill her body as she finished the flask stolen from Giles. [I hope he doesn’t notice,] she thought. She fished in the pocket of the leather coat given to her by Angel. Finding what she was looking for, she opened the pack of cigarettes and lit one. Marlboro reds. Pike had smoked these. She took a long puff.
And nearly hacked her lungs out. “Been a long time,” she said to no one in particular. When she inhaled again, it was easier. Finally, she could hold back the tears no more, and her sobs wracked her body, ringing through the graveyard.
*****
Giles found her that way, curled up on his beloved’s grave, crying as if the world would end, a lit cigarette in one hand and an empty flask of Cutty Sark in the other. The sight broke his heart, and the anger he felt at her disappearance (and the theft of the last of his good whisky) melted away.
He knelt down next to her, and grasped her head in his hands. “Buffy?” A sob. “Open your eyes.”
“Giles.” Her breath reeked of alcohol and tobacco smoke, and her voice dripped acid. “Go. Away. I wanted to be alone.”
“Alone, drowning your sorrows? The last thing I need is to have to explain to your mother why you’re drunk on my whisky. Are you trying to get me killed, or yourself?”
“Just go away, Giles. I can take care of myself. Leave me alone.” she slurred.
“Alone? In the cemetery at night? At” he blinked as he recognized the name on the tombstone. His voice broke. “At Jenny’s grave?”
“I’m so sorry, Giles. So sorry.” She looked up, and then he was holding her, smoothing her hair, trying to comfort her as his guts wrenched inside him. Unwanted sadness pounded through him. “ I’m so sorry I couldn’t save her for you...” she shook with sobs.
Giles gathered her up in his arms and wept with her as he carried her into the night.
*****
In a tree behind one of the mausoleums, Angelus smiled. He jumped down and headed the opposite direction from the crying Slayer and her Watcher, toward his haven and Drusilla.
*****
Still carrying Buffy, Giles walked to his house while fumbling in his pocket for his keys. He was amazed that he could still hold Buffy up, but she was so light, and so soft and warm he was loath to put her down even for the moment it would take to find his house key. He unlocked the door finally, and reached for the lightswitch. Buffy’s hand covered his as she reached for it, too, and the familiar bolt of desire at her touch seared through him.
Giles jerked his hand away. Buffy flipped on the lights and instantly regretted it. “Ohhhh. Too bright.” she said, covering her eyes. She flipped the switch back. “You can put me down, now, Giles.” He walked over to the couch and set her down, her head lolling to one side and finally coming to rest on the arm of the beaten sofa. She sniffed, and wiped her nose on the sleeve of the apple-green sweater that peeked out of the sleeve of her coat.
In the kitchen, Giles dried his eyes and puttered around in the cupboards. He found what he’d been looking for. Jenny’s hazelnut coffee and the small coffeemaker she’s given him on the summer solstice.
“No reason,” she’d said.
“You just don’t like tea,” he’d retorted, smiling.
“There’s that.” was her only answer. Giles remembered her face, her smiling eyes as she’d shown him how to operate the coffeemaker. How they’d spent the evening kissing on his sofa.
“We’re making out,” she said as his hand slid under her shirt.
“We’re what?” he tickled her ribs and she giggled. His hand found one breast, and she sucked in her breath.
“Mmmmm. Nice.” She looked at him with those liquid eyes of hers. “We’re making out. You stuffy Englishmen call it ‘petting’.”
“Oh. Really.” He’d just rolled his eyes and kissed her again, smiling all the while.
Giles’ reverie was broken by the music coming from the living room. Buffy had put a CD on the stereo and was slowly, rhythmically dancing to the music. The lyrics of the song made tears prick his eyes again.
It is complete now
Two ends of time are neatly tied
A one way street
She’s walking to the end of the line
And there she meets
The faces she sees in her heart and mind
They say, good-bye
Tomorrow, Wendy is going to die....
She’d removed her jacket and sweater and turned on the gas fireplace. The firelight glinted off of her hair and skin as her body moved to the music, her thin white chemise inching around her body, straps sliding on and off of her shoulders.
[No bra,] Giles noted to himself. Was that why she had been so soft?
Giles cleared his throat and Buffy turned around. She fixed her shirt and began to weave toward him, using the tables and chairs in the room to steady herself.
“You’re drunk.” he said.
“Am not. Just buzzin’,” she slurred. “ ‘Sides, I think I’m entitled. Need a break from all this death, saving the world. Don’t wanna be chosen right now. Want my life to be my own again. No responsibility. And I was cold. Warm now,” she purred as she stood up to face him. “Very warm.” Her hands went to the hem of her chemise.
