DISCLAIMER:: I do not own Giles. Or Buffy or Xander or Willow, although they're in the story less than Giles. I do own Peters, Rosemary and Nancy, ha ha. Lucky me. RATING: PG-14 CONTENT: Death and sexual innuendo (mild) SPOILERS: Band Candy SUMMARY: Giles finally comes to terms with his wife's death, twenty years ago. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was written in response to the utterly untrue rumor that Giles used to be married. Because it's such a pointless rumor I have no fear of getting Jossed. Giles sat in his office; quietly, alone. He was determined, once and for all, to set the mess of the Watcher's Diaries into some semblance of order. As disorganized as they were, he stood a snowball's chance in the Sahara of finding anything useful in the piles. Once he had started, the sorting process was nothing except tedious; before long, his eyes were checking dates and his hands sorting piles independent of his mind, which wandered freely over the events of the last few days. Over the abrupt reappearance of Ethan Rayne, and the ordeal with the cursed chocolate. And Joyce Summers. His mind stopped its ramblings there, and he was perfectly content to let it stay. Joyce, with her dark golden hair and blue eyes. What a lucky girl Buffy was, to have her as a mother. So kind, so gentle and caring; witty, but in a quiet way. So different in every way from Jenny. But so like Marie... As soon as the thought popped into his head, he tried to banish it. But in the manner of thoughts one wishes to forget, the name stayed with him, echoing in his mind. Marie... Unbidden, the image of her rose in his mind. Long blond hair severely pinned back; solemn, closed face with just a hint of joy in the eyes; small, quiet and gentle. And beautiful, so beautiful. Giles found himself comparing the two women. Joyce was older, of course, and her face didn't have the reticence that Marie's had; Marie's hair was longer, and straight instead of curly, but in her kindness, Joyce was very much like Giles' first wife, when they had married. Years ago. Giles realized with a sudden start just how many years it had been. God, he thought, almost twenty years. I should have forgotten by now... And yet he couldn't. For the first five years he had done everything in his power to forget; he drank to excess, experimented with every chemical cocktail under the sun, shut himself away from all his friends, and devoted himself to the act of forgetting. He had even fought vampires, alone; between his undeniably mortal state and the ninety-proof that usually ran in his blood, it was nothing short of a miracle that he had survived. And for the decade after that, he had plunged himself into his work, his calling, with such ferocity that the memories never surfaced. He never went out, never socialized, to avoid the pain contacting another woman would bring; his only companions were his precious books, and the demons that lurked between their pages. Only after he had come to Sunnydale, after he had met Buffy, all her friends, Jenny, and Joyce -- only now did the memories push against the back of his mind, nagging to be remembered. "Rose Marie Annette Llewellyn Giles," Giles recited, the first night of their honeymoon. "A rather cumbersome name, I fear, although certainly more poetic than 'Rupert Weldon'." "I don't know," she had murmured, snuggling close. "I'm rather fond of it... Rupert." "Rose Marie. Rosemary. That's for remembrance, you know," he remarked. "Remembrance of people in your past." She smiled. She had such a beautiful smile. "But we just got married... we don't have anything to remember. Yet." He responded to that smile; he couldn't help himself. "I'll give you something to remember," he promised, and reached for her. Twenty years later, Giles was overwhelmed with the intensity of the memory. But he found, with surprise, that thinking of Marie no longer hurt so much. There was still grief, of course, as fresh as the day he lost her, but the sharp agony of loss had dulled to a sort of ache. What was that term Americans liked so much in their songs? Heartache. He knew it would never fully go away. But he could remember Marie as she once had been. Not like he had last seen her -- no! Giles sharply pushed away the memory, his emotions surging strongly enough to bury the vivid images from the past. He tried to turn his thoughts aside, to concentrate on the task at hand, but without his conscious thought, his mind began drifting into the past again. There had been two brief years of happiness in London, despite his Watcher career. Giles got the impression that Marie was never happy when he left for a meeting; she hated the fact that his destiny kept them apart, even though she had never said anything. So she had always worked so hard to bring them closer together. "Mr. Giles?" came a voice from the doorway. He looked up from the manuscript he was laboring over with an irritated frown to see Gregory Peters, one