"Lost & Found" ~ Part 5

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 Five

Buffy blinked back to reality as the overhead light came on in the drawing room. Lost in thought, she hadn't noticed the onset of dusk or the night gathering close, or the fact that she now sat alone in the dark.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I didn't know you were in here."

Collecting herself, Buffy gave Mrs. Pendleton a maudlin smile. "It's okay, Mrs. P. I was just . . . I guess I didn't notice the time." She swung her knees off the studded-leather sofa to the floor, welcoming the chance to stretch. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost six."

It surprised Buffy to know that she had been sitting there brooding for several hours, about how Giles, who always put her needs first in most everything he did, had seemed totally indifferent to her and the momentous confession she'd been about to make. She'd come in a poor second to the Council--the Council!--with him deliberately choosing to go into work, instead of staying to hear what she had to say.

And in the process, he'd broken her heart.

How foolish she felt in hindsight. She had been about to confess that she loved him. Not as a daughter, or his Slayer, or a friend, but the way a woman was supposed to love the most important man in her life.

And he'd blown her off to go to work!

"Would you like some supper, dear?"

Mrs. Pendleton's quiet question snapped Buffy back to the present. She turned her head, aware that she'd zoned out again, watching the white-haired housekeeper gather the cold teapot and cups onto the silver serving tray, then move to round up the scone plates from the end tables beside her couch and Giles' empty armchair.

"To tell you the truth, Mrs. P, I'm really not that hungry."

"You say that far too often," the woman chided kindly. Turning with the laden serving tray, she added, "Slayer or not, you have to eat, dear, or you'll waste away to nothing."

At the way Mrs. Pendleton's fond expression change to one of maternal concern, Buffy knew her heartache must be written all over her face. But she couldn't help it, and she couldn't stop it. She just knew she couldn't keep it inside any longer.

Outside work associates, Buffy didn't have any real friends in London to discuss her 'guy troubles' with, which before today had been zero, because there hadn't been a guy in her life since she'd moved to England at Giles' invitation. She was chummy enough with a couple of the girls under her supervision, like Halah, to share jokes and other minor girl talk, but since they all knew Giles as 'the boss,' and since they were all much younger than her, she really didn't feel comfortable discussing personal stuff with them. Besides, if she had correctly interpreted some of the whispers she caught here and there, they already thought she was sleeping with him anyway. Time zone differences aside, she couldn't call Willow and cry on her shoulder either, without first having to go through some lengthy 'who,' 'how,' and 'why' explanations. Dawn, too, would just get stuck on the idea of her and Giles, unable to get past the initial shock to deal with the problem at hand. She knew her sister and her friends would come round in the end, but not without some time to adjust.

Time that Buffy wasn't prepared to invest in right now.

So she looked to the only person who could possibly understand. "Mrs. P? Can I . . . talk to you a moment?"

Putting down the serving tray, Mrs. Pendleton crossed to take a seat on the sofa next to her, instinctively reaching for her hand and holding it in her own lap. With that one simple act, with her gentle compassion and non-judgmental attitude, the woman instantly transformed from Giles' elderly housekeeper into the closest thing Buffy had found to a surrogate mother. "Of course, dear, what is it?"

As unsure of how to begin as if she were talking to her own mom, Buffy looked at the Oriental rug covering the hardwood floor, and tried to focus her whirling emotions into something she could express in words. "Mrs. P, there was a Mr. P. at some point, wasn't there?"

"Gracious, yes, my beloved Harold, God rest his soul. He worked here at the manor house, as the chauffeur before young Peter."

"What happened to him?" Buffy asked, suddenly wanting to know.

Mrs. Pendleton gave a sentimental smile. "He drove Mr. Travers to the Council meeting that fateful day. Apparently, Harold had nipped out to get the car washed, and was just returning to the underground parking garage when the bomb went off."

"I'm sorry . . . "

"Don't be." Mrs. Pendleton patted her hand. "Harold and I both knew the risks involved working for an organization such as the Watcher's Council, given the nature of the work it does. But to be of service to it, and to people like you and Mr. Giles, like Mr. Travers and all those who came before him, in whatever humble capacity we could, was--and still is--a great honor." Smiling gently, she raised her left hand to comb a loose strand of hair from Buffy's face, light glinting off the gold wedding ring she still wore. "But that isn't really what you wanted to talk about, is it."

"No," Buffy admitted. She looked at the older woman, a little embarrassed. "I have . . . guy trouble. I was hoping we could talk, woman to woman."

Mrs. Pendleton nodded understandingly. "Go on, dear."

"Well . . . see . . . this trip Giles and I just took . . . it was for me to get in touch with myself again. I'd lost my way in life, or thought I had, but the path I found led me to something I never expected. 'Cause I figured out that I love him," she confessed simply. "And yes, I mean Giles," she clarified glumly, "your employer, the man of the manor house, the Council's current head honcho."

She caught a brief glimpse of Mrs. Pendleton's approving smile, before the housekeeper hid it under a more serious expression. "I see. And this is a problem because . . . ?"

Buffy's eyes pricked, forcing her to divert her gaze. "Because he doesn't feel the same way about me."

