"Lost & Found" ~ Part 1

SPOILERS: Set post-"Chosen" in my own little Joss-comic-free AU.
RATING: FR-M [mature situations, angst]

DISCLAIMER: Without Prejudice. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER characters and concepts are copyright ©1997-2002 20th Century Fox, WB Television, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN Television. No Infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission. While certain places herein are based on real geographical locations, the details are drawn purely from my own imagination. No resemblance to any real place and/or its populace intended. My original characters are not based on any real people, and no resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, is intended.

Part One

She was exquisite to watch, as poised and graceful as a ballerina, as agile and quick as a wasp, her sting just as deadly. Concealed by a concrete support pillar on the upper walkway, looking down into the gymnasium where Buffy routinely trained all the new slayers that ended up on the Council doorstep, Giles found that he liked to do just that--watch.

At this time of night, when all but the cleaners has gone for the evening, Buffy sparred alone, which made her all the more extraordinary to behold. During working hours, she tended to train her fledgling flock 'by the book,' preaching the textbook fighting techniques and maneuvers that he had drilled into her so many years ago. But now, after hours, with no one to judge, she broke out of the mold, free to develop upon the signature style that was Buffy's alone.

Watching her filled Giles with great pride and love. Buffy was the most accomplished Slayer in history, a living legend amidst her peers. She'd matured into a remarkable young woman, beautiful and intelligent, compassionate and witty. They'd come a long way since their days at Sunnydale High School as student and mentor, shared so much, lost so much more, including the small Californian town they'd both called home. They'd gone their separate ways after that, barely had any contact during the first six months, with Giles returning to his homeland and buried neck-deep in the paperwork of getting the New Watcher's Council off the ground, and Buffy somewhere in Europe, enjoying her newfound freedom and youth.

He'd missed her terribly, so when an opportunity arose for a possible reunion, Giles took it. With Watchers spread thin, and the growing number of new slayers needing someone with training and experience to help them hone their skills, Buffy seemed the obvious choice. Using the resources at his disposal, Giles located her, in Rome, and put forth a proposal. For the sake of the girls, he'd said. Just for a couple of weeks, perhaps a month or two, until he organized a replacement, he'd said. To his delight, Buffy not only accepted the job, but his offer of hospitality, too, of him providing a roof over her head and food on the table for the duration of her stay. Of course, back then, neither of them had expected something so temporary to become a pseudo permanent thing.

Not that Giles was complaining; he enjoyed living under the same roof as Buffy. Twelve months on, her presence still brightened the empty halls of Tyndall Manor, the Council-owned estate that was traditionally the residence of the Director, with a smile like pure sunshine. It was something he would never tire of seeing each morning over breakfast, a glorious way to start the day.

Just as watching her work out was a wonderful way to end it.

As Buffy started her cool down routine, Giles withdrew from the pillar and surreptitiously made his way down the steps that would take him to the gymnasium floor. By the time he got there, she was wiping perspiration from her neck and chest with a navy blue towel, and chugging on a bottle of chilled water.

They exchanged a smile of greeting, as was their norm.

"Ready?" Giles asked, coming to a stop with his briefcase held before him in two hands.

"Two minutes," Buffy said, tossing her towel in a hamper where laundry services would attend to it later. "Just let me change."

"I'll call for the car." Watching her head to the change room at the back of the gym, Giles reached for his mobile phone, clipped to a belt holster on his hip. He prudently told Peter, his driver--another Council perk--to be out front in precisely ten minutes.

The ride to and from Tyndall Manor was three quarters of an hour, twice a day, that Buffy and Giles usually devoted to each other. The New Watcher's Council headquarters may not be quite the hive of activity it had been in the early days when Buffy first arrived, but each still had their respective roles to play and duties to fulfill within the ever-expanding organization. As such, they rarely crossed paths at work. Sometimes they managed to take lunch together, but that was an unusual treat rather than a regular event. Normally, the car ride was their time, when the conversation turned animated, playful, and very private.

Normally.

In the past few days, to Giles' concern, it had been reduced to idle comments about the unspectacular events of the workday, or nothing at all.

Worried, he regarded the back of her head, her blonde hair still tied up in a loose ponytail from her workout. Although Buffy physically sat beside him in the backseat of the sleek black Jag as it darted in and out of the London rush hour traffic, she was staring out of the window, mentally miles away. He frowned, but held his tongue. They had grown close in the past twelve months, picking up their relationship after their 'Spike fallout' pre-battle with The First Evil, not only finding what they had lost, but building upon it, strengthening their friendship as adults, equals, and partners, with respect, trust, and a great deal of affection. As such, he respected her privacy. Whatever preyed on Buffy's thoughts, Giles felt sure she would tell him in her own time, if what troubled her became something she felt was insurmountable on her own. Perhaps it was nothing more than a bout of homesickness. If so, then a few transatlantic telephone calls would help tremendously.