of his few age-mates among the stodgy Council, standing in front of him, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "What is it, Greg?" he asked, with considerable asperity. He wanted to finish his assignment as soon as possible, so that he could get home to his apartment, and a certain blond girl who was waiting... with some difficulty, he dragged his thoughts back to the present. "Upstairs wants this done as soon as possible." Peters shrugged. "Sure you don't want to take a break? There's someone here to see you. And she's not very patient." Giles' expression turned to dread. "Oh god! It's not your Nancy, is it? I understand that she's the Chosen One, the only Slayer in all the world, and so on, but does she have to be so full of herself?" Peters grinned. "Someday, Rupert, you're going to have a Slayer of your own. I just hope I'm there to see your face." Giles shuddered. "God save me. Tell her, once and for all, that I'm quite happily married." "I should hope so," came a female voice from the hallway. Peters' grin widened even more, and he stepped aside to let Marie into the room. Giles' face lit up, and he stood up so hastily that he nearly knocked over his chair as Marie came around the desk and into his arms. "Marie! What are you doing here?" he demanded, though not unhappily, as they came out of a kiss. She gave him one of her sweet smiles. "I knew you wouldn't be taking good care of yourself," she said reproachfully, eyes sweeping his paper-cluttered and refreshment-bare desk. "So I brought you some tea and a muffin." She produced a thermos and a package from under her coat and put it on the one clear space in his desk. Giles had to smile, too. "Thank you, Marie. Was there anything else you needed?" Her smile faded somewhat. "I... I hate to nag, but I was hoping you would be finishing up here soon. Remember, 'Cyrano de Bergerac' opens tonight, and you said you... might like to go." Giles struck his forehead in mock dismay. "That's right! I promised you we'd go tonight. All right, dear, I don't have to finish this now. If you'd wait over there for a bit, Marie, I'll be ready to go soon." He turned to his friend in the doorway, who, forgotten, had been watching the entire scene with amusement and a little envy. "Thank you for showing her up, Greg. Greg, this is Rose Marie Giles, my wife. Marie, this is Gregory Peters, my co-worker and friend." "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Giles," he said politely, tipping his hat. "I'm afraid I have to go now, though. I hope to see more of you in the future?" "Call me Rose," Marie had said, turning her gentle smile on him. "I hope to see you around, as well." Giles swallowed against the lump of emotion in his throat. Her name had really been Rose, but even before they were married she had asked him to call her 'Marie'. After more than a year of blissful marriage, they had passed out of giddy, youthful romance, and into enduring, loving partnership. If she had felt slightly cheated, that Giles' destiny was taking up half of his life, she always hid it well. The sound of loud conversation, approaching his office, brought him out of his reverie. He listened for a moment, trying to identify the voices, and eventually placed them as Willow, Buffy and Xander. The door to the office opened, and Xander stuck his head through. "Yo, G-man! I thought we'd find you here." "Where else would he be?" came Willow's voice, shortly followed by Willow herself. She squirmed past Xander, into Giles' office. "Hi, Giles. Another all-nighter? What's cooking on the Hellmouth today?" "Oh, nothing," he reassured her, taking off his glasses to clean them. "I was just thinking that it was well past time to put the Watcher's Diaries into some kind of order." Buffy joined the other two in the office in time to catch this comment. "Giles, you so seriously need a life it's not even funny any more," she sighed, seating herself on the front of his desk. "Listen. Me and Willow and Xander are going to pop down to the cinema and catch 'Simply Irresistable', and we were wondering if you'd like a night out. Cordelia and Oz are in the van." Giles returned his glasses to his face in order to give her a glare. "In case you hadn't noticed, Buffy, the effects of the band candy have worn off, and I am no longer seventeen years old. Go without me." "Whoa," Xander remarked. "These grapes are sour." "It's all the dust," Willow had to agree. "Getting to his brain." Xander decided to give it another go. "You know, Giles, a person can only live so long in this musty old library. Even a Watcher. Not that Watchers aren't people, I mean. It's just that... oh, never mind." "He's right," Buffy coaxed. "Come out and live in the real world for awhile. I guarantee you'll be surprised at how much it's changed." Willow nodded emphatically. "Really. Get one last glimpse of the twentieth century, before it vanishes." "I don't live in the past," Giles felt obliged to