e m p t y

Rating: PG-13 for mature themes; character death

Summary: "He was free of all emotion, the weight of care and guilt lifting from his mind and from his body..." Prequel to "Alive and Dying"

Notes: Thanks to Jen, Pete, Meg and Dot. And to Sarah T., who mentioned the idea. It's her fault! <g>

Giles stared down into the bottom of his glass. Empty. That seemed to happen quite frequently.

He reached across the counter for the bottle of Glenfiddich.

Empty.

That, too.

He wondered how they were going to survive. He stared blearily at the figures sprawled out on his couch. Squinting, he realized there was only one -- Xander.

Since Anya's death, Xander had spent most nights sleeping here, on his couch. He didn't want to go home, didn't want to face the empty apartment they'd shared, so full of memories of the life they were making together.

Giles hadn't asked why the younger man didn't go to Willow's or Buffy's. He'd understood that Xander needed to be in a place that didn't remind him of his lost love.

How many times had he himself contemplated moving? Even buying a new mattress, a new bed, hadn't erased the memory of finding Jenny, neck broken, laid out so carefully among the petals on his bed.

He stood, swaying, and attempted to walk without falling over. He needed another bottle of scotch. He was unsteady on his feet, and when he bent to look into the liquor cabinet, he toppled over with a crash, waking Xander.

"Giles, you okay?"

"Does it bloody well look like I'm okay?" Giles said, or tried to. He wasn't sure it came out right. He sat on the floor and rested his head in his hands.

"Why don't I put on a pot of coffee?" Xander suggested tiredly.

"Goddamned coffee's not going to bring them back, Xander!"

Xander's eyes closed tightly, trying to forget.

Willow and Tara -- the screaming as the M'klir demon ate their souls and their bodies withered, emptied of the spark of life. Three months ago. Three long months. The worst three months of his life. He remembered them all at the wedding -- bright, happy faces, hugs and kisses and the promises of a new life. He had a new life, all right. Just not the one he'd expected. Instead of a life full of joy and love, he got one replete with death and sorrow. One empty of all good things. Only with Buffy and Giles' support had he made it through losing Willow and Anya so close together. Now Buffy was gone, and Giles was fading fast.

"No, but it might sober you up."

"Maybe I don't want to be sober," Giles slurred. "Maybe I just want to be dead. Dead like Buffy."

"Dammit, Giles, I need you sober! I need your help. We have to, we have to stake her -- them!" Xander exploded.

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean, 'why?'" Xander was on a tear now, yelling so he wouldn't break down and cry. He'd done enough crying. He was empty of everything but anger now, and he had no one at whom to direct his fury, except for himself and his mentor, the man he'd thought of as a father. And now he looked a little *too* much like Xander's father: drunk, drooling and babbling.

"Because she's Buffy and we have to do this for her. She'd want us to!" he screamed. His jaw tightened and the muscle in his cheek twitched. "She'd want us to stake her *and* Dawn and that goddamned Spike. If you had let me stake Spike when I asked--" He petered out, tired of the old argument. "I'm taking a shower," he said, his voice dead. "Sunset is in two hours. I need you sober and ready to patrol."

Giles waved a hand negligently. He was already back in his own world. He pulled a bottle out of the liquor cabinet. Dewars. Not quite as good as the Glenfiddich he'd just polished off, but it'd do. He waited until he heard the shower running, then pulled out the bottle of pills he'd hoarded.

He'd gotten the prescription right after Anya died. He should have been able to save her. Had he warded the shop properly, the vampires wouldn't have been able to come in. He'd known the risks of owning the shop in Sunnydale, known that the previous owners had all ended up dead from "neck rupture." He told himself that Anya had known the risks as well, and still chose to work for him.

It didn't make him feel any less guilty.

Losing Willow and Tara had been hard. He tried to tell himself that they knew what they were doing -- they were far more powerful adepts than he had ever been, even with Ethan's help -- but still, he felt as though he'd unloosed hell on unsuspecting children.

They'd sealed the Hellmouth, but at what cost? Was it worth the lives -- the very souls -- of two of the best people he'd ever known?

He hadn't had time to grieve, though. He'd had to be strong for Xander, for Buffy.

Buffy.

He broke down, sobbing. His worst nightmare come true. Buffy, a vampire. Turned by Dawn and Spike of all people, of all -- things. He'd known better, should never have let himself trust the platinum-haired demon with Dawn. He thought he'd learned after the Buffy and Angel debacle, but Summers women just kept making bad choices in their love.

Now he knew why the Watchers' diaries all ended with their Slayers' deaths. It was too painful to go on, too hard to explain the failure when the grief was so fresh. And even harder to live with the torment of knowing he should have been able to protect her, prevent it from happening. Oh yes, he understood now, better than he'd ever wanted to.

He spilled the pills out into his hand. He wondered if he would have time, if he would die before Xander was able to save him.

He placed a few under his tongue and chased them back with the scotch. Repeated the process until all the pills were gone. He was already starting to feel light and sleepy. He knew he should feel ashamed for leaving his mess for Xander to clean up, but he no longer cared. He was free of all emotion, the weight of care and guilt lifting from his mind and from his body as the pills and the alcohol took effect.

When Xander finished in the bathroom, he went straight into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. Giles would need a ton of caffeine to get him moving again if he'd passed out.

He poured himself a cup and began gathering supplies for that night's hunt. He knew they wouldn't have more than one chance at staking Buffy. He wanted to get it right, even if he died in the process. He was hoping he would; that way he wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that he and Giles were the only ones left.

He sighed and decided it was time to wake his mentor.

"Wakey wakey," he said, prodding Giles' unmoving body with the toe of his boot. "Come on, G-man, time's a'wasting."

It took him a moment to realize that the man wasn't breathing -- his chest didn't rise and fall with the rhythm of life.

He dropped to his knees quickly, and noticed the empty pill container, the puddle of scotch. He sobbed, dry, wracking heaves that tore at his lungs and at his stomach. He couldn't catch his breath to try and administer CPR. He couldn't do anything but weep.

He would stake Buffy, and then he would seek the oblivion of the bottle and follow Giles down. Anything to numb the pain that was currently tormenting him, anything to make his life as empty as the eyes of the dead man, gazing up at him in peace.

End

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Disclaimer: All Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, David Greenwalt, Greenwolf Productions, Sand Dollar, and the Kuzuis. I do not own them and do not intend any infringement on any copyrights.