"What on earth makes you say that?"

"Because he's not here now," Buffy reasoned. After a miserable sigh that seemed to deflate her spirit her even more, she explained. "I was about to tell him when he got this phone call, and just . . . left me." She shook her head, biting her lip to keep the pain inside. "Giles has never run out on me like that, not mid-conversation, not when it's important. He's always taken time for me, put me first. And now, just when I realize I have all these amazingly deep and profound feelings for him, I find out I'm not even as important to him as his job."

Pulling her hand free of Mrs. Pendleton's light grip, Buffy covered her face, trying to stem the tears that wanted to spill free. She felt the older woman's fingers on her back in a maternal gesture of wordless comfort, and was grateful for the support.

"Mr. Giles' position at the Council requires him to be on call at all hours, dear. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. You're very special to him."

"Stupid quest," Buffy said, sniffling. Her lower lip began to tremble. "I wish I hadn't found out. I wish I didn't know how much I love him because . . . " Unable to hold back, she broke into a sob. " . . . because then it wouldn't hurt so bad."

As Mrs. Pendleton gathered her into a hug, Buffy finally broke down and cried her heart out.

* * *

For the next three days, Buffy and Giles tiptoed around each other, living the lie that everything was fine between them. On the outside, it was business as usual, as they rode to work together, came home together, ate dinner together, and then retired to their respective rooms, but on the inside, it was a completely different story.

Giles, despite his calm and collected demeanor, secretly fretted that every next word out of Buffy's mouth would be 'goodbye,' so much so that he began limiting his conversations with her, hiding behind the excuse that he had paperwork to do, or some other Council business to attend. Even in the car, he managed to find something in his briefcase to capture his attention for the duration of the ride. Lost in emotional chaos, wanting to express his feelings while at the same time afraid that in revealing his heart, he would drive her away in disgust, he never once considered that his standoffish actions were only serving to push Buffy out of his life for good.

To Buffy, the obvious avoidance translated in her brain that Giles truly believed duty and responsibility were more important than she was. Her hopes that they could start something, build a future and a life together in England, sank further and further into oblivion each day, as she saw more and more evidence of the fact that he just didn't feel the same about her, as she did about him. For three days, she waited for him to fix things between them, or at least approach her and tell her what she'd done, so she could make an effort to right the wrong. But the only thing Giles did was push her so far away that she eventually came to the only logical conclusion she could.

* * *

Alone in the drawing room after supper on the fourth night, Giles sat at his desk looking over some incidental papers Collinson said needed his signature. He could have just as easily signed them at the office, but he'd brought them home to hide behind in the event that Buffy actually sought his company. That scenario in itself was becoming increasingly unlikely, as she now seemed to spend as much time avoiding him, as he did avoiding her. It wasn't a perfect plan by any means, because he missed her company and companionship, and her sunny smile at breakfast, but it was a small price to pay for her continued presence in his life.

Dear Lord, what were they doing to each other?

The sound of the door to his study quietly opening behind him immediately put Giles into a defensive mode. He deftly focused on his papers, adopting an unbreakable look of concentration for the form on top of the small pile. It was a supply requisition for five hundred rolls of toilet paper.

Bloody hell, now he was putting toilet paper ahead of Buffy?

Head bowed, he waited in silence, wondering if she'd call his name in a bid for his attention, or whether she would just see that he was busy and leave him be.

A steaming cup of hot tea unexpectedly slid onto the desk by his elbow.

Giles let go the tense breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He looked at the bone china cup, a small frown forming upon realizing that there was tea, but nothing else. Relieved to know his caller wasn't Buffy, but disappointed by the lack of any edible indulgence accompanying his beverage, he swiveled in his chair, hooking an elbow over the back, to regard Mrs. Pendleton's retreating form.

"No cake?" he asked with a boyish sulk. For better or worse, Mrs. Pendleton always served his evening cuppa with a slice of her delicious homemade cake, or a couple of freshly baked cookies. During his time in residence at Tyndall, it had become something of a nightly ritual, not to mention a totally decadent treat he actually looked forward to at the end of each day--he and Buffy both. But Buffy wasn't there; she'd gone straight up to her room from dinner, as had become her norm. Therein, he figured, lay the problem, and sure enough Mrs. Pendleton's next words confirmed it.

"Your behavior of late doesn't merit cake," the matronly housekeeper scolded over her shoulder, as she rearranged the already neat throw cushions on the studded-leather, scroll-arm sofa.

Despite her good intentions, her meddling, matchmaking ways, coupled with the stress of the present situation, finally pushed Giles' strung out temper over the edge. "It's really none of your business, Mrs. Pendleton, what Buffy and I do, or don't do. As such, I would appreciate--"

"She's upstairs, packing."

"I beg your pardon?"

Mrs. Pendleton turned around to frown accusingly at him, cushion in hand. "You've pushed her away so far that she's decided to leave. Heaven only knows why she stuck it out this long, the way you've been acting. You've been a right pillock all week." She punched the cushion to fluff it. "Sir."

