As he squinted through the window across the yard ahead of him Giles could see Buffy’s long blonde hair passing backwards and forwards. He didn’t want the third degree right now, so he waited until the coast was clear. When she moved free of the phone and up towards the staircase he ventured forward, zigzagging his way across the unkept lawn.
Buffy had been listening to a message from Dawn. All it said ominously was that she was coming home soon. It didn’t give an explanation, but it didn’t sound like a choice, and it didn’t sound forgiving. She hadn’t been gone all that long, but after hearing it Buffy knew one thing, she needed to lie down. All the blood was rushing to her head and she felt dizzy from it.
She climbed the stairs and crossed the landing heart in her throat. She didn’t want to see him, she didn’t want to have to talk to him or even catch his gaze, but she knew as soon as she passed his door she would have to look inside; she couldn’t help herself.
At first she couldn’t process what she’d seen, it was certainly more than she expected to see. She’d had a feeling he was there, she was always highly aware of his presence, and she half expected him to be awake, to be in there doing something. But what she actually saw him doing stopped her in her tracks.
His duffle bag was set on its side on the bed; he was stuffing clothes and oddments into it. Never a good packer, but always a quick one; he’d packed up his life more than once. The first time for college she hadn’t watched because she’d been too upset, the second time after Dru she’d only seen the aftermath, and the third time he’d done it in secret. So, she figured, number three had been his inspiration.
“What are you doing?” she asked, confused. She stepped inside and waited for an answer, but he didn’t look up from his task. Why was he packing his stuff? Why hadn’t he stopped packing his stuff since she came in? Why was he still packing his stuff?
He carried on for a moment not acknowledging her, and that made her even more confused. She felt like she’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t, but he obviously didn’t feel that way; he made no move to cover it up, or even to look guilty.
She didn’t say anything more, but she might as well have because he couldn’t avoid it a moment longer. The tension in the room was enough that she didn’t have to make another move to get it out of him, he already felt prodded for information just by her staring.
“I’m leaving.” He sighed; he hadn’t wanted to blurt it out like that.
“What?!” Buffy shouted.
Spike steeled himself, “I’ve told the guys we can record; I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.”
Giles hung on at the bottom of the stairs; his mind was swimming and not in a good way, never in a good way, but he heard the conversation going on above his head through the liquor.
As the words penetrated he felt sick, and dizzy, and numb at first, mostly like he did as he drifted through every day since Joyce had left him. He stepped cautiously forward like a baby deer and landed a foot on the first step. It wasn’t a nice feeling, this feeling he had. He didn’t do it to himself because it was nice, he did it because it was better than the alternative, or what he remembered of it; he did it because he couldn’t remember what else to do.
But through the fog the voices of his children floated to him and for the first time in weeks what they said hit him without bouncing off into the void. They registered, and he knew in a moment of clarity that not only had he lost his wife, and his youngest daughter, but now his only son couldn’t stand to be around him. And there was only Buffy.
Buffy wasn’t his own daughter, and that mattered now even less that it did before, because she was the only one prepared to put up with him. And what had he done to deserve her allegiance? Her loyalty? And what would be her reward at the end of it? The shell of a father who couldn’t even look her in the eyes, because they were so much like her mother’s?
He couldn’t blame Spike for wanting to leave; what had he done but push his children away? Joyce had slipped through his fingers through a cruel twist of fate, just like his first wife, Jenny. The universe had done it, and he’d had no control, but this was different.
No more, he thought setting his foot back on the first floor. The front door banged shut behind him a few staggered moments later.
Buffy’s mouth moved over many reactions before she finally spoke one aloud, “How can you…You’re abandoning us again?” She’d meant the family, but she couldn’t help the double meaning slipping between them when she said ‘us.’
“Buffy, it’s not like that.” He shook his head vehemently. “This isn’t helping either one of us, being here together. If we’re over, we need to be over.”
Buffy was now shaking her head; she couldn’t believe he was running out on her again.
He knew just what she was thinking, but he was desperate for her to understand. In his heart he really believed it was her that was running out on them, abandoning her own life and love this time. He pursed his lips together and carried on packing before saying, “I’m not forgetting about you lot like I did when I was in college, and I’m not running scared like I did when I went to England. I’m just moving forward. I have to do this, it’s not about running away from something, it’s about running towards something this time.”
She didn’t know what to say at first. She took a deep breath.
“You can tell that to yourself, I don’t buy it.” she said finally.
