Chapter Text
“Marry me, dammit!”
“Well, of course! How can I possibly refuse such a romantic proposal?” Giles quips, rolling his eyes over this ridiculous idea.
Buffy drops down on one knee, grabbing his hand in the process, staring up at him with a pleading look on her face. “Is this how this works? Giles, will you please marry me?”
For the past ten minutes they’ve been arguing like an old, already-married couple ever since he told her the Watchers’ Council will no longer sponsor him to stay in the United States. Since reasonable employment has eluded him, he has decided to return home.
He broke the news as gently as possible, but that doesn’t mean she took it well. A panicked look had crossed her face, and she immediately went to his computer to research different ways that would allow him to remain in the country. The only one that really made sense, the only one that was quick and easy, was marriage.
He rolls his eyes again, shaking his head and pulling Buffy up by her hand. She glares at him, infuriated by his refusal to see her side of things. “God, why do you have to be so stubborn?!”
A snarky retort is ready to spring off the tip of his tongue, wanting to tell her she’s more stubborn than a pack of mules, but then he catches a glassiness in her eyes before she suddenly looks away. Turning her back on him, she trudges out of the kitchen into his living room, attempting to hide her distress. Now isn’t the time for petty bickering or casual jokes. She’s hurting, and when Buffy hurts, he hurts as well, and it pains him even further when he’s the cause of it.
With his hands shoved in his pockets, he walks to the bookshelf where she’s pretending to be interested in his volumes on medieval artifacts and enchantments. Based on her rigid posture, the way she turns her body away from him when he approaches, and her sudden quietness, he can tell she’s barely holding it together. His tone is much softer when he addresses her this time because he regrets making light of the situation. “I’m sorry. I know this must be hard on you, but the truth of the matter is, you don’t need me anymore.”
“How can you say that?” Whirling around to face him, her tears have already broken free and are running down her cheeks. “We still train together! I’m stronger because of you! And your research - who’s supposed to take over that, huh?! I need you, Giles! Please don’t leave me!”
At a complete loss for words, he thrusts his hands even deeper inside his pockets, shifting his gaze toward the book about vampires that rests on his side table. It’s his turn to hide his emotions because if she sees how distraught he has suddenly become over the thought of leaving Sunnydale, leaving her, she’ll pounce on that, and he might do something rash like wind up betrothed to his slayer. But he reminds himself that marrying her to stay in the country is an incredibly bad idea, for numerous reasons. He decides to go right to the biggest obstacle he can think of. “I doubt your mother would approve.”
“You’re wrong! She knows you keep me safe! And besides, hello, I’m an adult now!”
Judging from her demeanor, she would have no problem going against her mom’s wishes, although he’d prefer not to be on the receiving end of any anger Joyce may direct his way. “What you’re proposing is illegal.”
“You really think they’re gonna check? It’s the Council threatening your immigration status, not the government, not yet. That’s why we need to do this now, before they catch on.”
Thanks to the Council and their expertise in bureaucratic manipulation, he’s stayed off immigration radar the entire time he’s been in the States, but that will quickly change once they pull their support. And if the Council decides to get some petty payback against him for standing up to them in the past, then they might intentionally flag him to immigration. “This would involve a total shift in your lifestyle, one that isn’t fair to you, or to me for that matter. You’d have to move in, a-and neither one of us can see other people because we must maintain the illusion of being a couple. You’ve barely begun college. Think about this. Your social life will be nonexistent.”
“Wasn’t aware I had a social life outside of the gang,” she grumbles despondently. “I already spend more time with you than my family. There were even rumors about us in high school. Bet you didn’t know about that, did you?”
Oh, he knew. The memory of people’s hallway whispers still makes him cringe hard. It was bad enough back then, but to find out Buffy was aware is more than he can handle right now. “No, no, unfortunately, I heard rumblings. I chose to ignore them. But if we got married, I’d be destroying the best years of your life.”
“Again with hello! My best years have already been destroyed! Slayer. You know the drill.” Throwing her arms around his neck in desperation, she nearly knocks him to the floor, holding him tighter than she ever has before, her face buried in his chest while she begs. “Please, Giles. Please say yes.”