“Buffy. Don’t.” He pulled her hands away from her shirt. She took one of his hands in hers and looked at it for a moment. Finally, she leaned forward and kissed his fingertips.
He inhaled sharply and quickly drew his hand back. “I beg you, stop. Now.”
“Oh, my.” She said. “I’m sorry, Giles. I guess I am drunk. Holy wow, Batman.” She sat down on the chair with a thunk.
“I have to get you sober and home before it gets too late.” He handed her a steaming mug of coffee. ”Drink this, please.”
“Coffee? Yucka. Rather be drunk.” She leaned back in the chair. “You drink it.”
“You know I don’t drink coffee.”
“ ‘Sides, my mom is in Chicago for the weekend. Big art show.”
“Well, that’s a good thing. I don’t think I’d have been able to explain this to her anyway.” Giles sighed and sat down on the sofa.
“Giles, have a damn drink. Be drunk with me. It’s nice, you’d like it.”
“I think not.”
“Why do you think not?” she asked, a gentle mocking tone in her voice.
“I’m quite....different when I’m drunk.”
“Ooooh. Neat-o. Are you less stuffy and English?” she leaned forward again and the collar of her shirt gapped away from her chest. Giles felt his eyes drawn to the soft curve of her bosom.
“Actually, “he answered her, dry-mouthed, ”Yes.”
“I’d like to see that. So have a drink with me.” She stretched languidly, almost knowingly, and Giles’ pulse pounded. He felt warmth growing in his belly. [No.] he thought, trying to squelch the desire to see her beneath him, moving with him, in low heat....[NO.] he thought, more forcefully. He realized she was talking again. “I’d like to see you relax.”
*****
She set down the cup of coffee and got up, moving to stand behind him as he sat at the sofa. Evading her, he got up, retrieved the coffee cup, and headed for the kitchen.
[He who fights and runs away,] he thought wryly, [lives to run another day. Sometimes these Americans get it right.] And then she was behind him, her body brushing against his back. She took the cup again and set it on the counter. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she began to massage the tension from him. Her strong hands easily worked the knots from his back. They moved lower, to his waist, lower.
Her hand brushed him. [OH GOD.] he thought. And then her hand closed over him and he couldn’t control his reaction. They both paused, and Giles finally sucked in a ragged breath.
“You...want me?” It was almost a whisper.
“Very much.”
And he turned around and looked her in the eyes. Her lips looked so soft...so inviting. She hadn’t removed her hand, and now she was flexing her fingers, teasing him. Turning him on.
Alarms went off in his head. [Rupert, she’s seventeen!! “Please, stop.”
Immersed in her task as she was, and stunned at his reaction, she looked up, asked innocently, “Why?”
“It’s not a good idea.”
Still her hand moved on him. “Why not?”
“If you don’t, I’ll take you here and now.” He reached for her hand to remove it, but she managed to evade him, catching his arm in her iron grip. “You’re drunk, dammit! And I don’t want to hurt you or ruin our relationship. “ She still hadn’t stopped, and by now, she’d cornered him against the dividing wall. “And you’re drunk. I’d be taking advantage. I couldn’t.”
She chuckled. She actually chuckled. “Giles. Earth to Giles.” He found the hand she was holding on to between her legs. She was hot, because of him.
“I haven’t touched you.”
“No, but I’ve seen how you look at me.” She looked him dead in the eye. “Kiss me. Please.”
Finally, his resolve melted. Violently, he pulled her close and kissed her. Softly, her mouth opened to his and he pulled her hips into his. He’d intended the kiss to be punishing; he was angry at her for doing this to his body, angry at her for knowing, at last, his desire for her, angry at her for using it against him. But she was responding
Oh, God, she was responding. Actually enjoying the harshness, his rough day’s growth of beard against her cheek, his fingers digging into her backside, her blood-red nails gouging his neck, his arm. He deepened the kiss and she whimpered quietly. He surprised himself with his own answering growl.
And imagine his further surprise as she led him up the stairs, to his bedroom.
“Buffy.” He tore away from her and peered into her eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”
She looked up. “I am.”
“Say it again. Look me in the eye and say it. I want you to remember saying this to me. Say it again.”
“I want you, Giles. Please.” Her voice was shaking as she spoke.
“Are you sure?”
She threw him bodily on to the bed. Straddling him, she began to unbutton his shirt. “Would I be doing this if I weren’t?” she asked softly.