protest. "Honestly. I... just choose not to make such a point of living in the moment that I disregard the past and future, unlike some people." Buffy sighed and slipped off his desk. "Well, if you don't wanna come, then you don't have to. Have fun," she added as she turned to go. "See you tomorrow," Willow said, following Buffy. Xander paused for a moment. "All right, if you really want to spend your Saturday night with a bunch of books written by dead people, be my guest. Somewhere along the line, though, you'll get tired of ghosts." He paused to consider his last words. "Wow. Again with the melodrama. Well, gotta hit the road." Giles directed another glare at the retreating teenagers' back. "Children," he muttered as they passed out of hearing range. But the very word evoked another memory.... "Rupert?" Marie called as Giles entered the house. "I'm home, dear," he replied sunnily. "Where are you?" "In the living room, now," she answered, coming out of the kitchen. "I'm... glad you're home." Giles raised an eyebrow as he dropped his briefcase. "You don't sound very glad. What's the matter?" She gave him a weak smile, and walked over to plant a kiss on his cheek. For the first time, Giles noticed that the dark circles under her eyes were deeper, and she seemed to have lost weight. Alarm surfaced. "What's the matter, Marie? Did you go to see the doctor today? What did he say?" She didn't answer for a moment, but took his hands and drew him towards the sofa. "I think you'd better sit down, dear." "Is it bad news?" he asked worridly. She shook her head and drew a deep breath. "No. It's just... I can't think of any way to tell you, so I'll just come right out and say it. The doctor says I'm going to have a baby." For a moment, he couldn't say anything, stunned shock settling over his face as Marie waited anxiously for a response. Then a wide grin crept over his face. "A baby? Really?" Some of the tension bled out of her as she took in his positive response. "Really. You're not upset, are you?" "No, of course not! Why would I be? This is wonderful news!" She managed a shaky smile. "I was afraid... you wouldn't be pleased. After all Peters has said about the dangers of children in your line of work... I thought you might not want one." "Of course I do. Peters can go hang. When's the baby due?" he asked eagerly. "Will it be a boy or a girl? No, how would you know yet," he chuckled. The worry disappeared from her eyes, and she managed a real smile for the first time. "Which would you rather have?" He paused to consider. "I think... I think I'd rather have a girl. Especially if she would look like you. But a boy would be fine, of course." Her smile vanished as she fretted. "You still think I'm pretty?" she said uncertainly. "Marie, you will be beautiful when you have wrinkles and gray hair," he said softly. "More than ever, now. Don't fuss, darling. I'm sure everything will be fine." She reached out for him, and he pulled her into his lap; she buried her face in his shoulder. "I believe you," she answered, her voice muffled. Peters' face split into nearly as wide a grin as Giles' own when he heard the news. "Rose? Is pregnant? Congratulations, old man! You must be thrilled." "I am," Giles replied, still lost in wonder. "But don't tell anyone else, okay, Greg? Not for awhile, anyway. It's not as if Upstairs exactly encourages these things, you know." Peters nodded. "I get the feeling they're not even exactly happy with you being married in the first place. Don't worry, my lips are sealed. A baby! Wow! What are you going to name it?" Giles shrugged. "I don't know. The doctor says there's months left to go, anyway." "Well, keep me updated, okay?" "Sure, Greg. So, tell me, how's Nancy?" Peters grimaced. "As unmanagable as ever. Pray you never get assigned to a Slayer, Rupert. It's a sure way to get youself into a straight-jacket." Giles laughed, and was perfectly content to let the talk turn to other matters. Giles came back to the present with a start, and found himself holding the last Watcher's Diary of Gregory Peters. A chill crept up his spine as he realized that this was probably the only connection he would ever find to his old friend. Almost mechanically, he opened the back and began sorting through the pages. Unlike most of the diaries, which had been rebound later, this was his actual journal, and many of the pages were blank. For a moment, he found himself wondering when the last entry would be, but then he knew; February Twenty-first, 1981. He realized that he had been trying to forget Peters for the last twenty years, as well. Peters and Nancy and everything and everyone else that was connected to Marie's death. Only once he had begun this task, putting his ghosts in order, had he dug up memories that he had been trying to surpress for half of his life. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to remember how the story ended. It was snowing outside, but there was nothing unusual in that; it was far too early for the weather to let up. But its predictability did nothing to ease the knowledge that in just a few hours, he was going to have to get out of his nice, warm, soft, bed, trudge two miles through the snow, and sit in that damned unheated office for the rest of the day. It was at times like this that Giles truly hated his destiny. "Rupert?" Marie asked softly. Grudgingly, Giles admitted that all right, maybe there was something that could compel him to wake up. More specifically, his nice, warm, soft, wife. "Mmmm... what is it, honey?" he asked sleepily. "Are you awake?" After a moment, Giles sighed and turned on the light. "I am now. What's the matter? Morning sick again?" In the dim light, she looked even more harrowed than usual. Her stomach was swollen in the late stages of pregnancy, but the rest of her was thin, almost frail. In the shadows, her golden hair looked dark, framing her pale face and the dark eyes in it. "No. I'm sorry to wake you up..." "It's all right. What's bothering you?" "If I died, would you remarry?" The question made Giles very uncomfortable. As a Watcher, he was reconciled to the fact that he lived pretty much constantly in danger, but he was unprepared to accept the thought that something might happen to Marie. "If... would you want me too?" he said reluctantly. She hesitated, then nodded. "I wouldn't want you to live the rest of your life mourning for me. I wish you would." Giles looked at her more closely. "Marie, is there something wrong? Why do you suddenly think you're going to die?" A spark flashed in her eyes. "I don't. It's just that we've already talked about what would happen to me and the baby if you died. I wanted to make sure we're clear." Giles was surprised; this sort of thing was out of character for Marie, who usually took an optimistic view of life. "Well, we're clear, then. Yes, I would remarry, if I found someone I could be happy with. Not that I could ever find anyone else like you... but I'd always remember you. Rosemary." Her dark eyes were large as they studied his face. "Would you?" she asked, almost wistfully. "Of course I would," he promised. "Go back to sleep, Marie. I love you." She smiled, the beautiful smile that he had fallen in love with the first time he saw. For the first time in weeks, she really looked happy. "I love you too, Rupert." The book blurred in front of his eyes. Giles set it down hastily and took of his glasses. He put his head in his hands; his eyes were burning with unshed tears. I lied, didn't I, he thought bitterly. I promised I would remember her, and for the past twenty years I've been trying to forget. But it still hurt so much... He must have known, that day, that there was something wrong, because he couldn't stop thinking about his wife. Not that he didn't think about her normally, but it was accomponied by such a feeling of intense urgency that he found it nearly impossible to concentrate on his assignment. He passed it off, to himself, as paternal worry. No, God, please, I don't want to live through this again... But eventually, he gave up his attempt to reconstruct the exact ritual needed to destroy one of the members of the ancient cult of Madira, went to the front desk, and told the clerk on duty that he was taking the rest of the night off. "If you must," the other man sighed. "They'll miss your research skills Upstairs, though." "Ha. Just wait till my photo collection gets developed. They won't be so eager to have me around then, be assured." He had made no effort to keep his daughter secret once she had been born. Admiration and envy were plain in his face. "You're a very lucky man, you know." "I do." Once again, Giles stopped to revel in it all; lovely wife, new baby, sacred duty, good friends. Which reminded him... "Have you seen Mr. Peters today?" The clerk checked back through his records, and said with some surprise, "He hasn't checked in at all." Giles' face turned grim. It wasn't like Peters to skip a day; even if he was sick, he would call in or send someone to inform the Council. When a Slayer's Watcher vanished off the face of the earth, there was usually trouble. "Send Nancy on patrol, will you?" he asked, worried for his friend. The clerk snorted. "We haven't seen her for the better part of a week." This was much less unusual, but right now it was more than annoying. "Someone really must have words with that girl," Giles muttered. "Yes," the clerk agreed. "I certainly hope Mr. Peters hasn't run afoul of anything." Giles sighed, and silently wished his friend good luck, wherever he was. "Well, I'll be on the lookout for them both. But right now, all I want is to go home." The urgency in his voice surprised him. It also surprised the clerk, who flushed dully and hastily signed him out. "Yes, yes, by all means, go. I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Giles." "Good night." So it finally came down to this. The memory, the one single