He doesn’t want to leave either, plus her emotional pleas have never been easy for him to turn down, but he wavers between letting his heart rule his head or doing the most sensible thing in this situation. Reaching up and covering her wrists with his hands, he gently loosens her grip, then takes a step back to put some distance between them. He holds her hands for a few seconds before common sense prevails, then he lets go, taking an even larger step back, the distance between them more than he’s ever felt. “Buffy, I….I can’t,” he forces out the words, delivering what appears to be the final blow based on her fallen expression, like she’s beaten down and exhaustion has set in. “Please understand, I just can’t.”
More tears stream down her cheeks as she continues to stare at him, until she sniffles loudly and brushes her face with the sleeve of her shirt. The disappointment in her eyes is replaced with a fury he has never seen before. She truly hates him now. Without saying another word, she runs out the door.
**
This wasn’t how his evening was supposed to unfold – first mistakenly thinking Buffy was joking, then realizing she was dead serious, followed by his heart strings practically snapping in two while she pleaded with him to stay, and then crushing her spirit by letting her down. The emotional upheaval has left him drained.
He goes to bed not long after she leaves, determined to put all of it behind him and get up early in the morning to begin the necessary organizing and packing required to move to the other side of the world. At the very least, it will keep his mind off leaving her. As soon as he pulls the covers up, he begins a mental checklist of what needs to be done. Many of his larger items can be sold or donated, but his volumes and antiques must be packed with the utmost care to ensure their safe delivery to wherever he decides to settle.
London no longer holds his interest. He has grown quite used to Sunnydale, a small city where it’s easy to get around and relatively quiet despite the presence of the Hellmouth. A place in the countryside sounds appealing, perhaps the Glastonbury area, or anywhere in Somerset. He only hopes Buffy will come to visit someday, although it may take her a while to forgive him for so willingly accepting his fate and returning home.
As he lies in his bed staring at the ceiling, his mind wanders back and forth between moving plans and his slayer. Just as he’s about to drop off to sleep, the heartbreak on her face snaps him awake again, prompting his guilt to gnaw viciously at his insides. After tossing and turning, he finally gets up at 3 a.m., puts a pot of coffee on, and begins to sort through his belongings. By 6 a.m. his living room is a disaster with piles of books lying around, and antiques sorted according to importance and size.
A knock at the door startles him, and for a split second he hopes it’s Buffy, perhaps with a new perspective after a good night’s sleep. He looks through the peephole, instead finding Joyce standing outside.
“Oh, h-hello, good morning,” he greets when he opens the door, running a hand through his hair and realizing he’s standing before her in his silk pajamas and no robe.
“Good morning, Rupert,” she replies, barely giving his appearance a second glance. “May I come in?”
“Y-yes, of course,” he answers, standing aside so she can enter. She looks serious, so he suspects this visit is to chew him out for the awkward conversation he had with Buffy the night before. “Let me clear a place for you to sit.”
“No need, I won’t be long,” she states, setting her purse on his desk. “I think you know why I’m here.”
Based on her sharp tone, he feels the need to explain that nothing inappropriate could ever happen between him and Buffy. “I believe I have some idea. Joyce, I want you to know I would never-”
“I think you should marry Buffy.”
Have both Summers women lost their minds? “P-pardon me? Why, the very thought makes me-”
She cuts him off, holding her palms in front of her, wearing a troubled and concerned look on her face. “Hear me out. I’m not thrilled with the idea, but if it means my daughter will feel safer and more confident in her slayer duties, then I’d much rather you marry her than have her make a fatal mistake because she’s upset about you leaving. You don’t have to stay married forever. Just a few years, until she’s on more solid ground with the slaying. At that point, you can divorce.”
He’s stunned, gaping at her while asking himself if this is all a weird dream he’ll wake up from soon, or if he really is experiencing this moment that ranks as one of the most bizarre in his life. “I-I don’t know what to say. It would make more sense to m-marry you.”
Joyce shifts uncomfortably, shaking her head and glancing away from him, still feeling the effects of their brief but sex-charged time together while eating band candy. “I don’t think that would be wise for either one of us. I don’t need another failed marriage on my track record.”
Giles nods his head, kicking himself for suggesting it. “Of course, s-sorry, I-I wasn’t thinking. But you can’t possibly think this is healthy for Buffy.”
