AUTHOR: Sandra Pascoe

RATING: FRT

PAIRING: B/G

ARCHIVE: My website obviously - and anyone who has had permission in the past.

DISCLAIMER: The characters don’t belong to me … I’m only borrowing them for a short and exceedingly profitless time.

SETTING: I think this could probably be anytime after Season 3 … personally, though, I’m putting it slightly in the future …

NOTES: Useless trivia: normally I write fic to the strains of the Backstreet Boys’ "Millennium" album pounding through my headphones, however this time, it’s "Music For Elevators". Has it made a difference? Actually, I rather think it has …

SUMMARY: Giles is lost … alone … doesn’t know who he is … doesn’t know where he is … I think that just about sums it up!

DEDICATION: To Sonneta - for stepping bravely into the breach and beta-ing for me!

How long have I been walking? I really don’t know … there’s no sense of time passing … time itself appears to be meaningless here … wherever "here" is. Maybe it’s just my perception of time that’s slightly awry. In that case, though, why am I not getting tired? There’s so much here that doesn’t make sense … or is it all quite logical and I’m the one who's lost all sense, lost all reason? I wouldn’t know … I have no point of reference, you see, nothing to use as a comparison. The first thing I remember is walking across this barren landscape, my feet crunching through the stone and shale … exactly as they’re doing now. It’s a featureless place … stone, shale and a bluish sky … however, one of the many things that puzzles me is why is it so hot? There’s no discernible heat source … no sun, yet it’s bright and it’s hot. I’m sweating but not tired; I’m walking but leaving no impression, no footprints behind me. Maybe I should simply stop walking … sit down and go no further … no - something within me rebels against that thought. I think it’s important that I keep moving … I don’t know why. My memory appears to be reduced to mere generalities, there seems be nothing of "me" left, so I am forced to rely upon my instincts. Of course, I have no way of knowing just how reliable my instincts are but I seem to have little choice in the matter.

Currently, they're telling me that this is all wrong … it simply doesn’t feel right. There’s something bad here, something immoral … is it the landscape? The place itself? Or is it me? Who am I? What am I called? I should have a name … shouldn’t I? Why does my name seem so important to me? I thought my clothes might hold the key but they seem to change with my feelings … is that normal? Somehow, I don’t think it is. Whenever I feel nervous or apprehensive then I appear to be wearing tweed. When I relax it changes to trousers and a sweater and when I feel happier, more confident, then I’m wearing a smart suit and tie. At the moment, it’s tweed again … probably because I’m questioning my circumstances, worrying about what’s going on.

I can feel the sweat running down my face and, as I raise a hand to wipe it away, something changes. A sudden shift in atmosphere; a temperature drop. The sky darkens and I begin to shiver. I glance around almost wildly, trying to see what’s causing this sudden change. As I hug myself, trying to keep warm, I finally see it. There’s something ahead of me … some kind of ripple … a disturbance of some kind. It’s getting bigger … speeding towards me and I suddenly feel afraid. No … I can’t let it find me … can’t let it get … get what? My secret, of course … my words. That’s what it wants … I know that now. It’s not having them … the words I possess are mine … not yours. I have few options … there's nothing for me to hide behind … nowhere I can go. I drop to the ground, curling myself into a ball, my arms wrapped tightly around my head. I don’t look at it but I can hear it approaching. It … sizzles and I brace myself, not knowing what to expect. The urge to raise my head is almost irresistible … I want to see what it looks like, I … need to see it, but something holds me back and I wriggle further into the stones, hugging myself tightly. Suddenly, with a roar, it is upon me and the force of the wind pushes me back. I can't stop myself … I stretch out, my hands scrabbling, trying to find some form of purchase, something to cling to. It's getting colder … my hands are clutching the ground desperately … then …oh, god, it hurts! Pinpricks … needles … scraping along my skin … digging in … tearing my clothes, ripping into my flesh. I try to scream but they're in my mouth, my throat … clawing at my eyes … the pain, please stop the pain …

"It's okay … hold on."

The voice seems to be all around me, soothing, caressing, and driving away the pain. Such a voice - full of light and hope - a beautiful, soft, gentle voice. I slowly open my eyes and sit up, wanting desperately to see the face behind the voice, half convinced that my flesh is torn and shredded, but nothing seems to have changed … there’s nobody else here … and I'm still wearing the tweed.

"Hello!" I call out, hoping against hope that she will respond. "Please … please answer me!"

Nothing. Just the sound of my own voice echoing back to me. I clamber to my feet, now with yet more questions to puzzle over. What was all that about? Why the needles? Why the pain? Why am I left unscathed? Whose was that glorious voice? I look around but it's all still the same … the disturbance has vanished and it's hot once more. Yet more mysteries, yet more puzzles. Is that all there is here? Just a bundle of unanswerable questions? I seem to be going over the same ground, thinking the same thoughts as earlier … a phrase suddenly leaps unbidden to mind: "circular logic will only make you dizzy". Is that a memory? Or is it just another thought? With a sigh, I start walking again.

Words. I remember thinking that my words were important … the … disturbance wanted my words. No - I can't think about this. I have to think about something else. You see, I can feel the words pushing at the back of my mind … if I think about them too much then they will rise to the surface … easier for it to find them. Okay, so think about something else … what though? The voice. I wish I could hear that beautiful voice again … wish I could see the face behind it. It seemed familiar somehow … like I should know it. At least now I know that I'm not alone … there's someone, somewhere, watching over me. It's a comforting thought and, typically, my clothes change again … sweater and trousers, this time.

