RoundRobin: Chapter 15 (Part 1) - Kirayoshi

["Jude <AmberBensonFan@xxxxxxxxxxx>" <AmberBensonFan@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Disclaimers; Joss owns all he surveys.
Rating; verging on R.
Author's note; I'm starting this chapter with a scene taken from the 
end of the Angel episode 'Birthday', but I'm rewriting it slightly to 
fit the story. Trust me, it works.
Summary; Willow confronts some familiar enemies, while Buffy faces 
her feelings for Tara.

Rising from the Wreckage
Chapter 15
"Ladies and Gentlemen"


Los Angeles;

Willow sipped her coffee without tasting it, watching as Angel 
fretted over the unconscious body of Cordelia Chase. Wes, Gunn, Fred 
and Lorne stood around the bed in Angel's room, all desperate to help 
their friend, but helpless to do a thing for her. Willow especially 
felt a deep burning pain in the pit of her stomach, watching as her 
former nemesis, sometime friend and for a brief night lover, lay 
comatose, a victim of her increasingly dangerous visions. 

A voice in the back of her head whispered to her, telling her to use 
her magic to save Cordy. She struggled to silence that voice, knowing 
it to be a lie. She had done enough harm with her magic; she didn't 
dare use her powers, especially with Cordy's life on the line. All 
she could do is offer a heartfelt prayer to the Goddess for Cordy's 
survival and well-being. After Cordy had been so supportive when she 
needed it, Willow couldn't bear the thought of seeing her die.

The birthday party was about to start when she began having her 
latest vision. Willow had been aware of how much more painful her 
visions had become, to the point where Cordy had become dependent on 
prescription pain pills. Cordy had sworn Willow to secrecy regarding 
the pills, and her fears that her visions would soon kill her. Now 
they all knew what price Cordy had been paying to aid Angel in his 
mission. They prayed that the price wouldn't end up being her life.

Suddenly Cordy arced back, howling in pain. Angel ran to her side, 
followed by the others. "What's happening to her?" Fred asked 
worriedly.

Cordy sat up on the bed, gasping, and opened her chocolate brown 
eyes. Angel overjoyed to see her well, caught her in a generous 
hug. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Angel." Cordy breathed. She suddenly pulled back, resting her hands 
on her head. "No horns," she commented. Feeling around to her lower 
back, she smiled in relief; "No tail. Whew! Just checking." Cordy 
jumped to her feet and stretched, while the others watched her. "It 
feels so good to be solid again."

While they were all glad to see Cordy alive and well, Wesley pondered 
the suddenness of her recovery, as well as the unanswered question of 
her latest vision. "Cordelia, what is the last thing you remember?"

Cordy glanced at the young Englishman, a quizzical look crossing her 
face. "When? I've been so... Oh. You mean the vision downstairs. No, 
I had a vision, but it's been taken care off. There was this actress, 
and an one-armed guy... It's a long story. But right now, we have to 
solve my vision."

Lorne blinked, asking, "The one you just said was taken care of?"

"No," Cordy answered, pacing off her sudden burst of energy and 
purpose. "The one I'm having right now. There's this auditorium, it's 
on a college campus, I think UCLA, and there are five, no, six thin 
dudes, like cadavers in black suits...."

"Uh, Cordy?" Angel asked suddenly, as the others gazed at her, in 
unblinking shock.

"What?" Cordy asked, totally oblivious to the fact that she was 
hovering one foot above the floor.

<<>>

Sunnydale;

"My name is John Wellington Wells,
I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses
And ever-filled purses,
In prophecies, witches and knells.
If you want a proud foe to make tracks,
If you'd have a rich uncle in wax,
You need only look in
On the resident djinn
Number seventy, Simmery Axe!"

Rupert Giles puttered busily around the Magic Box, examining the 
ceremonial robes, dusting the shelves of scrying stones and resorting 
books by author and title. Gilbert and Sullivan drifted from a nearby 
stereo system, and Giles sang along quietly with the bright melody as 
he worked. Busy work, he admitted to himself; something to occupy his 
time while he fretted about the future of the world.

Even knowing that, as Jenny once said, the end was decidedly nigh, he 
felt more at ease since he first left for England two months ago. 
This was his home, he realized now, this was where he belonged; in 
Sunnydale, looking after Buffy Summers and her friends, his extended 
family. He once said to Buffy, "The Slayer is on the front lines of a 
very ugly war." Well, Sunnydale was certainly the front lines. And he 
was no armchair general, of that he was certain. Whatever hell Buffy 
was going to face, He would face it with her.

"We've a first-class assortment of magic;
And for raising a posthumous shade
With effects that are comic or tragic,
There's no cheaper house in the trade.
Love-philter, we've quantities of it;
And for knowledge if any one burns,
We keep an extremely small prophet, a prophet
Who brings us unbounded returns!"