“You might. You are drunk.”
“I’ve been sober since I asked you to kiss me.”
Giles’ eyes widened. He knew she’d been with Angel, but the idea that she wanted him was --
*****
“Absolutely absurd?” Jenny asked. “How about ridiculous? Or sick? How about letting the body get cold....literally?”
Buffy disappeared into thin air from above him, and suddenly he was no longer in his room. He was standing in an open field, the midday sun shining cheerily, lavender blooming all around him. All in all, odd weather for February. He looked down at himself. A T-shirt, jeans, boots.
“Now I *know* I’m dreaming.” He said aloud.
“Yeah, you are.” Jenny’s voice came from behind him. “And you’re a pig.”
He turned around, and looked at her incredulously. “Jenny?”He ran to her and gathered her up into his arms. He buried his face in her neck, and nearly wept with joy. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m *here* to let you know I’m *okay*. So I let myself into your dream, figuring I’d catch you having tea with her Majesty, and here you’re making it with Buffy! What gives?” she stomped on his foot indignantly.
“YEOW!” he yelled as her boot crushed his left big toe. “It’s called a *fantasy*. A dream. I can’t help it, Jenny. I loved *you*, not Buffy. Well, I love Buffy, but...you know what I mean.” He stopped. “Wait a moment. I should be upset at you for interrupting my dream! What I dream about is my business, not yours.”
Jenny grinned, her eyes twinkling. “Right you are.”
He realized she’d been teasing him. “Sometimes, I really dislike you, Jenny.”
“I love you, England.” She said, and kissed him gently on the mouth.
He smiled as he lowered her to the grass. “I love you, too.”
“I knew that.”
“I’m glad. Now shut up.”
She did.
*****
Buffy finally managed to land a punch.
“Oh, kitten, that stung mummy. Time for your spanking!” Drusilla reached for Buffy, claws lashing out to pierce her bronzed skin. Buffy stepped out of her reach, but barely. Raring back, she punched Drusilla twice more, before kicking her to the floor.
“Mummy is getting maaaaad at kitten. Time for little kitten to die!” Drusilla got up and circled around Buffy again. Buffy launched a flurry of jumping and spinning kicks at her, but the vampire managed to block and evade them all. Her quickness was astounding, even for a leech.
“Oooh, a workout!” Buffy remarked. “Giles would be so proud of you!” She leapt up on one of the crates in the dark warehouse and paused.
“Mmmmmm...the Watcher. Tasty morsel, he is. I want him for myself...why do you get all of the good treats, little kitten? What is it about you that all the boys fancy?” Dru reached up and grabbed Buffy’s left leg , tripping her.
Buffy landed hard on the concrete floor, her head smacking back against it. The world spun
around her for a moment, but Buffy got back on her feet again. Drusilla waited for her.
“Sportsmanship? Stunning.” Buffy said. “Are you feeling all right, Drusilla? Are you dizzy? Oh, wait, you’re five cans short of a six pack. You’re always dizzy.”
“You wound Mummy, little one.” Drusilla’s face contorted into her vampire visage. “Mummy is taking away your tea party now!” Drusilla flew at her, fists and feet everywhere. Buffy managed to block them all when someone grabbed her from behind, immobilizing her arms.
“Hey, lover. How you doing?” It was Angel! He, too had what she’d once called his “game face” on. “Dru, you were hitting?”
“Oh, thank you, Angel, my darling one!” Dru began to punch her in the stomach. Each blow knocked more air out of her lungs. Drusilla punctuated her attack with her words. “This.” (punch) “Will”
(punch)”Teach. You. To. Take. Away. Mummy’s. Toys.” Drusilla slapped her across the face. “Kitten.”
Suddenly, a crisp British accent rang out from behind Angel. “No fair getting in the ring unless she tags you first.” Giles swung an aluminum baseball bat at Angel, cracking into his ribcage. Angel let go of Buffy abruptly and she ducked just as Dru was swinging up to kick Buffy in the face. Drusilla connected with Angel instead.
Buffy giggled. “Nice shot, *Mummy*. What do you do for an encore, tap dance?” From her crouching position, she savagely elbowed Angel in the face, then when he reeled back, in the groin. Giles drove a stake through his heart and he shattered into a million pieces.
“Ahhh, closure.” Giles said.
Drusilla screamed and threw herself at him, punching him dead in the face. He staggered from the blow, clutching his nose. Just as she was going for his jugular, she, too, disappeared. Buffy appeared behind where Dru would have been.
