FF - A Wiccan Gets the Wiggins 3&4

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3

Giles may be a stuffy English muffin but he's Buffy's
stuffy English muffin. He's more to her than just her
Watcher. Oh sure he watches, or at least he once did,
before being fired by the Watcher's Council. That
wasn't because he was a bad watcher, although it must
be hard to watch effectively without 20/20 vision. If
you ask me, Giles is jobless because he realised that
being the Slayer's Watcher is more than just watching.
More than just reading dusty old books and theorising
and doing his Slayer's Mother on the hood of a car in
a freaky, not to mention sick, return to adolescence.
Being a watcher is also about helping out with the
slayage and helping Buffy stake her emotional demons
and being like a father figure. Deep huh?

"Willow," said Giles gravely, turning to me, "Buffy
may have need of your special talents."

"Really?" I asked, turning flame-red as I
unconsciously began flexing my fingers. "Really
truly? Now? Do you think now is such a good time?
What with Buffy being laid low and all, oh, I see what
you mean..."

Giles gave me a perturbed sniff. "Willow," he
interjected, "are you familiar with the Mystic Scroll
of Shankalin Volumes I through C? More precisely his
version of the Spell of Lethe as described in Scroll
XV?"

"Um," I said, "Uh..."

"That would be NO," translated Xander less than
helpfully.

"Fortunately it's right here," revealed Giles,
flipping busily through his mouldy book. "Shankalin's
spells are usually worse than useless but I have a
feeling that in this case..."

"Oh I remember!" I burst out, finally getting my mind
out of Buffy's bed. "Shankalin is that weirdo from
ancient Greece, right? The one who was blind except
that he could see with second sight. The one who
called himself a god and went around entrapping genies
after shocking them with his really bad fashion
sense?"

"Something like that," muttered Giles, finding the
relevant page and beckoning me over. "Now you'll
remember that in Greek mythology, the waters of the
River Lethe were used to induce forgetfulness in the
world-weary souls of the dead."

"Actually," burst in Xander. "I don't remember that."

Giles ignored him. "This Shankalin chap determined a
spell that supposedly recreates the waters of Lethe."

"Excuse me," countered Xander, "but why do we need
'magic water' that drowns our sorrows, oh wise
ex-watcher? They sell that at the Bronze."

"More permanent solution," explained the librarian.

"To what?" I burst out, beginning to feel all queasy
inside. Giles looked down at Buffy's now peaceful
form for what felt like a long time. When he looked
up his eyes were misty behind his glasses.

"She's outlived them all," he said finally, chin
quivering with some long suppressed emotion. "Do you
realise what a miracle that is? Buffy is the oldest
slayer in recorded history."

"The oldest?" I whispered as fear embraced me with icy
fingers. I had always known Buffy was risking her
life on a nightly basis but I had never dared to dwell
on all the others, the Slayers, the girls who had died
before. Martyrs one and all. Holding back the tide
of evil undead by sacrificing themselves in its
onslaught.

"The oldest," confirmed Giles, his voice shockingly
reedy. "I propose to keep it that way."

"Make Buffy forget?" I whispered, unable to believe
what he, what we, were contemplating.

"Now wait just a vamp-stakin' minute!" burst out
Xander, dark eyes flashing as he began to pace.
"Buffy's the Slayer. The Chosen One. The One and
Only. The Only thing between Sunnydale and all hell
breaking loose, literally. As much as I hate to admit
it, we need her Slaying. Without her we may as well
go out and bare our necks to the creatures that go
suck in the night."

"She's not the Only One," I realised, very much
wishing the words would just stick in the back of my
throat where they belonged. "There's Faith."

"Faith," whispered Buffy from the bed, reaching out
for Xander's tummy.

"Faith," confirmed Giles, lifting his glasses to rub
bleary eyes.

"That no-good, low-down, hot, sexy, nasty, mean,
naughty, oh so naughty, bad, very sexy, smutty, did I
mention very very sexy, rotten excuse for a Slayer?!"
protested Xander.

I knew exactly what he meant. Faith was the bad egg.
The evil twin. Hyde to Buffy's Jekyl. The Grinch who
stole Christmas. The Devil Woman. She's gonna get
ya! Even worse she betrayed us all and joined forces
with the enemy. Even worse she kidnapped me. Even
worse she definitely has a thing for Buffy. Not a
little thing either, a hungry, horny, 'Slayers of the
world unite' thing.

