The Fine Art of the Abject Apology

The Fine Art of the Abject Apology

Disclaimer: The characters and world of this story belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I'm not making any money off either this site or the story itself.

Written for my own prompt (see summary) in the Giles H/C Ficathon. Unbeta'd.

Feedback, while never required, does help feed the Muse. As always, it's sahiyaATgmailDOTcom or simply follow the link at the end of the story to leave a comment at my LJ.

Balloon, check. Flowers, check - carnations, because the stupid gift shop didn't have anything else except roses and Buffy wasn't quite as clueless as most people seemed to think. Not that you'd know it from this last week, but still. Giant can of loose leaf tea from the import shop - that was from her mom, who'd looked weirdly embarrassed about it - check.

Card with abjectly apologetic note . . . almost check.

Buffy sighed, balanced her binder on her knees, and attempted the note for the third or fourth time, not counting the five she'd written during study hall when she should have been cramming for her math test. She wanted to be eloquent and stuff, but it just wasn't happening. I'm sorry you got another concussion wasn't really the issue (even though she was sorry about that, 'cause it had to suck) and all the other stuff she had to apologize for was hard. I'm sorry Angel tortured you? Gah. Buffy crumpled up the sheet of notebook paper and shoved it down into the bottom of her backpack with all the other duds.

Maybe that wasn't really the issue either, though. Giles had never seemed to want to talk about it - not that she had, either. She hadn't tried to bring it up, she'd just assumed he didn't want to talk about it. Especially not with her. Bringing it up now, when he had a concussion and probably felt like crap, wasn't a good idea.

Which left her with I'm sorry I lied. She didn't know why she was having such a hard time with that one. She got the card out instead of another piece of notebook paper. She chewed on her pen for awhile, hoping the words would magically appear on the scary white space in front of her, but it stayed blank. She sighed and decided that eloquent just wasn't in the cards today. Besides, she came bearing balloon, flowers, and tea, so hopefully the card would just get sort of shoved off to the side. She bit her lip and scribbled something that sounded a lot like her first try, even though it was her eighth or ninth, paused, then added, I'm sorry one more time for good measure, right before the Love, Buffy.

It sucked, but it'd do.

He had a single room, thanks to his uber nice council insurance. It was dark and quiet, no monitors or anything. She tiptoed around the bed and peered at him. He was out like a light. They'd probably kept him up last night, or at least woken him every couple of hours. She shouldn't wake him up, she thought, just leave the stuff on the little fold-up table and go. She could come back before patrol and see if he was awake then.

She spent a couple minutes trying to make everything look nice, with the balloon and the flowers and the gift-wrapped thing of tea. She stuck the card behind the tea and half-hoped he wouldn't see it. Knowing Giles, though, he'd probably go for that first. She sighed to herself and considered ditching it altogether. He'd know who was behind the flowers and stuff anyway, so what was the point?

"Buffy?"

Too late. "Hey, Giles," she said, turning away from the table. He squinted at her. "Did I wake you up?" He shook his head, then winced. "Okay, don't do that. Verbal answers only."

He cleared his throat. "Good idea. And no, I don't believe you woke me." She dropped into the chair beside his bed. "What brings you here?"

She raised her eyebrows. That was a massive bump on his head, so probably he was still a little concussed. "Uh, my watcher's in the hospital? Seriously, Giles, did you think I wouldn't?"

"I - I wasn't sure after -"

"Especially after," she said, frowning at him. His brow furrowed. She sighed and reached for the card. "How are you with the reading right now?"

"Not - not very well at the moment. It tends to lead to vomiting."

"Ew," she wrinkled her nose. "So did not need to know that. Okay, fine. I will read you your card." As punishment for her sins. Which, okay, were numerous this week. "Don't, like, judge me on it, okay? I didn't know what to say." She cleared her throat and realized her hands were shaking. At least it was dark so he couldn't see how red her ears had turned. "Dear Giles," she began, already regretting this, "I'm sorry I lied. I do respect you and the job you do. I -" She swallowed. "I was scared and I didn't know what you'd say. I was trying not to hurt you, believe it or not." And wasn't that the stupidest part of all. Some part of her had thought she was protecting him - but most of her just hadn't wanted to see the look on his face when he found out, or hear what he'd have to say about it. "I'm sorry," she finished quietly. "Love, Buffy."