They regarded each other for a moment. Giles stood up, and dusted himself off. “My hero,” Buffy said. “But I wanted to kill Angel.”
Giles tried to look contrite, and failed. “Wish I could apologize. But I owed him one.” And it seemed perfectly natural that she run into his arms and hug him to her tightly. As he held her feet off of the ground, he bent down and kissed her. She was surprised that she didn’t fight it, but it felt so, well -- *right*, somehow. And it was very, very nice.
*****
“Awww...come on!” Angel said from behind her. Giles disappeared into thin air, and Buffy was left, tongue in the air, kissing nothing.
“Hey! What?!” She whirled around. “You!” Buffy dropped back into her fighting stance. “Giles just killed you!”
“And you were just kissing Giles. He’s old enough to be your father.” Angel smiled softly at her, Angelus’ mocking tone completely gone from his voice.
She raised her fists higher, guarding her face, and bouncing as if preparing to attack. “Buff, wait. It’s me! Angel! Your boyfriend!! Well...I was your boyfriend.....” he said sadly. “ I guess I’ve been replaced.”
“Wait a minute here....I’ve never fought Drusilla.”
Angel nodded. “Nope. Not as far as I know, anyways.” He grinned at her, and that same charming smile she so loved melted her knees into jelly.
“And I’m not dead. If you wanted me dead, I would be by now. Besides, you are dead. You just died. There was deadness here. And it wasn’t me who was being dead.” Buffy sighed, but didn’t lower her guard. “So who or what, are you exactly?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked.
“Don’t really have a choice, do I?”she smiled. “You’re Angel, but not Angelus.”
“Right. The Angel, not the Demon. Get it?” he nodded.
“Okay.” Buffy punched him in the face, and he fell off of his crate. “Ow! What was that for??”
“That was for leaving me! You jerk!! If you wanted to break up you could have just said so!” A single tear slid down her cheek, and she bent down and helped him up, looking deep into his eyes. Finally satisfied that he was who he said he was, she kissed him.
“You’re nuts, Buffy. Love me or hate me, just make a decision, okay?” he said when she released him.
She smiled at him. “So I’m talking to your soul.”
“In a sense, yes. I just wanted to let you know I was still here. And salvageable. And I’ll be waiting for you when your time comes.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’ll always wait for you.” For a long moment they simply looked at each other, in each other’s eyes, savoring this flash of togetherness.
“So, Giles, hey?” Angel said teasingly. “Should I be jealous?”
“Absolutely not! I love you. Well, the nice you. This is a dream, remember?” Buffy was indignant. “And as for him being old enough to be my father, *you’re* old enough to be my great, great, great, *grand* father.”
“So I can ignore the latent sexual attraction you two seem to have for each other?”
“This is just my dream. I have no idea what’s going on in his head. He’s probably having English wet dreams about high tea with Robert Louis Stevenson right now.” She pulled him down to the floor of the warehouse and kissed him on the mouth softly. “Enough talk.”
And it was.
*****
“I have to admit it, Angel, you were right about him.” Jenny sighed. “He’s got a thing for her. Poor guy is undersexed.”
“Yeah, I was right. Pay up.” Angel held out his hand and Jenny took off her silver circlet and handed it over.
“So what did you find out?” Jenny asked.
“She’d probably break, under the right circumstances.”
“Pay up.” Jenny held out her hand and Angel gave her his Claddagh ring.
“So, now what?” Angel asked.
“Now, we wait.” Jenny said, amused. Then, sadly, she said. “I’m sure you feel as I do on this matter -- you’d rather be there.”
“But if I can’t, I want to see her happy.”
“Exactly.” Jenny agreed.
She looked down (it seemed to her) at Buffy and Giles entwined in his big bed. After Buffy’s episode at the cemetary, they had kissed, briefly, flutteringly, but both parties had balked at actual nudity, so they had fallen asleep together, talking, Buffy resting her head on Giles’ chest. Innocent, innocuous.
Now, however, they were twined in completely another way. Buffy’s skirt had hiked up around her waist, one leg was in between Giles’ two, and her hand rested on his backside. Giles’ lips were touching her forehead, and while one arm cradled her head, one of his hands had fallen to her bosom.
“All, in all, Angel, not a bad bit of maneuvering.”
Angel grinned. “You think?”
And Jenny and Angel left the two to wake up, giggling to themselves at their little practical joke.
finis
So what do you think? Feedback gives me a happy.
Back