I sorta hate her.

"You're forgetting something, G-man," added Xander as
an afterthought. "Faith's comatose. Out of
commission. Hasn't had a good lay for weeks...except
on a hospital bed."

"She's not dead yet," I muttered, secretly wishing
maybe she were. It's an awful thing to feel this way
about another human being. But you don't know Faith.
You don't have to watch the way she stirs Buffy up.
Anything to get some semblance of passion from my best
friend. Anything to make the blood rush hot in her
own veins, anything to get that heady rush of power.

"She'll die soon," noted Giles coldy, snapping me from
my baleful thoughts. "When she does a new Slayer will
be called."

"Whoa Giles, harsh much?" gasped my kindergarten
buddy, echoing my own sentiments.

"Be Quiet, Xander," ordered the librarian, not meeting
our wide eyes. "We must do what's best for Buffy."

"But Buffy will never stop slaying," I offered, "she
feels like it's her duty to protect us all."

"Why would that be I wonder?" bit out Xander
sarcastically, glaring at Giles. "Maybe because it
IS?"

Giles rose to his feet slowly, his face beginning to
take on a strained reddish tinge. A vein in his
forehead pulsated, his eyes got all hard and glinty
and suddenly our mild-mannered librarian was gone and
the Ripper was staring down a sweaty Xander. "I
didn't ask for your moronic opinion, little boy.
You're gotten us almost killed more times than I care
to count. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you. Grow up.
Get the hell out of here and grow up." Xander backed
off the bed. He was shaking but trying not to show
it.

"Coming, Will?" he almost begged, giving me an out. I
stared at Buffy's sleeping form, all helpless and
needing me for once. I wouldn't leave her. I
couldn't. Xander gave an angry shrug and left at a
very fast walk. The wrinkles in Giles' brow smoothed
slightly.

"Are you going to help me with the spell?" he asked.
I didn't like the slight edge in his clipped tones. I
didn't want to leave Buffy alone with his nervous
breakdown.

"Yes," I said softly. "Yes I am."

4

The spell was disgusting. It smelled worse than that
freshly-risen corpse that had been involved in the
Cannery's meat-mincer incident, very downplayed by the
local press. I suppose an expose on what really
happens to the declining population of Sunnydale's
Nursing Home might be bad for local business. I was
with Giles in my kitchen, picking wings off dead flies
as he forcibly dragged a quickly dissolving iron ladle
through a pot filled with purple sludge.

It's times like this I wonder why I became witchy.

Apart from wanting to impress Buffy and protect Buffy
and be part of Buffy's life that is. Not to mention
my secret craving for occultic power so my ten year
high school reunion will truly be a night to
dismember!

"Wings of fly," requested Giles. I dutifully added
the most important ingredient. Being squeamish is not
for the wiccan. I've gotten alot better about that.
These days I don't faint till AFTER I add the eyes of
newt.

With a hoarse squeal the librarian dropped the hissing
remnants of my ladle into the pot and mopped his
forehead with his sleeve. "Hopefully that won't
adversly affect the spell," he muttered while I hunted
through the kitchen draws for yet another ladle. My
plans for future prosperity involve marketing a line
of spell-resilient cutlery for every witch who wants
to cook up black magic without boiling the kettle
black, so to speak.

"Giles," I began tentatively, wondering if he was back
to his normal stodgy self. "Giles, what do you think
is wrong with Buffy, anyway?"

"Most likely a combination of the recent traumatic
events and..."

"You mean the Ascension?" I asked, wanting to clarify
his sure to be long-winded explanation in my mind.
Wanting to know we were doing the right thing.

"Yes, the Ascension, what else would I mean?" he
snapped, shoulders bulging against the tweed of his
jacket as he stirred even more vigorously. "Now as I
was saying before I was so thoughtlessly interrupted,
Buffy has been under all sorts of stress of late. Not
even the Slayer herself can be expected to weather
storms such as these without succumbing to..."

"In English please."

I spun around with wide guilty eyes. Buffy slouched
against the doorframe, staring pointy stakes into
Giles' back.