Mrs. Pendleton, who had been the housekeeper at Tyndall long before Giles had taken up residence, had her customary pot of tea waiting for them in the drawing room. The Chatsford bone china pot, with two matching cups on saucers, sat on a silver serving tray in its usual spot on Giles' desk, the local newspaper and the day's mail neatly tucked beside it. A tiny thread of steam curling from the tip of the teapot spout was the only indication that it was hot and freshly made.

Sliding his briefcase into its spot beside the desk, Giles automatically picked up the pot and started to pour two cups. He'd filled just one when Buffy spoke.

"I think I'm gonna skip the tea and just go up for a shower," she announced, forcing a smile that made his inner frown deepen. "I'll see you at dinner, okay?"

"Okay."

Giles' answering smile faded as she left him, his concern taking him to the drawing room door so that he could watch her ascend the stairs. Despite the fact that they lived under the same roof, shared their meals and most of their free time, their rooms were in separate wings of the manor house. They could go all night--all week--without ever seeing one another, if either of them so desired.

Instantly losing his taste for tea, Giles crossed the room again to return the teapot to the tray beside his untouched cup. He picked up the mail and a silver lion's head letter opener instead, and turned to sit in his armchair to open it. But he was only going through the motions, his thoughts focused on Buffy. Later, he would suggest a call to Dawn, who lived and went to school in Washington State under the guardianship of Willow and Kennedy.

At dinner, as he enthusiastically asked Mrs. Pendleton for a second piece of her delicious Shepherd's Pie, it occurred to him that Buffy was not eating, merely pushing food around her plate under the pretense of doing so. Her pie had been thoroughly dissected--the mashed potato top shoveled to one side with her vegetables, the steak bits extracted from the gravy and flaky crust with surgical precision.

"Thank you," Giles said, mustering a smile as he took his refilled plate from the housekeeper. Picking up his fork, he watched the older woman move around to Buffy.

"Is it not to your liking, dear?" she asked of Buffy's uneaten food. "Can I get you something else?"

Buffy snapped out of her doldrums with a startled blink. She sat up straight. "Huh? No, it's fine, Mrs. P. And I'm sure it's delicious. I'm just . . . " Her eyes flicked down the table to Giles, then away. "I'm just not very hungry tonight. Excuse me."

She fled from the dining room before Giles was even halfway to his feet.

Collecting up Buffy's discarded plate, Mrs. Pendleton gave her employer a stern look. Not one for beating around the bush, she got right to the point. "Needs a man in her life, she does. And if you don't mind me saying, sir, if you don't make a move soon, she's going to start looking for one elsewhere. You mark my words."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Pendleton. That will be all."

Giles waited until the housekeeper withdrew to her kitchen with a displeased mumble, before letting go a heavy sigh of frustration. It wasn't the first time his matronly housekeeper had attempted to play matchmaker. Initially, the idea had not only seemed completely inappropriate to Giles, but totally ludicrous. Yet as the weeks turned into months, and he and Buffy grew closer, feelings began to emerge in him that he'd thought long dead and buried. In short order, he realized he was falling in love with her, an emotion that, despite his best effort to quell, only grew stronger and more passionate with the passage of time.

Of course, it was all one-sided, and the suggestion of him and Buffy pursuing a romantic relationship was still utterly preposterous. What on earth would a vibrant, attractive young woman like Buffy possibly see in a middle-aged man like him? Worse, he feared that should he ever reveal his heart, she would leave England--leave him--on the first flight she could take . . . right after she slapped his face, terminated their friendship permanently, and branded him the dirty old pervert that perhaps he had become.

As he dropped his fork and sat back in his chair, Giles found himself in a quandary. Buffy's happiness meant everything to him, it always had. Forlornly, he dreamed that maybe one day he would be the man with whom she found that happiness, but if he wasn't, then he wouldn't stop her from searching for it elsewhere. At the same time, the thought of her in the arms of another man squeezed his heart into a tight ball of cold, jealous rage.

Eyeing his second, untouched piece of pie a moment longer, he abruptly pushed back his chair and left the dining room. While walking through the hall to the main staircase, he glanced at his watch and mentally calculated the time on the west coast of the USA. A transatlantic telephone call seemed the most hopeful place to start, but unfortunately, it was three in the morning in Washington State, thus not immediately doable. His alternate choices to try to remedy the situation were thusly narrowed down to two--do something, or do nothing.