His immediate concern was for Willow, a concern he shared with Buffy 
and her friends. She was still in Los Angeles; he had contacted Angel 
who assured him that she was slowly recovering from whatever trauma 
she had suffered at the hands of this Rack person. Buffy and the 
others, especially Dawn and Tara, had sent e-mails and cards to 
Willow, wishing her well and asking her to come home. As much as it 
pained him to admit, the only thing that any of them could do is let 
Willow know that she still had a home in Sunnydale. If she were 
forced to return before she felt she was ready, she would be no good 
to anyone.

"For he can prophesy
With a wink of his eye,
Peep with security
Into futurity,
Sum up your history,
Clear up a mystery,
Humour proclivity
For a nativity, for a nativity-"

"Nice pipes, Giles," a mildly cheerful voice piped in from the front 
door. "Don't tell me someone summoned the musical demon again!"

Giles stopped singing and composed himself. "Oh, uh no, Buffy, 
nothing like that," he answered, valiantly attempting to hide his 
embarrassment. "I was just enjoying some light opera. 'The Sorcerer' 
by Gilbert and Sullivan, actually."

"Weird choice," Buffy admitted as she walked toward the front 
counter. "Appropriate, though."

"So, Buffy," Giles asked as he reshelved some spell books, "what 
brings you here this time of night?"

"I just thought I'd swing by before my patrol," Buffy answered, idly 
fingering the stake in her jacket pocket. 

"You're not wearing your work uniform, I see," Giles noted. 

"I have tonight off, so I thought I'd swing by the cemeteries. But 
first I wanted to check with you. See if you found anything new about 
this 'Beast'."

Giles shook his head slowly. "I fear not. I've been in touch with the 
Council, they seem to believe that the threat of the Beast is as 
grave as any you've faced before and have devoted their resources to 
finding out what information they can. But so far, we haven't learned 
anything new. It feels like a chess game, Buffy. It's as though the 
Beast is setting up the pieces, planning his moves, trying to control 
the board." Giles exhaled audibly, venting his frustration. "But we 
will find out what the Beast is planning. You may be assured of that."

"Thanks, Giles," Buffy nodded. "I just hope we find something before 
the Beast makes his first move."

"Agreed," Giles answered. "Uh, Buffy, are you still working as a 
campus security guard?"

"Yeah," Buffy stood with her back to the counter, placed her hands on 
the wooden surface and lifted her body to a sitting position on the 
counter. "Even with that stipend the Council's sending me, it's good 
to have another paycheck. Besides, it's a perfect cover for my 
regular patrol, and having a regular job keeps Child Services off my 
back. The way it's set up, I can use the check from my security job 
for bills, groceries and the basics, while I sock my stipend into a 
401K and some college funds for Dawn and me." 

"Sounds like a sensible plan," Giles nodded. "Did Tara set that up 
for you?"

"She helped, yeah," Buffy admitted. "She's been good for Dawn and me, 
especially sinceâ?¦" She shook her head, not wanting to finish that 
sentence.

Giles placed the last book on the shelf and joined Buffy at the 
counter. "I understand, Buffy. Don't worry. Willow will return. She 
has to."

Buffy released a pent-up breath, her shoulders sagging as she 
exhaled. She shook her head heavily and bit back a growl of 
frustration. "That prophecy, right?" she commented darkly. "Have I 
told you lately how much I hate prophecies?"

"It had been brought to my attention," Giles answered dryly. "At 
least this one doesn't predict your imminent demise."

"No," Buffy answered, "but I'm still a little squicked by that 
whole 'three bound by love' thing. I don't want to screw up Willow 
and Tara. They had a good thing going, and hopefully they'll have it 
again. Besides, don't I have free will? Damn the prophecy, I won't 
come between them."

Giles examined Buffy's face, seeing her knitted brow and downcast 
eyes. After so many years of hiding behind masks of duty and 
sacrifice, Buffy's true emotions were finally starting to assert 
themselves. "Buffy," he spoke gently, not as a Watcher to his Slayer, 
but as a father to his daughter, "your own experience should remind 
you how mutable prophecies can be. If you, Willow and Tara are indeed 
bound by love, that bond does not necessitate a sexual relationship."

Buffy huffed cynically. "Anya seems to think so. Ever since you 
revealed that prophecy, she's been asking me if I've had sex with 
Tara yet."

Giles barked a sarcastic laugh. "Anya sees sexual subtext in Tom and 
Jerry cartoons. Buffy, sex and love are not synonymous. If I recall 
my Greek philosophy classes from university correctly, Socrates spoke 
of three levels of love, Eros, Philia and Agape."

