RESURRECTION

By

GM

"Who's nightmare is this?"

"It's mine?"

Words spoken years ago when Sunnydale was gripped in a nightmare. Rupert Giles' worse terror had come to pass -- finding Buffy's grave. Months ago, he had dug the grave for real -- the nightmare a tangible horror that he had somehow lived through, somehow endured.

"Giles, are you sitting down?"

Such a benign inquiry could only mean cataclysmic disaster on the other end of the line. Chills coursed along Rupert Giles' spine and he sat heavily into the nearest chair. He had not expected to hear form anyone from Sunnydale so soon. Certainly not within a few hours of his arrival in London. What disaster had erupted on the Hellmouth? What peril had snaked into the midst of his young friends after he had turned his back on them? Imagination ran rampant at the possibilities of catastrophe.

The underlying guilt he had harbored for weeks surfaced with a vengeance. Ever since he had put into words his plans to leave California, he had been ridden with guilt at the obvious abandonment of the young adults comprising his known world in Sunnydale. At one time, they were considered "HER" friends, but over the years, the relationships had transformed. His role of librarian/Watcher/adult had morphed into one of mentor, advisor, quasi-father-figure, and ultimately, most significantly, friend.

Leaving the youthful defenders of right had been a difficult decision, one liberally laced with self-chastisement and reluctance. Nothing, however, could overpower his overwhelming guilt at his ultimate crime -- allowing the death of his Slayer. Compared to that tormenting anguish no emotion even came close. Each day in Sunnydale was a reminder of his culpability -- each visit to a familiar place a fresh wound. Each moment spend in the hidden, forested grave where they had privately, secretly laid her body, was a sojourn in Hell.

He had failed her. His Slayer -- girl he had trained, taught, and fought beside. The young woman who bravely, selflessly fought for good over evil. The one he loved most in all the world. He had, in the end, not been good enough, fast enough, and smart enough to save her. Now Buffy was gone -- dead -- buried. In addition, with her remains were enshrined all his hopes, dreams and plans for any future.

Once Buffy had asked him, why there was so little history on the Slayers' deaths. He had agonizingly told her it was because once a slayer died her Watcher was too broken-hearted to continue recording. In many instances, Watchers were too distraught to continue with life. It would have surprised her to know how high the suicide rate was for Watchers. Buffy's brush with the Watcher council was one of limited number: Merrick, a renegade who had taken her under his tutelage without authority. Travers and the others who were stiff, formal, cold and unsympathetic. Wesley, who had started out pompous and cowardly and was now an ally. And Giles, a bumbling, book-knowledgeable man stumbling in the traditions of his family. All too many Watchers fell under the spell of their young Slayer. Some were even flawed enough to fall in love -- in varying degrees and forms -- with the girls under their charge. When the inevitable moment of the Slayer's death came, the Watchers -- broken-hearted -- succumbed to the overwhelming grief and voluntarily left a life filled with pain and guilt.

Months of contemplation had assured him he was not weak enough to take that path. The Scooby-gang needed him to be strong. After the initial painful days, he had forced himself into a regimen of routine. Use the Buffy-Bot to patrol and fool the demon-world into thinking the Slayer was still on patrol. He rallied the young people to work through the grief, continue slaying demons, and keep Sunnydale safe. They had a mission, a goal, and it had kept them sustained through the summer.

To Giles, suicide would have been redundant, wouldn't it? When she had died -- when he viewed her lifeless, crumpled body on the ground -- he had died, too. What remained of his Slayer was a lifeless shell. What remained of the Watcher was the same. While he breathed still, there was not spark, no usefulness left to him.

The young people had progressed, but the old Watcher had not. Each day his grief, his guilt became a heavier burden, until he could no longer bear the places and people who were part of Buffy's life. Assured -- no, convincing himself -- they would be all right on their own, he had left her closest friends to escape to the anonymity and coldness of England. No living relatives and few friends knew him back here in London. His rebellion -- allying with his defiant Slayer -- had alienated him from the small, close society of Watchers. His non-Watcher friends had long since been abandoned. He was staying in a friend's flat (an elderly Watcher who had not abandoned him when the others had) in London. He had left the phone number with Willow. Never in his wildest nightmares had he imagined the call of crisis would come so soon.

"What is it?" His throat was dry, his chest tight as he eased breath into his lungs. Gripping the receiver with maniacal intensity, he wondered if Xander was dead. Had Tara been gravely injured? Had something happened to Anya and the shop? God-forbid, had tragedy preyed on the youngest, most innocent of all? The precious Dawn whom Buffy had sacrificed herself to save? If anything had happened to the young Sommers girl Giles' guilt would be complete and overwhelming. Now, in whatever afterlife his beloved Buffy rested in, she could hardly forgive him for failing to save her. If Dawn was hurt or killed after he had abandoned his post -- well -- he would certainly deserve her harshest eternal condemnation. "What has happened, Willow?"

"It's a really long story, Giles, so I won't go into detail --"

"Willow!"

"Okay! Buffy's alive. Don't ask how. I'll explain it all when you get here." An audible, deep breath echoed over the lines connecting him to the sunny Southern California town half a globe away. "Just -- she's back."

Initial refusals, caustic denials and incredulous retorts died before they reached his tongue. Willow would never be so cruel as to call him with a fabrication of this amazing, unbelievable event. Then it had to be true.

Why wasn't Buffy making the call? Was she all right? Did she hate him so much for his defection that she wouldn't speak to him? Were his crimes of inadequacy and abandonment too appalling to forgive as he had continually told himself?

"I'll --" His voice dissolved into a choked sob. "I'll be there as soon as I can." He fumbled to hang up the receiver, then buried his face in his hands, weeping uncontrollably.

***

As the small shuttle jet taxied to a stop at Sunnydale Airport, Giles remained seated while the other passengers stood, gathered belongings, and prepared to disembark. After Willow's remarkable call he had finally regained control of his tattered emotions enough to get a taxi to Heathrow. On the long flight back to LA he had much time to contemplate between fatigue-induced naps. Speculations ran wild within his imagination. What had happened? Had Willow used black magic? Her voice certainly indicated she was holding something back -- mostly explanations. Had the alternate dimension somehow reversed time? Were there greater powers at work?

None of that mattered, of course. What was most important was that Buffy was resurrected. And thus, so was her Watcher. Ahead were possible terrors of what she might be like after being dead for three months. Before them was the anticipated/dreaded reunion that would both reclaim him to the living as well as possibly destroy him. What if she rejected him for his failures? Was that why Willow had to call instead of Buffy? What was his excuse at abandoning Dawn and the others? How could he explain that he had not been good enough to save her?

For hours the questions and doubts had tormented him. As the plane emptied, he gathered his carry-on and shuffled out of the plane. Instead of being the first one off in wild excitement, he was hesitant -- wary -- of what the next few crucial moments would hold. Walking forward, he forced himself not to pause at the threshold of the hatch, but to forge ahead. Buffy was resurrected along with her Watcher. That was the only thing his life was about right now.

THE END