Looking up the stairs, he decided he had to try. Of late, he'd noticed that Buffy had become extremely focused in her training methods, unwilling to accept anything but 110% from the teenage girls in her charge, making him wonder what she was mentally trying to escape. All the girls were young and insecure, the eldest of the current bunch just fifteen, most away from their homes and families for the very first time. It was stressful for everyone, the girls and Buffy, who pushed hard despite their occasionally tearful failures, knowing they all possessed the inherent ability to succeed, and therefore live.

Perhaps Mrs. Pendleton was right. Perhaps what Buffy needed in her life was something other than work. He couldn't remember the last time she'd done something outside of the monotonous grind of going to work with him, training new slayers all day, then coming home from work with him. Evenings saw her eating dinner with him, watching some TV or reading while he did paperwork, then heading up to her bed. Rinse and repeat. At least, during their time together on the Hellmouth, she'd had the distraction of her friends and hours wasted, albeit deliberately, at The Bronze.

Deciding that he could at least offer some degree of variation in her schedule, Giles put one foot on the bottom step. A night out was in order, as friends, without any romantic overtones. Dinner, then a show. Something fun. If, of course, Buffy was willing to spend even more time with him. Perhaps he was the problem . . .

The hasty clearing of a throat distracted Giles from his apprehension. He turned his head to find his all-knowing housekeeper standing just behind him, offering a bowl of ice cream. When he frowned in question, she silently gave him with a 'trust me on this' look, and reoffered the bowl.

This time, Giles took it with a grateful nod of thanks.

He knocked softly on Buffy's bedroom door, while staring at the double scoops of vanilla ice cream dripping with chocolate sauce and sprinkled with nuts, and wondering just what he was getting himself into--how much longer he could go spending an extended amount of time with her without his feelings becoming obvious. In the bowl, more chocolate slid off a scoop of melting vanilla, no doubt due to the fact that his heartbeat had sped up in anticipation, the increased blood flow making the palm of his hand extra warm.

"Buffy?" he called when she didn't respond to his knock. He raised his hand, about to knock again, when the door cracked open a little.

"What?" she asked, trying her best to appear as if she hadn't been crying.

Her tears were his ultimate undoing, his heart breaking for whatever troubled her. "I thought . . . I just . . . " Giles floundered. Lost for the right words, he instead offered the bowl with a compassionate smile. "Ice cream?"

Buffy's gaze dropped to regard it, then rose back to his in watery appreciation. The frozen treat was an excuse for him to be at her door. Her acceptance of it was his invitation to enter.

They sat on the bed; she at the head, and he, awkwardly, on the far end, the silence that separated them descending like a physical wedge. Only when the ice cream began to take on the characteristics of nutty chocolate milk did Giles realize she wasn't eating it, rather, as with her dinner, simply pushing it around the bowl.

"Buffy, what's wrong?"

She kept her gaze on the melted mixture in her lap. "Guess my overly dramatic exit from dinner was kinda obvious, huh."

"Actually, I've noticed you haven't been yourself for a few days now." Giles shifted, hiking up one knee and facing her, but stopped short of reaching out a hand to touch her arm. "Are you homesick?"

Buffy's gaze came up. "Sometimes . . . most of the time . . . but that's not it." She paused, and he had the feeling she was about to spill everything, when, at the last moment, she instead regarded her ice cream bowl again.

"What, then?" he prompted gently, this time following his instincts to touch her. He rubbed her upper arm a little, a simple act of compassion, before dutifully withdrawing his hand. But the contact, however brief, had done the trick, and Buffy began to speak.

"I just . . . " Pausing, she put the untouched ice cream on her nightstand, and faced him. "Lately, I feel as if I've been . . . losing myself."

He didn't understand. "Losing yourself?"

"My slayer-ness . . . my--God, I don't know--my Buffy-ness. Whatever you wanna call it. I just feel like I've lost me."

"I'm afraid you're not making any sense."

"I know." Getting to her feet to pace, Buffy tried to explain. "Giles, I'm not The Slayer anymore. I'm just one of many. Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. In the year I've been here in England with you, I've trained an army of girls with everything I am, everything I have, and everything I know." Turning, she captured his gaze. "I've given so much of myself to them."

"I know you have. And without doubt, each and every one is far better for having been under your tutelage. Not only did you give those girls the skill and confidence to survive, you gave them hope. They look at you and see that it is possible for a slayer to have a future. A life."

"Yeah . . . a life," she agreed glumly, crossing her arms. "Just not the one I want."

Cut, Giles looked at the floor. "You're not a prisoner here, Buffy. You're free to leave whenever you wish."

"That's not what I meant." Returning to sit beside him, she grasped his forearm with both hands. "I like living here with you. This place is like a castle, and you treat me like a princess. But part of me feels like I'll never find myself--the me I wanna be--because I'm here with you." Her gaze roamed over his downcast profile. "I didn't mean for that to sound like I'm ungrateful or anything. You're the hardest working, most dedicated man I've ever known. And you do it all for me, and girls like me."