He didn't say anything. She swallowed a bunch of times until the lump in her throat went away. Then she stood the card on its end by everything else and decided to just Buffy-babble her way through the awkward. "So yeah, that's the card. And then, look, balloon, which'll look nicer when the lights are on - you probably can't see it now but there's a teddy bear on it. And flowers, which smell nice even in the dark. And my mom sent you this stuff." She handed the tea to him.

He stared at it for a moment as though he didn't know what to do with it, then slowly tore the paper off and turned the canister over to see the label.

"Good?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "Please, tell your mother thank you for me." She set it on the table. "Er, I suppose I should ask - you destroyed the glove?"

"Yup, mitten thing is toast. Though, uh, less living flame and more dismemberment."

His eyes widened. "Dis - Buffy, what -"

"Uh, Gwen Poste? We kinda assumed she was the one who knocked you out."

"Oh," he said, sounding bewildered. "Um. Yes. I'm afraid I don't really - really remember much. She was, er - what was she?"

"I think the medical term is 'sorta psycho.' You should probably call the council once you can and figure out what was really going on there."

He was looking at her sorta wide-eyed still. "I . . . see," he said at last. "Oh dear."

"Hey," she said, "no worrying about it, all right? You're all," she gestured helplessly, "concussed and stuff. How's your head, anyway?"

"It hurts," he admitted, "but it's not dangerous anymore. They're letting me go tomorrow morning."

"Cool," she said.

"Yes, I should be at school by third period."

"Giles!"

"Shh, Buffy, please," he said, wincing, "not so shrill."

"Sorry, sorry. But don't you think you deserve a couple days at home? Can you even walk?"

He glared at her huffily. "I can walk. Buffy, please, don't worry about me." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I - well, that is, with Angel - with Angel back, there's some research I'd like to do, see if we can find out - find out why."

"Yeah, I think that's a question we'd all like answered." She bit her lip and stared at her shoes for a bit. And she thought the card had been hard. "Giles, I really am sorry," she said at last.

He was silent for a moment, and then he sighed. "I know."

"Not just about -"

"I know."

She nodded. Then she found his hand where it lay on top of the covers and squeezed it. He squeezed back, eyes drifting shut. "So tired," he mumbled. "They wouldn't let me sleep. Hate hospital beds."

She smoothed his hair off his face, careful to avoid the bruises. "Which is why you should go home tomorrow and sleep in your own bed for a bit. Come to school in the afternoon, if you have to. Or we could come to you, hang out chez Giles tomorrow."

"Wreck my flat," he muttered.

"Exactly," she said, still stroking his hair. He smiled faintly. "We can make you dinner." He raised an eyebrow at her skeptically. "Will can make you dinner," she amended, grinning. "Xander and I are highly skilled at renting movies. Even old British ones where none of the jokes are funny. Oz is, well, Oz. He's, um, soothing. And Cordelia can, er -"

"Inform me in no uncertain terms how dreadful I look." His smile widened, just a little. "It sounds quite lovely, Buffy, but I . . . I really will feel better once I know why Angel is back." He squeezed her hand again. "It's not as bad as the EMT's made it sound before."

She looked away. "They made it sound pretty bad."

"Buffy." He forced her to look at him. "I'm all right." She frowned. "Or - or I will be."

"Yeah, so, don't stress yourself out. Tomorrow's Friday, rest up through the weekend. My guess is that if you can't read a get well card without barfing, reading all those dead languages in the itty bitty print isn't gonna go so well." She pouted at him and he smiled at her, but he looked way exhausted. She suddenly had the feeling she was keeping him up. "Anyway, we can argue about it tomorrow when you show up for third period." He puffed a little laugh. She stood. "Get some sleep."

"I think I will, yes," he said, yawning and seeming to sink deeper into the covers. She fussed briefly with the blankets, drawing them up over his shoulders and tucking them in. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Buffy," he said quietly and met her eyes seriously. She had to quash the urge to apologize again, until suddenly she realized that he was trying to tell her she didn't have to. He'd been angry before. Furious. And now - he forgave her. Just like that.

She let out a long breath and impulsively leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow," she whispered, not trusting her voice.

"Yes," he said, squeezing her wrist briefly.

She closed the door softly on her way out.

Fin.