“Rupert, let me be clear. I am appealing to you as a mom who wants her daughter to have the very best chance of survival every night when she performs her slayer duties. I have no control over her being a slayer, but you at least have some influence. Buffy has assured me that your continued training will offer her that best chance. Say yes to her proposal. Better yet, you do the proposing, something nice, tasteful, something she can look back on and smile about someday. Please reconsider, for Buffy, and for me, too.”
**
The remainder of his morning is spent putting everything back on his shelves and breaking down his moving boxes. By noon, his apartment has returned to normal, but it’s not entirely the same since he cleared off his desk to make it into a small dining table for two. After a quick shower and a bite to eat, he leaves home at 1 p.m.
Joyce had shared Buffy’s ring size, but he needed to write it down so he wouldn’t forget, because this still feels like a dream. Not a nightmare, nor a good dream either, one of those inbetweeners that’s weird and leaves him feeling dazed and confused.
He’s never proposed to anyone before, and he doubts he ever will again, so he’s putting a lot of thought into the details to make the moment special for them both, even though it’s a fake marriage which will ultimately end in divorce.
He arrives at the jewelry store a few minutes later. Several varieties of engagement rings sparkle under the lights in display cases: gold, silver, and platinum bands in numerous styles, adorned with round, pear, heart, princess, emerald, and countless cuts he’s never heard of, and then the carat sizes are a whole other aspect he must consider.
The jeweler, an attractive woman approximately his age, observes him leaning over a display case while mumbling to himself. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I, uh…I want to buy an engagement ring.” Such a strange thing to say, words he never thought he’d hear from his mouth.
The jeweler smiles at him, attempting to make him feel more comfortable. He isn’t the first nervous man to come into her store. “Do you have an idea of what you’re looking for?”
“Something I can take home today. I’m uh…I’m proposing tonight.”
His eyes flit over a number of rings until they land on a twisted band which has several small diamonds embedded in the metal.
“That’s an impressive choice,” she remarks, reaching inside the case to present the ring to him. “What do you think of the cut?”
The only other ring he can compare it to is the one his father gave his mother. His parents used to twirl around the kitchen together, dancing to their favorite big band music, and he was always mesmerized with the way his mum’s diamond caught the light. It had more of a square shape whereas this one is round, but the sparkle is certainly there.
“Not your thing?” she asks when he hesitates.
“Um…maybe not my uh…girlfriend’s thing,” he replies, feeling extremely unsettled about calling Buffy his girlfriend, hoping the jeweler doesn’t notice. “Do you have something s-square, or rectangular?”
“May I suggest these radiant cuts?” she asks, pointing toward several in the next case.
Giles gazes down at them, awed by their shimmer under the lights, which immediately turns his thoughts to his mum. “These are lovely. I’m not sure about everything else, though.”
Using her keen skills both as a woman and purveyor of fine jewelry, she can sense he requires a little coaxing and encouragement to help him make some decisions. “Tell me about your partner.”
One time when Buffy was being particularly meddlesome in his personal life, she offered some advice on talking with Miss Calendar. When in doubt, speak from the heart. Pausing for a moment, he gathers his thoughts, completely oblivious to the smile that has formed on his lips when he begins to describe her to a total stranger.
“Buffy’s…well, she’s extraordinary, really. She’s the most compassionate person I’ve ever met…puts others ahead of herself, maybe too often,” he smiles nervously, thinking back to the times she has averted several apocalypses, including the first one when she willingly went to her death at the hands of the Master. “She’s clever, although she might not agree,” he chuckles, remembering how bewildered she became after taking the SAT, only to find out later her score was in a very high percentile. “And she’s a generous soul,” he explains, recognizing if he were in her shoes, he probably wouldn’t be so well-adjusted. “Whether she’s supporting a friend through a difficult break-up, taking children out trick-or-treating, or standing up for what’s right in the world, she never hesitates to help.”
He honestly can’t think of anyone else that embodies these qualities as well as Buffy, present company included. Until the day she first walked into his library at Sunnydale High, he never knew how much deep respect and admiration he could have for a person. “I am truly humbled in her presence,” he admits at a near whisper, questioning how he ever thought he could leave her behind. He shakes his head, snapping himself out of his self-loathing mini-funk. “Her wonderful sense of humor always makes me laugh. Buffy brings out the best in me, and everyone around her. I only hope I do the same for her.”
When in doubt, speak from the heart. That’s exactly what he just did, and a new sense of confidence fills him, replacing the nervousness he displayed earlier.