There's something ahead. It's in the stones, glinting in the light. As I get closer, I can see that it's a bottle … what would a bottle be doing here? Stupid question - after all, what am I doing here? Maybe I should stop asking so many questions and do something instead. I kneel down and tentatively reach out, touching the bottle with my fingertips. I’m suddenly nervous … almost afraid of what may happen. It’s cold … everything else is hot, even the stones themselves and yet, this bottle is cold. I pick it up. It feels empty … the glass is black and I can’t see inside. I have to open it … I really don’t have any choice. As I unscrew the lid, I suddenly feel … almost eager. It doesn’t feel threatening … it feels … sort of promising. As I pull the lid from the bottle, a sudden memory assaults my senses. Oh dear lord … my name … I know my name. Rupert Giles … my name is Rupert Giles. I can’t help it … I start laughing. I wonder what I must look like? Kneeling here in this godforsaken place, rocking back on my heels and laughing like … like what? I don’t know but it feels wonderful. Rupert … Rupert … I savour the name, rolling it around but it doesn’t feel right … it doesn’t feel like me. What about the other name? Giles … yes, that sounds better … sounds like me. Why Giles though? Why not Rupert? I don’t know and, as I climb to my feet, I realise that I really don’t care. I’m not completely lost any longer … I know who I am. It may not do much good here but at least I have something to hang onto, something that’s … that’s "me". I peer into the bottle … empty. I wonder though … if I find another bottle will I find another memory? Is that the purpose of the bottle? Is that the way this place works? Dropping the empty bottle, I walk on … my steps no longer leaden and heavy and my clothes now changing to the suit and tie.

Something’s going to happen now. I can feel it. This place seems to be circular. The clothes seem to be the key - they’re linked to my moods, my feelings but, whenever I feel confident enough for the suit and tie to appear, something bad, something disconcerting, inevitably happens and I end up in the tweed once more. Not this time though. I’m determined not to give in, not to allow it to drag me down emotionally again. Is this some kind of test? A challenge? See how far I can be pushed? I wish I knew. I hate not having answers to questions. Come on, stop torturing yourself, Giles. Just keep moving … for some reason, it’s important I keep moving. I may even find another bottle … another memory.

It’s getting hotter … I wish I could take some of these clothes off. I can’t though … I take off the jacket and suddenly find myself wearing another one. The temperature's steadily climbing … it's getting more difficult to breathe … I can feel the sweat running down my face. I've got to stop walking … I can't keep going … not in this heat. Oh god … even breathing hurts. My whole body feels so hot … so painful. I drop to my knees … I can't seem to flex my fingers … they feel twice the size as normal - bloated and searingly hot. I know what you're doing … you think this will make me tell you? The words are too important … I'll die first. You see, I've realised that, ultimately, the words are not mine. Oh, they belong to me, in a way, but they're FOR someone else … I'm merely protecting them, guarding them, until the time comes for them to be passed on. And they're not going to be passed on to you. Oh lord … I can't stand this. I can see … oh god … my skin's blistering … I'm tearing at my clothes but it doesn't make any difference. It feels like my blood's boiling … everything's so hot … I'm writhing around … no, no, this is too much. Every breath sears my throat … every movement is agony … my tears … I don’t have any tears - my eyes feel as though they've dried up. Oh god, I can feel my skin bubbling … I try to scream but no sound emerges … there's nothing left … I have nothing left.

"Ssshhhh … it's alright … the fever's breaking."

That voice again. That wonderful, glorious voice. It feels different this time. It's getting cooler … I can breathe properly. It's almost like … hands touching me, cooling me down. Impossible, of course, but remarkably pleasant. No … wait a minute … what's happened to the stones? I was on the ground with stones digging into me … now, it feels soft. Marvellously soft and comfortable. The atmosphere has changed as well … it feels safer, happier somehow.

"Come on … open your eyes … please? For me?"

For you? Oh god, anything for you … I know you now. I know me. I remember everything. I open my eyes and see your beautiful face smiling down at me. I try to smile back but I'm so tired. You reach out and gently touch my face.

"Hey there, big guy. No … you don't have to say anything. Your fever's broken … you're going to be fine."

Fever? Oh yes, I remember … demon blood. Why is it always me that gets splattered? You're still smiling at me. I want to tell you but it's too much… I can't do it. I plead with my eyes, trying to communicate in one look the feelings and emotions that would usually take me months to explain. Your smile grows wider and you stand, moving away from the bed. Quickly stripping your clothes, you slide into bed beside me. You wrap your arms around me, pulling me gently towards you and, with a sigh, I rest my head on your shoulder, snuggling into your soft warmth. The feel of your skin next to mine, the sound of your heartbeat … I'm home … I've finally come home. Now … it's time. The words are in my mind once more … the words I protected, kept safe … for you, only for you.

"Buffy …" I manage a soft whisper and slowly raise my head until I can look into your eyes. You raise an eyebrow at me, questioning, and gently brush my hair away from my face. Finally, I can say them … they're yours now … a gift from me to you. I've cherished them, protected them … and I will say them to you every day for the rest of our lives.

"I love you."