"Buffy!" I gasped. "It's not what it looks like,
unless you think it looks like Giles is cooking, food
that is, not cooking up a spell, even though the food
is spell ingredients. I've discovered a good way to
save my limited allowance for the magic shop is to eat
spell leftovers as a healthy afternoon snack." I
brandished a pair of fly wings in the air. "Protein.
Lotsa protein."

Buffy favoured me with a weak half-smile. According
to my inner Slayer manual that translated as, 'stay
out of this, Willow. This is between me and Giles.
Us and two super soakers when the clock strikes
midnight and nothin's gonna get between him and my
holy water.'

"How are you feeling, Buffy?" asked Giles
solicitously.

"Lousy," admitted the Slayer. "But at least I'm still
batting stakes straight into the dirty hearts of the
other team, which is more than I can say for a certain
Watcher."

"Giles is gay?" I wondered out loud. Buffy stared at
me. Giles made a choking noise. All the blood cells
in my body sprinted to my face.

"Noooooo," drawled Buffy, now struggling to hide her
amusement. Unsuccessfully I might add. "That was my
way of saying he's acting all wacky and weirding me
out. Not an obscure reference to him rooming with
Wesley."

Giles made more choking noises. Buffy staggered over
to the table and sat herself down, looking up at his
rigid back with a hurt expression on her face. "Look,
Giles," she began carefully. "I handled Angel growing
a fangface 'cause we spent the night together. I
handled killing him. I handled sending him to hell.
Sure, I made myself scarce for awhile..."

"The whole summer!" I burst out, feeling my heart skip
erratically at the horrible memory. Buffy refused to
look at me but I saw her jaw clench.

"I was scarce but that was my way of dealing. I
handled all that just fine and I can handle Angel
leav...this as well. So stop worrying already! I'll
be ready for some serious slayage just as soon as I
get me a good night's sleep."

"No you won't," murmured Giles as he finally stopped
stirring and started turning to face us. I sat up
straight. Something about the way he turned so
slowly, his arms hidden from view was giving me the
wiggins. "You won't ever be slaying again," he
proclaimed far too cheerfully, setting a steaming
concoction down in front of Buffy. The Waters of
Lethe. I opened my mouth to cry out.

Giles' eyes drilled right through his glasses and
hammered into me. I closed my mouth and tried to
swallow.

"What's this?" asked Buffy, sniffing at it with an
expression which readily bequeathed her disgust.
"Nightshade nightcap for Slayers?"

"It'll help you sleep better," purred Giles. His eyes
still bored into mine, freezing me in place. "I was
helping Willow with her little arcane experiments.
Humour her." Buffy smiled at me.

"Anything for you, Will."

My mouth popped back open. Giles' gaze grew sharper.
I tried to convince myself I wasn't terrified of a
mouldy old librarian. Besides, this was best for
Buffy, wasn't it? Anything for Buffy.

"Gross much?!" spluttered Buffy, coming up for air,
lips stained purple. "Needs more lavender, Spice
Girl. Hell, it needs a whole herb garden."

"I told her not to include the actual contents of the
stomach of toad along with the er...stomach," said
Giles, a little too earnestly for my liking.

Buffy took on a glowy green tinge.

Then she hefted her cup and took another lengthy sip,
offering me a cocky grin. Trademark Buffy. Trying to
convince me she likes my bad cooking.

"I've had worse," she decided. "Of course I can't
actually remember it 'cause mercifully I was hopped up
on painkillers at the time. Getting my stomach
pumped. Which brings me to the part where I beg for
many many glasses of water to wash this down."

I ran to get her water. When I got back she was fast
asleep. Giles picked her up tenderly and carried her
to my bed. I walked him to the door. "Well done,
Willow," he praised quietly. "I know it was hard but
you did the right thing." I was so glad to see him
go.

Dragging myself back upstairs, I changed into my
Mickey Mouse nighty and crawled in beside Buffy. She
was snoring. Loudly. Into my ear. I'm pretty darn
sure a Slayer isn't supposed to sleep deep enough to
get to the snoring stage. Folding my arms over my
chest I stared out into the darkness and wished I had
more courage. Like Buffy. Back when she was the
Slayer.

TBC

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