"I do it because I care." Giles looked at her directly. "I care about you a great deal."

"I care about you, too," Buffy agreed readily. "I love you."

Still holding her gaze, Giles' breath caught. It wasn't the first time she'd told him that, and he knew she meant the platonic love of friendship, but hearing her say it, now, in light of his changed feelings for her, made his chest clench. Wanting so much to respond in kind, to gather her into his arms and kiss her until there was no doubt of what was in his heart, he instead looked at the floor again.

Buffy stood to resume her pacing and her explanation. "And I care about the girls. It's why I stay, I guess, why you stay." She threw a resigned little grin over her shoulder. "Why we both have no social lives. No lives, period." Turning, she let her arms fall to her sides in defeat. "Giles, being The Slayer defined who I was, and now that I'm not, now that I'm just one face in this huge crowd of mini-me's . . . I don't know who I am anymore."

"You're the same person you've always been," he assured her.

Depressed, Buffy plopped onto the bed beside him again, her weight making the mattress bounce and their shoulders collide. "Yeah but . . . now that I have no expiration date stamped on my forehead, what do I do with myself? If I'm not The Slayer anymore, then who the heck am I? Where am I going in life?"

Finally realizing that Buffy was suffering from nothing more than a mild bout of identity crisis, Giles gathered his thoughts, mentally stepping through all possible remedies, before settling on one. "Do you remember, a few years ago, when you had similar misgivings about the role of a slayer as nothing more than a cold blooded killer?"

"Yeah . . . mom had just passed away, and I was sad--grieving--but I didn't let it show. Not for a long time. I thought I was so coldhearted that I was turning into stone. You took me to a sacred place in the desert, where I met my spirit guide and got my head sorted out."

He smiled at her colloquial tone. "There are several of those sacred places scattered all over the world. Places of the slayers from time immemorial. There's one not far from here. In Wales."

Buffy studied him for a long moment before speaking. "You mean . . . ?"

"I mean," Giles said, reaching for her hand without hesitation, "if you think it will help, I'll take you there." He gave her fingers a squeeze before letting go. "We'd have to take a few days, pack clothes and provisions and what not, but I don't see our short absence being problematic, since things are a little slow at the Council right now. Is there someone, one of your protégés perhaps, who you could ask to fill in for you while we're gone?"

"Halah," Buffy said readily. "The Saudi girl. She's my Riker." Off his look, she clarified, "My Number One. She's young, but she won't let the girls slack off."

"Good. I'll put in a call to Collinson tonight, and get the ball rolling." Decisive, Giles stood.

"So we can leave tomorrow?" Buffy asked hopefully. She looked more upbeat than she had in days.

At her door, Giles turned to face her. "I'll need to go into work for a few hours in the morning, finalize some things, gather supplies and such."

"Oh yeah, 'cause you need your twigs and gourd for the hokey pokey dance," she teased, struggling to keep a straight face at the memory.

Giles scowled, but only because it was expected. He would endure a lifetime of merciless teasing, if it meant he could see her smile. "I was thinking more along the lines of requisitioning something from the Council's fleet of vehicles."

"Ooh, do they have a Range Rover? Get a Range Rover," Buffy said enthusiastically.

"If they do, I will," Giles agreed. The area he needed to traverse was out in the Welsh moorland, miles from anywhere. A solid four-wheel drive vehicle was an excellent idea. "We'll plan to be on the road by lunchtime, mid-afternoon at the latest. That should still put us in Cardiff before evening. We'll spend the night there, then the following morning I'll take you to the sacred place of slayers, where you can-- " he smiled fondly "--'get your head sorted out.'"

Still sitting on her bed, Buffy dragged a pillow into her lap and hugged it. "Thank you," she said earnestly.

He shook his head. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Buffy. Your happiness means everything to me."

They exchanged a smile of warm affection, until Buffy's gaze darted away to the melted bowl of ice cream on her nightstand. She pouted. "Nnh . . . pity. Chocolate with nuts is one of my favorites."

A plan forming, Giles donned a conspiratorial mask. "Well, if you're interested, I happen to know where Mrs. Pendleton stashes the nuts."

Tossing aside the pillow, Buffy grinned playfully. "Do I sense a covert Watcher/Slayer moment coming on?"

"You raid the freezer, and bring the bowls and spoons. I'll secure the nuts and chocolate sauce."

"Roger."

"Meet you downstairs in the drawing room in . . . two minutes?"

Buffy's smile again had the power to light up his world, and capture his heart. "It's a date."