Someone
By Tevye

TITLE: Someone
AUTHOR: Tevye
E-MAIL: anatevka44@yahoo.com
FEEDBACK: This is my first pov piece and I'd like to know how it goes, as always the voices will dance in you honor.
DISTRIBUTION: Solo as always. You want it? It's yours. Just tell me so that the voices can make a pilgrimage to your site, and hold the ritual feasting.
SPOILERS: Up through Hush (wow I'm writing in response to season 4)
CONTENT: Giles/Buffy (like I write anything else ;-)
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Joss Wheadon and many others own the characters of BtVS (lucky bastards).
SUMMARY: Set in the future. This is a reflection piece from Buffy's POV
NOTES: Each piece will be an alternating POV piece from either Buffy or Giles pov. The entire fic is sort of written like "Empty Prayers" in that each title is a line from the song "Being Alive" from Company by Stephen Sondheim.

Someone to Hold You Too Close

The last time I saw Wesley he asked me, ‘What does Mr. Giles do that makes you love him so much?’. I guess in that sort of strange whiny way of his, he was asking how to be a better Watcher, how to inspire the same loyalty that Giles inspires. The question took me off guard though, and I didn’t really know how to answer it and didn’t want to think about it too much so I just looked at Wesley like he had grown another head, and said "He’s Giles," as if that was all there was to it.

I’ve had a lot of time to think since then, but I keep coming back to that same conclusion: he’s Giles. I love him so much because I can’t help but do anything else. He won’t let me. I think I’ve only stayed the slayer because of him. I’ve wanted to quit so many times, just throw it all in and tell the council that they could go screw themselves, but it was always Giles who wouldn’t let me. It was as though he held me hostage without really meaning to. I stayed because of him, because he cared so much, because he cared more than I ever wanted him to, and somehow I found myself caring back. Somehow over the years, between all the lectures and the training and the teasing and the pain that we’ve gone through together, he got inside.

At first I thought it was just this sort of comfortable kind of affection thing. You know the ‘I’ve grown accustomed to being around you’ thing. But then Riley died in the explosion, and Giles . . . Giles wouldn’t let me go. He wouldn’t let me try to runaway again or sink into myself so far that nothing could touch me. God, I can just imagine how it must have been for him, with me one minute screaming that I shouldn’t have outlived Riley and stalking out the door with just one stake because I was trying to get myself killed, and the next minute sitting so quiet and still that I’m surprised no one thought I was in a coma. It wasn’t that Riley and I were in love; we never got the chance. He died too soon. But no one that close to me had ever died. Yeah, I faced death and danger everyday and always came out with a pun and a joke, but suddenly reality hit home so hard that it knocked me over with its power. Death was real. Death was real, and it was going to get me, and if they kept fighting it would get my friends.

So I tried to shut myself off, to put as much distance between my friends and me as possible, to keep Xander and Willow from harm. But most importantly to keep Giles from harm because if anything ever . . . I mean . . . God, I barely survived Riley’s death and then only because Giles was there, because Giles held me so close that I couldn’t pull away, and then he held me still closer. He forced me to live when I didn’t want to, he forced me to feel when I thought I couldn’t any longer, but more than anything he forced me to love when I swore I never would again.

I moved in after that. I didn’t want to be in the dorm anymore. I know it’s a great college experience and all, but I wanted a home, a real home. Losing Riley made me realize how little time I had because hey, even if I’m the longest living slayer, as Giles constantly insists I will be, that only means six more years maybe ten if I’m lucky. I’ve got to fit a lifetime of experiences into just six years, so I figured I’d get started early. Giles didn’t really object. I mean I’m sure he threw up a few protests, and I know Mom threw up plenty, but I was a determined slayer and ignored them both, so in the end I got my way. Truthfully, I think he likes having me around. I know I like having him around.

I guess you could call it one of those school-girl crushes, except I’m not a school girl anymore. I’ve grown up, and I’ve grown into someone who wants to be loved by him and by nobody else. Did you ever have the feeling that you were made for someone? That you were put on this Earth just for them? Well, that’s what I feel. It’s as if all this growing up I’ve done, and this woman I’ve become, and in some ways the girl I’ve always been, were just for him—tailor made like those suits he used to wear.

He wears them again now. He finally got off his ‘gentleman of leisure’ lazy ass and got a job, and it only took me six months of teasing and his car breaking down. He works at the Sunnydale museum and guest lectures at the college. It’s funny really to watch him go off to work when I know full well that everyone else there wears polo shirts and khakis and barely passes for business casual, but that’s Giles for ya. The tweed is his armor, but at home when we’re eating dinner or watching TV he still wears the sweaters and jeans. I was really flattered on the first day when he went back to work when, after he came back, he went upstairs and changed out of his protective clothing. He has no idea how important it was to me that he didn’t feel the need for that sort of emotional protection around me anymore, but it was important. It was so important that I almost cried when he came down in the bulky navy blue sweater and jeans that is my favorite outfit, but I didn’t because that would have confused and worried him.

The strange thing is for all my certainty I’m still scared. Still scared that he won’t want me, or that once I’ve proclaimed my love something will go horribly wrong. Maybe that’s why I haven’t told him. Maybe that’s why on those nights when we’re reading by the fire . . . okay he’s reading and I’m sharpening weapons, but you gotta admit it was a pretty cool picture there for a moment . . . and he’ll throw an arm around me and place a kiss on the top of my head, it feels like I’m being held too close. I’m being held too close because it’s not close enough.

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