"Who, who and wha?" Buffy looked blankly at Giles.

"I know, speak English," Giles regarded Buffy with a half-smile as he 
removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with a Kleenex; Buffy 
recognized this gesture as 'Giles Explains it All'. "According to 
Socrates, Eros is the lowest form of love. Eros, from which we get 
the word 'erotic', is romantic and sexual love, embodying desire and 
lust, as well as the need to create, either by propagating the 
species or by creating works of art. On a higher level is Philia, 
meaning friendship and familial love. Certainly something that you 
share with both Willow and Tara."

"As in Philadelphia," Buffy offered, "the City of Brotherly Love."

"Yes, very good," Giles agreed. "And finally, on the highest level, 
there is Agape. This is defined as a selfless love, sacrificing all 
for the greater good. And if anyone possesses the capability to love 
that strongly, Buffy, it's you. You have sacrificed so much for so 
long, for the sake of Dawn, Willow, all of us. So really, Buffy, the 
prophecy of the Three Who Are One hasn't said anything about you that 
we didn't already know."

Buffy sat silently, weighing Giles' words in her mind. It wasn't 
often when he let his guard down and spoke from the heart as he was 
now. His words made sense; she recognized their truth in her heart. 
She knew he was right, and that she had no reason to be ashamed of 
the love she felt for either Willow or Tara. 

Even if that kiss Tara gave me earlier was hot enough to roast meat 
on. An almost evil leer curled her mouth at the thought, and a warm 
tingle of arousal traveled through her nervous system. Ooh, bad 
Buffy, down girl!

"So what you're saying," Buffy asked hopefully, "is that what I have 
with Willow and Tara isn't based on sex, or any kind of romantic 
connection?"

"To be honest, Buffy," Giles answered, "I have no idea what your 
relationship with the other two will entail. For all we know, Anya 
may be absolutely right. What I do know is that, no matter what 
happens between the three of you, you will always have my 
unconditional support."

For Buffy, hearing these words was like a warm blanket over tired 
shoulders. No matter how stoic and aloof she played it in front of 
the rest of the Scooby Gang, it was good to know that she had the 
love and support of Rupert Giles and the others. Even Xander, who 
became enraged over Buffy's unfortunate dalliance with Spike, had 
assured her that she could count on him in the clutch. Not for the 
first time since her resurrection, she found herself asking the same 
question; what did I do to merit their loyalty, after all the danger 
they've faced alongside me over the years?

She hopped off the counter and started to walk toward the door. 
Before she opened the door to leave, she turned back toward the quiet 
Englishman who had acted as her father for over five years. "Giles," 
Buffy looked away from her mentor for a moment, then faced him again, 
her eyes meeting his, "I'm sorry for giving you grief when you came 
back. I guess that when you told me about our new threat, I went into 
defensive mode."

"Understandable, given the circumstances," Giles admitted.

"Was it, Giles?" Buffy shook her head bitterly. "I blamed you for 
bugging out on me, for turning your back on me, when I was the one 
who was turning my back on everyone else. And all this time, you were 
still looking out for me. I mean, that whole stipend thing, that was 
your doing, wasn't it?" Giles gave a non-committal shrug of his 
shoulders, which didn't fool Buffy any. "Look, I guess I've been 
pushing all of you guys away from me, and I just wanted to say I'm 
sorry. And to say- thanks for-for being there, even if I didn't seem 
to want you there." Buffy instinctively tried to swallow the lump 
that began to form in her throat, and could feel the first tear 
sliding down her cheek.

Giles met her at the doorway, and offered her a handkerchief, which 
she accepted gladly, dabbing at her eyes with a corner of the fabric. 
Once she dried her eyes, she leaned toward Giles, her arms finding 
their way around his upper body. She wasn't entirely sure why she 
initiated the embrace, as she wasn't usually the 'touchy-feelie' 
type. She just knew that she needed to do something, to express what 
she couldn't put into words. He returned the embrace gladly, 
communicating all that he couldn't say through the simple act of 
touch.

After a few moments, Buffy and Giles backed away, as Buffy turned 
toward the door. "Hey, I'm gonna head out on patrol now. I'll touch 
bases with you tomorrow."

"Uh, certainly," Giles stammered. "I'll continue to, uh, open books, 
look stuff up. If I find anything you'll be the first person I call."

"Thanks," Buffy nodded. "See ya tomorrow." She silently slipped out 
the front door, the jangle of windchimes over the door the only 
evidence of her departure.

Giles stood staring at the door for a full minute before fetching his 
overcoat. His work at the Magic Box was finished for this night. And 
he realized with an absolute finality that there was one more thing 
that he could to for Buffy tonight. 

He locked the door to the shop, and headed out into the night.

<<>>