Giles felt the blood drain from his face. Dear Lord, what had he done? The very thing he'd hoped to avoid was the same thing his disgraceful, stupid, self-centered actions had ultimately caused. His nightmare had just become his reality, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Mrs. Pendleton replaced the thumped cushion on the couch, and picked up another. "I swear, I've never known two people who were more emotionally retarded."

The harsh words snapped Giles back to the present. He looked at his matronly housekeeper, but instead of reprimanding her insolence as her employer, he realized the wisdom that came with her impertinence, and focused on just one thing.

Buffy was leaving. Because of him.

His chair scraped noisily in his rush to escape his desk.

"And for goodness sake," Mrs. Pendleton advised as he ran for the drawing room door, "tell her you love her, take her to bed, and stop this madness!"

Giles took the main stairs up to the second floor landing two at a time. Such was his haste that upon reaching the closed door to Buffy's room in the west wing, he physically had to restrain himself from barging in unannounced. Instead, he drew a breath in an effort to calm this thundering pulse, raised his hand, and gave a short, polite knock that completely masked his inner urgency.

"Come in, Mrs. P."

Despite the discrepancy, Giles took that as his cue to enter. Opening the door but remaining on the threshold, his gaze swept over the open suitcase on Buffy's bed, the piles of clothes stacked on the spread beside it, and the dresser drawers left partway open after she'd emptied them. He also noted, on top of the dresser, a half-finished cup of tea and a plate bearing crumbs from a slice of hot buttered pound cake. Despite the 'emotionally retarded' quip directed at them both, he was evidently in the Pendleton doghouse alone.

Finally, his gaze shifted to Buffy. She stood with her back to him, sorting through the small selection of hanging clothes in her closet. He watched as she stopped at one particular garment to study it--a formal, black, strapless evening gown that she'd purchased on a London shopping spree, but never had the chance to wear because he'd never had the gumption to ask her on a date, let alone take her somewhere posh. With a sad shrug, she passed on it before moving on to the next item.

She spoke over her shoulder to him, still believing him to be their housekeeper.

"I found that blue sweater, so you can stop looking for it," Buffy said, lifting her selected handful of hangers from the rod. "I only thought it was in the wash--" Spying him as she turned with the armful of clothes bound for her suitcase, she stopped dead. "Oh . . . it's you."

Giles tried not to reveal just how much her vehement tone hurt. "Yes," he agreed, remaining calm, casual, and collected--a master at hiding his heart. "Just me."

Buffy threw her clothes on the bed, and faced him, hands on hips. "What do you want, Giles? Because I know it's not to talk to me. You've made that perfectly clear."

Despite the hostility in her voice and her body language, he took a brave step into her private domain. "Mrs. Pendleton mentioned you were packing."

Buffy motioned at the half-packed suitcase. "Obvious, much?"

"You're, um . . . leaving . . . then?"

Returning her attention to her suitcase, Buffy lifted a small pile of folded items off the bed and fitted them neatly into a corner. "Let's just say I know when I've outstayed my welcome."

"That's not true." The dubious look she gave him forced him to continue. "I'm sorry you believe that." With a self-deprecating smile, Giles corrected, "That I made you believe that. My behavior since we returned from Wales has been . . . well, according to Mrs. Pendleton, rather appalling." He took another hopeful step into her room, really realizing, for the first time, how his aloofness had been perceived by her. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I've been an ass."

"Ya think?"

"It was never my intention to make you feel unwanted, or unwelcome. Far from it."

Buffy deliberately kept her eyes averted, fiddling with her clothes. "I'm not leaving because of you," she said stiffly. "I'm leaving because . . . " She looked at him, boldfaced. " . . . because I missed spending Christmas with Dawn last year, and her birthday, and now it's gonna be Christmas again . . . in about eight months."

"I was rather hoping we could bring her over to England this year," Giles offered, not convinced he believed her excuse but nonetheless willing to bargain. "We've plenty of room here at Tyndall. She can have her own bedroom and stay as long as she wishes. Willow and Xander too, if you'd like."

But it was too little too late.

Lips pursed, Buffy shook her head before meeting his gaze again. "My spirit guide showed me my future, my path in life," she said determinedly, "and it's not here with you. We both need to stop pretending it is." Breaking eye contact, she resumed packing. "I talked with Halah. She said I could stay with her and her mom until I get a plane ticket sorted out." Straightening, Buffy turned back to the closet, the action itself enough to dismiss him. "So I'll take my stuff to work with us in the morning, then go home with her," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow night."

Crushed, Giles didn't know what to say. The whole point of her vision quest had been for her to get in touch with herself again, to 'sort out her head' and rediscover her place in life. Therefore, if her quest had indeed revealed that her path lay elsewhere, then not only was there nothing he could do or say to overturn her decision to leave, but he had no right to even try.

Watching the set line of Buffy's shoulders as she began sliding hangers along the closet rod again, Giles recalled Mrs. Pendleton's advice to him downstairs in the drawing room.

'Tell her you love her, take her to bed, and stop this madness!'

Words of wisdom, certainly, but ones he dismissed with a bitter smile. As he silently bowed out of her bedroom, Giles knew, with heartbroken certainty, that he would never know the joy of Buffy's most intimate caress.