He sighed, he didn’t know how else to make her understand, but the thought of leaving her without her acceptance really hurt. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, Buffy.” he lied, knowing it only didn’t change it. “I still have my life to live and I need to get on with it. It only seems like running because you’re staying here, but you’re making that choice as much as I’m making this one. We’ve been here a long time and now we have to make a decision about our lives back in New York. I want to go back, and if you won’t come with me then I have to go on my own.”
That stumped her. “You want me to come with you?”
“That’s…” he stopped, “That’s not what I mea…” He thought about it again, it wasn’t what he’d meant, but that didn’t mean much so he went a different way, “Would you? If I asked you to?”
She said nothing. It wasn’t that she tried to, or even that she was thinking it over; her mind was completely blank.
He sighed. “I guess that’s my answer.”
“I’m not ready.” she offered softly.
He nodded, he believed her. It’s why he hadn’t asked her before, and he didn’t begrudge her for it. She’d been stagnant for so long, but he recognised the change in her. She was making progress, but she would never leave before she’d fixed things with Dawn and he couldn’t wait that long, because even after this incident she would always find some reason to think Dawn wasn’t okay without her. He highly doubted Buffy would go back to college next year and that made him so angry, not at her exactly, but generally at her wasted talent.
Deep down he knew he’d wronged Dawn. He’d lied to her and he’d upset her, but what Buffy and him had been doing wasn’t wrong. Dawn would be fine or she wouldn’t be, it had nothing to do with his behaviour, it had to do with her opinion of his behaviour, and he felt like he was too old to explain himself or his actions to anyone anymore.
Unlike Buffy he had never worried about telling their family. He knew his dad would be shocked, but he’d understand, and Dawn would be okay with it eventually if he was. The way she found out and what she’d seen changed that, but in a way it didn’t matter, because if Buffy didn’t even want to be with him Dawn could easily forget it all.
He had no reason to be here anymore, his dad was the only loose end; it’d gone on long enough. He’d hoped the drinking was a phase, that when the grief subsided so would that, but the other morning he’d realised the truth. Short term he knew he could sober him up before he left. A long term fix would take more time than he had right now, but he could come back as soon as they’d finished the album and stay close to the house while he got him some professional help.
As for Buffy there was nothing to say, and everything to say, but if he didn’t go soon he knew he never would. Part of him feared Buffy would never leave here, and he didn’t want that to be the case for him as well. She’d see it soon enough, she was coping now and she didn’t need him anymore, apparently she didn’t want him either. His point however was that soon she’d be back to herself and she’d see the practicalities of her life in New York versus her life here, and she’d make her decision, whatever it was. So right now, he had to make his, and his life wasn’t here, it never truly had been.
As he turned around and left the room Buffy felt all the oxygen go with him, and she felt like she was stood on the edge of a very tall cliff. If she made one small move she’d fall, so she didn’t, she held fast and tried not to sway into the wind.
How could he do this to her now? When she’d just gotten her head together? With everything that was happening with Dawn?
She wasn’t even home yet; they hadn’t talked about what they would say to her and how they would explain to her what happened. She contemplated begging Dawn’s forgiveness on her own and she couldn’t breathe. Dawn would never understand, and although she’d thought about how it might be better if her and Spike kept their distance from each other for a while, this wasn’t what she had envisioned.
He was letting her down; in her mind there was no other way around it. He was running away from her again when she needed him the most. How could he?
Giles pushed the door open later that night. The house was quiet, but the air was thick, not in a way that anyone could notice, but he knew something had happened. It was for this reason he knew what he had to do next, because he was stood still in a life that carried on regardless of him. His family was surviving, hurting, and moving on without him.
Tearing down a note attached to the door that said ‘We need to talk Old man’ he walked into his office, his steps no longer unsure, but still shaky. It had taken the whole day, but the alcohol had left his body. It was the first time apart from the times he’d accidentally slept it off.
He crouched down by the old bureau against the far wall and calmly he opened the cupboard at the bottom. Though his hands were trembling he was sure it was with withdrawal rather than nerves.
He took out everything, some things full, some things half full, some things empty and never replaced because he couldn’t even see straight to know they were done with. They clanked together as they tossed around inside the garbage bag he’d brought with him. Eventually he stood up straight and pulled the bag closed. He held his breath with every step as he walked outside and lifted the trash can lid.
This wasn’t the end of something, he knew that, his senses weren’t altogether destroyed even though they were still hazy from lack of use, but he knew it was a start. He had a long road ahead of him, and part of him knew he couldn’t do it on his own. He hoped he hadn’t burned all his bridges and that his family would still be there for him, but he knew he had to do it either way, for their sakes, for his own, and for the memory of both of the women he had loved and lost in this world.
This time the bottles crashed as they hit the dark bottom of the garbage.