The jeweler smiles approvingly at him, noticing how much he has relaxed. “You’re a romantic.”
“Perhaps,” he admits, trying not to let a blush creep up from his neck to his cheeks. Romance and Buffy don’t mix in his mind, but he needs to get used to it if they’re going to pull this off.
“Most men talk about physical attributes when I ask them about their partners. You spoke about her personality, her heart and soul. That’s refreshing, a sign of true love. Now that we have the band and cut, let’s focus on carats. What size are her hands?”
“Small, smaller than yours. Slender, delicate fingers, but don’t let that fool you. She’s incredibly strong. She does a lot of work with her hands,” he explains, thinking about all her fighting and slaying.
“Is price an issue?”
“Not at all. I want Buffy to have a large diamond, but one that looks proportionate on her hand.”
After examining several sizes in the one to two carat range, Giles chooses a 1.5 carat radiant cut diamond. As for the setting, the jeweler assures him platinum goes with everything, but he feels Buffy would prefer rose gold, giving the ring a unique touch that suits her personal style. The band is a twisted vine design, with a shimmering strand of diamonds added to the lustrous ribbon of precious metal, and a hidden halo around the setting. Bottom line, it’s beautiful and shiny, and Buffy likes beautiful, shiny things. He can picture it on her ring finger, the light dancing from it when she shows her friends.
“You have remarkable taste,” the jeweler compliments him when she presents the ring for his approval after making a few adjustments. “Timeless, classic elegance. Most men these days don’t have a clue.”
“Well, I’m afraid I don’t either,” he smiles shyly. If this woman knew what was really going on, she’d likely knock him over the head.
Leaning over the counter, she glances at the other customers to make sure they don’t overhear her. “You know, I have a pretty good record of predicting marriage success based on how carefully a man pays attention to details when he picks out an engagement ring. You’re going to have many happy years together.”
Two years if we don’t kill each other before then. “Uh, right. Thank you f-for your help today.”
**
Planning the ideal proposal dinner has him second guessing everything from the seating arrangement to the lighting, the use of his mum’s fine china, and which long-stemmed crystal drinking goblets look best on the antique lace tablecloth he found in a storage trunk. It’s silly to go to this much trouble for a sham marriage, but he can’t forget the look of profound disappointment on Buffy’s face when she ran out his door last night, and his deep guilt that followed. This needs to be as close to perfection as he can get, because it’s not only a marriage proposal, it’s also his way of apologizing for not considering her feelings more fully. Even though this marriage won’t be a true relationship, this is her first genuine proposal, and it needs to be a cherished memory for her someday. There’s also the very real possibility Joyce will kick his ass if he screws this up.
At 5:45, Buffy knocks at his door. Pulling her into a hug, he holds her firmly in his arms until she giggles over his affection, then he directs her to sit in a chair with her back to the kitchen.
Shifting her eyes around the room, she can’t help but notice the flickering candles in their holders, the extra tidiness of everything around her, and the fancy plates she’s never seen before laid out on the table. “Do you have a date?”
“Oh, uh, well, yes, in a manner of speaking,” he answers from the kitchen while removing the lambchops from the oven.
“Then I probably shouldn’t stay long. Actually, I should just go,” she decides, standing from her chair and carefully placing it back beneath the table so it looks undisturbed. “Three’s a crowd. But I want you to know, even though I hate the idea of you leaving, I thought about it all last night, and…I get it. Like I said, I’m an adult now, and I’ll find a way to cope. But I’m really gonna miss you, Giles. Not just as my watcher, but my friend, too. You understand me in a way nobody else does. So, anyway, have a good night.”
“Sit down right now, Miss Summers! You’re not going anywhere,” he teasingly chides, placing the serving platter of lamb chops on the table.
“But your date,” she protests, pointing at the table.
“You’re my date.”
“I am?” she asks, a hint of a smile on her face. “You never said anything about this being a date when you called.”
“I wanted to surprise you. Is that alright?”
“Well, yeah. It’s better than alright. I like it.” A rosy blush colors her cheeks as she takes a seat at the table again, now realizing the ambience in the room is for her. It makes her feel special and appreciative of this gesture after their previous argument. “No one’s ever cooked me a meal before, besides my mom of course. You’re sweet.”
“I’m happy you approve,” he replies, setting the last dish of food on the table before taking his seat across from her.
