__My Father's Eyes__
By Amy
My father always hated my destiny. He didn't accept it from the moment my grandfather revealed that I was to be a Watcher someday. Of course, that my father hated it was a wonderful reason for me to embrace the Watcher teachings. I've always hated my father as much as he did me. But somehow, all of his predictions in my life have come to pass.
That I would fail. That I would be a coward. And, that in the end, I would be alone.
I have. I'm sure to have made him proud in that respect. That I lived up to, if not surpassed, all of his expectations.
He's a violent man, my father. Crude, dirty. I was raised in the lowest of neighbourhoods until I was eight and my grandfather whisked me away. Dad saw fit to beat me on occasion, just to teach me that I was not the one with the authority. He would call me and assure me that one day, I would go back and need him. My, was he surprised when I informed him that I was to be Watching an active Slayer. Angry, harsh.
But I was confident that, given time, my Slayer would be a success. And that she is, though credit cannot go to me. No, it goes to her real Watcher, the man who set aside the tense, strict Counsel rules and loved her.
I so wanted her to like me. It sounds very prosaic and naive, but I wanted to slip smoothly into the spot of her previous Watcher, and have her trust me and work for and with me. My ego swelled that I had been given to the most successful Slayer in history-- After all, why would they give her someone who wasn't of use to her?
Which makes me wonder, in fact, why they gave me.
It's not to say that I didn't try. And I know now that perhaps I failed so heinously because I *was* so unbending, and I tried far too hard. To prove my father wrong, to prove that I would make something of my life and another human's live-- a special human's life-- meant more to me than I could have described. And so, after two months of training to meet her, I went. Eager and with all of my knowledge being learned from books, I hoped that she would receive me with open arms. Perhaps her other Watcher was too old, perhaps he couldn't keep up, perhaps she simply didn't like him. All of these thoughts rushed through my head hopefully on the airplane.
Buffy broke all my expectations, as I was warned she might. She was not only strong headed, but ruled with her heart instead of her mind. Several times I tried to refute that, but would later regret my interference at all in her battles, for she won them all by relying on her emotions.
Several times, too, I tried to befriend her. I began to accept that it was a different life than what I had been trained for, I accepted that her friends knew she was the Slayer, I accepted that she went to school and wanted a normal life. I didn't deal with these things very well, but I accepted them.
And still, after knowing her, I tried to change her, like only a fool would. I wanted her to bend to my way of thinking, my strict, unyielding, disciplined mind. Even as I saw her brilliance in battle, her extraordinary mind, her magnificent heart, I wanted her to credit me with some of what she was, though I had done nothing. She was perfect when I met her, and perhaps even more so when I left. I had been told I was being presented with a strong willed warrior with no taste for orders, and I had, in truth, been given to a young girl with a heart that showed through in her eyes and happened to have a strength more powerful than ten men.
She's been through so much. And I tried to change her eternally optimistic and radiant perspective on life. Unlike one who had been through a thousand wars and seen death nightly, she retained a childlike innocence that I am deeply ashamed I tried to reform.
And I maintain that, no matter what mistakes I made along the way, I wanted her to like me. She had a wonderfully diverse and unique group of friends, a bright witch, a willing young man, an ensouled vampire, a strangely detached werewolf, a girl who didn't seem to care much about the necessity of Buffy's life, but in reality cared deeply enough to risk her life if the occasion called for it. And a Watcher who loved her like she deserved. I tried to fit in sometimes, when I thought that the reception would be slightly better, and I even managed to exchange a smile or two with Mr. Giles, but none of that made me a part of them.
I was an outsider, as I've always been.
I can't even describe the... hurt, for lack of a better word, that resided in me as she continually rebuffed any and all efforts to befriend her. Her Watcher was unhelpful in the beginning, but by the end I rather think he pitied me, pitied the fact that I apparently had no heart when it was so easy to fall in love with the girl. And though I never showed it, I did fall in love with her, as all of her friends loved her. It was hard not to. She had such an exuberance about her, a light that splashed off of her in waves; When she was smiling at a friend, looking at her demon lover, touching Mr. Giles on the shoulder, even mocking me. It came to a place where, when she did make little, snide, witty comments about me, I would have to work at
keeping my face blank from either amusement or grief.
Amusement because.... Well, Buffy can be downright amusing. Grief because it turned out my father had been right all along. I would fail. I would always fail. And then, because I simply had nowhere else to go, I would go back to his home, even as an adult, and let him rule my life.
