the Final Cut - epilogue

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the Final Cut

Disclaimer: Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, the WB, and UPN.

epilogue

“I don’t want to be premature about any of this,” Jenny said to him, “but I’ve had some time to think about it … and I’m pretty sure that, yes, I’m alive.”

Giles smiled at her. “That, er … that was my conclusion as well.” He cleared his throat. “Once we’d ascertained as much, and that you weren’t, weren’t ‘booby-trapped’ in any way, and got you freed from the shackles … well, after that, it turned out to be almost childishly simple not only to exit the involution but to do so in such a manner as to put us outside the factory, still in daylight, so that we needn’t deal with whatever Drusilla — or Angelus, operating independently — might have arranged for us.”

Jenny was shaking her head slowly. “You came for a showdown with two master vampires,” she said, “and finished out the whole business without ever facing either of them? Or even seeing them?”

“They weren’t the point of it all,” Giles observed mildly. “You were. Once I had you … well, sod the lot of them.”

Jenny laughed. “Oo-ooh, language.” The smile relaxed a bit, and she said, “I do have a few more questions, though.”

Giles nodded. “Hardly surprising.”

“First, how did Xander know the door code?”

Giles’s shoulders slumped, just the least bit. “He guessed it. His intuition is so … so bloody preposterous that I’m beginning to think there has to be some supernatural aspect to it. When I asked him how he knew, why it would even occur to him, he just grinned at me and said —” Giles’s voice shifted, and he made a dreadful, nasal attempt at reproducing the accent of an adolescent American male. “— he said, ‘It can’t all be Pink Floyd, sometimes you just gotta go with Tommy Tutone.’ ”

“Tommy Tut–…” Jenny stopped. “You mean, the door code was —?”

“Eight six seven five three oh nine,” Giles confirmed, his expression once again showing his pain at being saved by popular culture.

“A phone number,” Jenny said, understanding. “Seven digits. And my name. That does make sense … I guess.” She looked up. “But then the next question. How was Xander — or Rayne, for that matter — fast enough to stop other-Ethan when he tried to kill you? How did they know?”

“Ah,” Giles said. “Yes. Again, I asked. Xander’s explanation was, ‘I just kept remembering the story about the frog and the scorpion.’ ”

“Got it,” Jenny said. “ ‘It was just his nature.’ And Rayne?”

“Ethan,” Giles said, “simply told me he knew better than to trust any version of himself.”

“Always a reliable bet,” Jenny agreed. Then the corners of her mouth turned downward. “And now we owe him.”

“More than I can possibly express,” Giles replied, the bare words carrying more meaning than any soaring speech would have done.

Jenny drew a deep breath. “The next time I see him,” she said, “I intend to punch him in the nose as hard as I can. And then tell him his drinks are on me for, oh, the rest of his life.”

Giles was nodding, his smile rueful. “We can never trust him,” he said. “Never. But, as he intended, I am in his debt.”

“Which I guess goes for me, too.” Jenny settled back again in the armchair. “So … it’s really over.”

“Yes,” he said. “It truly is.” The actual final resolution, of course, would not come till Drusilla and Angelus were obliterated from existence, but that didn’t need to be said just now.

“Happy ending for everybody,” Jenny said. Her voice was beginning to go vague again; Giles was himself exhausted, how much worse must it be for her? “And the sun comes out, and the flowers bloom, and birds are singing, and you know there are violins —”

“A full string quartet,” Giles said with a nod. “Assuming, of course, that an entire symphony orchestra would be, er, excessive.”

“Judgment call,” Jenny pronounced. “Too tired, we’ll get back to that. But however you figure it, happy ending.” She yawned enormously. “I’ll take it.”

He smiled at her, again taking her hands in his own and again choosing to leave certain matters left unspoken. Happy ending, yes, more than he’d have dared to dream of hoping for. It was not unalloyed, however. There were … elements, issues to be considered. He had her back, and that was more important (by a quantum level!) than anything else. In the process, however, certain things had happened … and other things had made themselves known, things it wouldn’t have occurred to him to suspect.