Giles fills her plate, and even though she eyes his favorite mushy peas with a heavy dose of skepticism, she quickly changes her mind after tasting them. But their lively conversation dies down toward the end of the meal, Buffy’s face growing longer by the minute.
“Is something wrong?” he asks in a gentle tone.
“No. Well, yes. But not with the food. It’s all yummy. But…in a way, this just made things harder. I find out you’re a great cook right before I have to say goodbye.”
Giles scoots his chair around the end of the table so he’s sitting next to her. “What if I told you…oh, Buffy,” he murmurs, cupping her cheek with his hand, her sad face nearly breaking him in pieces, “…what if I said you don’t have to?”
“You mean say goodbye?” She narrows her eyes at him, not even attempting to hide her anger, letting him know that’s unacceptable. “Dammit, Giles, I’m going to the airport with you and walking you all the way to the gate! I want as much time with you as possible,” she says in a distraught tone before calming herself by taking a deep breath. “Besides, who’s to say something won’t happen to me before I get a chance to visit England? I have to say goodbye because, well, you never know. I might not see you again.”
His hand glides from her cheek to her shoulder, then down her arm until he’s holding her left hand in his. “I apologize for the confusion. Buffy, what if I stayed here? In Sunnydale?”
She’s perplexed, and still upset given the way her lower lip is sticking out in a mild pout. “How? Did the Council change their minds?”
“No, unfortunately they’re being their usual hardnosed selves. I doubt I can get through to them.”
“Did you find a job?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“I don’t understand. What-what are you saying?” Her eyes are bright, and he can sense she’s working hard to keep her hopes at bay.
“I’m saying we still have a lot of details to work out, but nothing’s insurmountable if we work together. Buffy,” he drops down to one knee while reaching into his pocket to retrieve the ring box, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Her eyes flutter in surprise, then she wildly searches his eyes, looking for the truth and waiting for a punch line that never comes. “Whaaaaaatttt????”
“Like you, I spent some time reconsidering things. I’m certain it will be an adjustment, but we can make this work.”
Putting two and two together, she smirks at him. “Mom got to you, didn’t she?”
He nods, closing his eyes so she can’t see them roll. “There may have been a conversation.”
“Huh.” They continue to stare at each other, Giles waiting for her to answer while Buffy lets it soak into her brain that he has truly bought into this crazy notion. “For two or three years?”
“Probably less once you find out how tiresome I can be. Allow me to do this again. Buffy, will you marry me?” This time he flips open the box, and like magic (or possibly dumb luck), the candlelight reflects off the diamond, scattering the light in beautiful little flecks across her face.
“Giles!” she gasps at the sight of it. “This is gorgeous! But you didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to, Buffy. It can’t be easy for you to marry your old watcher, so I wanted this proposal to be a pleasant memory for you. It’s the very least I can do. As for this ring, it’s a symbol of my commitment to you, a very genuine commitment, as your watcher, and your friend.”
Fake marriage or not, his sincerity touches her heart, and her eyes momentarily fill with tears. They fade as quickly as they appear when her resolve kicks into gear. “Before I answer, I need to know that you aren’t gonna get cold feet and change your mind at the last minute. My heart can’t take it. I swear to God if you do that to me, I’ll follow your ass all the way to England and force you to train me there!”
He's unable to hide his grin over her attempt at a threat. “You’re already sounding like a wife,” he teases.
“Not funny,” she grunts, letting him know he shouldn’t joke about such a thing, especially after their argument last night.
He backpedals, knowing if this is going to work between them, then he must do a better job at figuring out when to tease, and when to be honest and direct. “I have thought about this thoroughly. I would not propose if I didn’t intend to follow through. You have my word.”
Cradling his face in her palms, she stares at him for several seconds, studying everything about his eyes and expression. There’s a touch of uncertainty in his gaze, a concern that she may turn him down, but there’s also a sign of hopeful anticipation based on the way his brows are slightly raised. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”
His hopefulness takes a hit, so he briefly closes his eyes to find some confidence again before meeting her gaze with a new determination. “I assure you, Buffy, I’m not lying.”
“I know,” she sighs happily, very sure of herself, tickling his earlobe with her pinky finger until he smiles back at her. “A good wife can read her husband. Yes, I will marry you, as your slayer, and your friend. I’ll be the bestest Buffy bogus bride you’ve ever seen.”