image that he had been running from for twenty years. The one instant in which his life, which he had thought so safe, so secure, crumbled and collapsed like a house of cards. No. I do not want to remember. I do not want to see... Now, as then, he could see every single detail, and his eyes fed him the vision piece by piece, unable to accept the larger whole. The first thing he saw was that the porcelain vase, the one he had given Marie for her twenty-second birthday, lay shattered on the floor; the delicate spray of herbs within, mangled into the carpet. His bookshelf was overturned, books lying every which way, with pages torn out of some. The pictures which had lined the walls were ripped out of their frames, broken on the floor. All the chairs were scattered, many were broken, and all the furniture was pushed back against the wall. Almost everything had been systematically smashed and ruined. The crib, which Giles had made out in the workshop but never gotten around to carrying upstairs, was sitting in the dining room, on a bare patch of floor. The table was set for two; candles were still burning on it. It sat like an island of normalcy in this nightmare of chaos and destruction. And finally, Giles saw Marie. The sheaf of papers in Giles' hand slid to the floor as Giles took two steps and fell to his knees beside his wife. Her eyes were open, and she wore an expression of shock and betrayal. Why? her dead eyes seemed to ask. Why weren't you here with me? A low moan escaped him, and words began to tumble out, as if he could just find the right thing to say, all this would vanish. "No, God, please, not her. Not the baby. Please, God, make it a dream, don't let this be real. Not Marie. No, please, no..." Why her? Why not me? Why wasn't I there? There was a sound from the kitchen. With difficulty, Giles tore his eyes away from Marie's body and looked up. It was Peters. Behind him came Nancy, still holding the wire garotte. Both wore the demonic visage of a vampire, and both sported identical grins. As Giles watched, frozen, Peters crossed the dining room to the crib. He reached into the crib and brought something out. As Giles stared, unable to accept the reality of what was happening, Peters cradled the dead baby to his chest in a twisted parody of tenderness, turned to Giles, and said, "Congratulations, Mr. Giles! It's a girl!" Nothing Giles had ever seen after that day had filled him with such horror, such revulsion. There had been more, of course; only the timely intervention of the Watcher's Council, who had received confirmation of Gregory Peters and Nancy Jameson's deaths only minutes after Giles' departure, got him out of that apartment alive; he never went back. Even then, it was weeks before the new Slayer had tracked down and killed the two vampires. The whole story came out later, and it was simple enough. Nancy had been careless, got herself killed and changed over, then done the same to her Watcher. His first act, upon awakening, had been to go to Giles' house, his closest friend in life. Marie had not realized that anything was wrong, and her late-pregnancy fatigue made her slow to suspect her old friend. But by that time, Giles no longer cared. And he spent the next twenty years trying to forget Marie's death and everything connected with it. He closed himself off from the world, avoided women and any kind of relationship in a twisted effort to remain faithful. He had never really grieved. The initial shock of her death, shattering his life, had shifted directly into a lifetime of escapism and denial. Only now, after meeting Buffy, who became the daughter he never had, and Jenny, the only other woman he had ever really fallen in love with, could Giles really mourn. And now he did. For Peters, for Nancy, for his youthful idealism. For his unnamed daughter, for the life he and his family might have made together, and above all else, for Marie. For his wife, whom he had betrayed twice; once, for failing to protect her and her baby, and again, for trying for twenty years to erase her from his past. Rosemary was for rememberance. There had to be some way he could remember her, honor his promise to her, without living in constant mourning. As soon as he realized this, it was like a voice which had been nagging at him for twenty years had finally quieted. Maybe it had. Xander's comment about ghosts had more truth than he'd realized. Giles looked around his office, and images of his wife danced before his eyes. As she had been when they first married; young and vital and oh so beautiful. Remembering her still hurt, but not as much as pretending she had never been. She was dead now, but in his mind, she would be young forever. He would remember her. He would remember, and move on. The Brotherhood ][ Last Man Out ][ Blacklight Behind the Scenes ][ What's Mine Is Yours ][ 3 Thru The Merry-O Swing Set ][ The Healer ][ Black & White The Meek Shall Inherit ][ Rosemary For Remembrance