I would apologize meekly and walk into the house that had been my living nightmare for eight years, and I would serve him as a slave in penance for what I had done. I had no will of my own. I took orders, that's what I did.
And when I weakened, he would be there to pull me up and take me home and chain my soul up. Like he had always planned. Like he had always wanted.
Trying doesn't seem to work, though. Because right now, I don't have anywhere to leave to. I don't have an escape. I have been relieved of my Watcherly duties, for being unable to control either Slayer. I have been released from the hospital, where I was held for injuries sustained in the first three seconds of the battle. And my father has already called. Smug, knowing. I am thirty-four years old, and yet he beckons to me like I'm a disobedient child.
And I will go.
I stand now at the window of my apartment and look out, thinking over the conversation. My father's horrible laughter. I hate that man. I look down at the packed boxes that litter the room and sigh helplessly. Get a job.
Researching? That would be possible, but I'm unfamiliar with most books that aren't centered on some sort of demon.
Everything that I loved and held dear has been taken away from me, ripped from my hands like a child's toy. The Watcher's Council made certain that I dedicated my life to my calling, and then, when I was willing to do almost anything for my job, they took it from me. I admit that I have no answers.
A soft knock on the door interrupts my thinking and I call out. "Enter if you are able!"
The door swishes open, and Mr. Giles stands there, looking very much concerned over something. Immediately I start to worry. He looks at me a moment and I lift my eyebrows, leaning in imperceptibly. "Is it Buffy? Is she all right, Mr. Giles?"
He starts to smile and I'm disturbed. As he sees the surprise register on my face, he walks over quickly and stretches out his hand and I shake it, curious. "Yes, she's fine old man. I like that your first concern was with her." Suddenly he adopts a serious expression, and I'm left even more disconcerted before. "You know now, do you not?"
Without needing to think, I know what he means and lift my head. I know why he was fired. I know that it's impossible to not love this girl. "Yes."
"All right," he nods, still serious. "I have an extra bedroom. I've been informed through... a friend of mine that your Watcher station has been revoked. They're taking your apartment away, correct?" Stupefied, I nod again and he continues. "You'll stay with me. That is, until you find a job and your own housing."
Uneasy, I shrug. "Mr. Giles... While I'm grateful for your generosity, I don't know quite what to say. I am under orders to leave Sunnydale. And, to be quite frank, I'm not much use here. I could see the point if I were, but we both know that I'm not."
He pauses, considering. "No, that's very true. However, it's also true that when I first arrived, very much like you did, I was inexperienced with fighting the forces of evil. Conjuring them, yes, but not fighting them. I was a regular rogue in my day. And Buffy still knocks me on my back when we train. You have time, Wesley."
My voice is dull. "Who would I stay for?"
"Me." My head whips around to see Buffy standing there, small and smiling in the light from the lamp. She walks forward slowly, uncertainly. "Look, Wes... You're a total dork. And way too disciplined. And unbending.
And did I mention a dork?"
She pauses and I speak up. "What was the point here again?" I ask dryly.
Buffy grins. "So was Giles. Still is sometimes. We could use your help, if you want to give it." She looks down and her hand slips into Mr. Giles's. "I could use your help. There are some things that, God help me, I don't want to graduate from. Stay. And that's the only time I'm going to ask."
The grin is back.
Her eyes are almost hopeful and I begin to blush proudly. Cautiously, I raise my head in assent and then they're both smiling so broadly at me that I can't help but smile back. Buffy turns to Mr. Giles and gives a short squeal. "Yay! A new Watcher to train."
The both of us chuckle at her on cue and she squeezes Mr. Giles's hand before turning on her heel and bouncing out the door. I look at him, suddenly awkward and shift my feet. "Ahh... I do appreciate this, Gil.. Mr. Giles."
He blinks for a moment and then shrugs. "It's really quite all right. But if you like, you can call me Giles. I've gotten accustomed to it. Or Rupert. Just please try to stay away from whatever nick name the children come up with."
I grin easily and nod. "And of course, you can call me... Well, still Wesley."
He smiles and we start out the room, talking, suddenly in a comfortable place. And I realize that my father was wrong. He wasn't right about anything, really. The way he sees me isn't how I am. I didn't fail, after all.
It just took me a little longer than I'd hoped to succeed.
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