Things he hadn’t told Jenny. Things he didn’t know if he could tell her.

First, about Ethan. Giles had known that Ethan’s feelings for him (and his for Ethan) were complex, contradictory, conflicting. Snarled with old affection and old arguments and old disappointments and old betrayals, that first heady, bright companionship buried under roiled compost layers of anger and jealousy and bitterness. He had known that Ethan’s twisted imperatives would move the man to enter the fray at Giles’s side if the proposal were made in the right way, that Ethan readily would risk his own beloved skin for the prospect of a triumph over Ripper. That final turn, however, Ethan throwing himself — unprepared, unthinking, automatic — between Giles and the threat of death … that had been unexpected, unforeseen, unconceived, and Giles had not yet begun to try to work out what it might signify about the man he had so long despised.

Then there was Xander. Giles had already known that — however he might lack the physical prowess to fulfill it — the boy was a hero in his essence. He had been surprised but not astonished when events showed that Xander could also be a warrior. He had by no means suspected that the young man — gawky, clownish, self-deprecating, bottomlessly courageous — was also so solidly possessed of that cast of character that could make one a killer. And not just of demons: the three doppelgängers had been mystical constructs, true, but they had been shaped like men, looked like men, moved and acted like men … ‘Nathan’ had talked like a man, like a roguish, humorous, half-charming and half-smarmy Ethan Rayne, enough that Giles (who certainly knew better) had actually found himself warming to him …

… and Xander had killed all three of them. Without passion, pity, hesitation, or remorse, killed them the instant they constituted a threat.

He was still Xander, still the boy Giles had known for over a year now. There was more to him than had been apparent, however, and it had yet to be determined just what that might mean.

Finally, Giles himself. He had already known that he loved Jenny Calendar, known — though he certainly hadn’t expected to have it put so extravagantly to proof! — that he was willing to risk his own life, or give it, for her sake. He had not known, however, but had learned, that he was just as coldly willing to imperil the lives of others …

…

… but not Buffy’s life.

He had known it was a trap, it had been all but proclaimed as a trap … for Buffy. And he had refused to send her into it. Not out of town with her mother, not frustratingly incommunicado, no, he simply had not called her. Had hidden it from her. Putting his own life in the balance — and Ethan’s, and Xander’s, and Jenny’s — rather than expose Buffy to a trap designed expressly for her. The world needed the Slayer, but it needed her for the fight, not to be sealed away from danger. He knew that … but he had protected her this time, even at hazard to others, and Giles was not at all sure what that said about him.

Jenny stirred in the armchair, and Giles released her hands. “Whoa,” she said, blinking. “Started to fade out there.” She looked at him, eyes searching. “Buffy’s watching this place, you say?”

“With a bit of support from the others,” Giles confirmed, “but, yes, the Slayer is of course the most potent force in place for our protection. You can rest assured that you are as safe here as can be humanly — or superhumanly — arranged.”

“Good,” she said. “Good to know.” She yawned again. “I think … I think I can rest now. Finally.”

“Excellent.” Giles pushed himself up from his own chair. “I’ll help you to the upstairs bedroom … and, and of course I’ll set myself up on the couch down here …”

“Rupert.” For just a moment, the old, teasing smile was back on her face. “Whatever tomorrow may be like, right now I’m wiped out, the only thing I’m interested in is sleep … but if I’m going to be in your bed, I want you in there with me. Got it?”

“I …” He cleared his throat. “I will defer to your wishes. As it seems I always do.” He shook his head. “You really are a most demanding woman.”

“Get used to it.” They started for the stairs, she testing her strength while letting him support her. “Okay, get on this side of me, I can hold onto the rail with my other hand —”

Much had changed, and those changes would have to be recognized and assessed and dealt with. That, however, was a task for tomorrow. For the moment, Rupert Giles was more than content to accept the bounties of today.

– end –

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