tampered | log; complete;

log; complete;

When; Forward-dated to Tuesday evening.
Rating; PG-13?
Characters; Jenny Calendar [

thegoodbox]; Rupert Giles [

yesyesofcourse]; possibly more if appropriate
Summary; Jenny shows up, Passion-style.
Log;

There's a long way to go before Giles is going to consider himself at all acquainted with the City, or familiar with the situations that each of the students from Sunnydale High that he had taken under his wing has found themselves in now. What he's learned thus far already fills some number of notebooks that Giles carries with him, tucked under his arm, as he heads up the stairs and back to his room in the house that all of them share-- he's thumbing through the first one now, especially mindful of the little notes in the margins, written in Willow's careful handwriting. Out of all of them, Willow was, perhaps, the best in acquainting Giles with the City thanks to their like natures alone, although on the other end, she'd also given him some of the greatest surprises.

It seems that there are even greater ones in store, however, as Giles lifts his gaze from his books.

And finds one Jenny Calendar sprawled on the bed, looking just as she had when he'd found her in his apartment back in Sunnydale.

"J-- Jenny."

Half-tempted to turn straight around, Giles' brow furrows, twitches, as he steps towards his bed, books falling into a pile of crinkled leaves on the floor. "I'm sor--"

No, he can't go any further than that. There's no point. He's had enough warnings about the City and its tendency to play cruel tricks on the inhabitants. This certainly seems to be one of them.

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She's cold. It's not a bitter, burning cold -- there's no more warmth in her body for it to devour. It simply exists; heavy, almost tangible. She can feel it.

It's this fact that causes Jenny to open her eyes. This isn't right. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

Her neck aches; her eyes, while open, don't see the room she's in. She does not see or hear Giles enter. She sees Angelus, chasing her in the dark. Angelus, catching her by the window. She feels his hands on her face, the sharp twist and flare of pain as he breaks her neck. And cold. She feels so very, very cold.

Is this Hell? Is this God's punishment for betraying those she loves -- her people, by not attending to her sacred duty; Rupert and Buffy and the others, by not telling them who she was? She had tried to make amends; she had given her life to make things right. Was that not enough?

She should get up. She isn't chained; she should take this opportunity to explore her prison. But despair as deep and heavy as the cold anchors her to the bed. What's the point? Nothing matters. She has lost everything she cares about; she had gambled everything to get them back, and she had lost. She has nothing more to give.

None of this internal monologue makes itself known to Giles at all, the only sounds being the ticking of the clock on his wall--faint enough that he rarely hears it at all over that of the City's, over that of his pulse. He stares for a good minute or two before he makes his way to the seat by his desk, slumping heavily into it--drunk without even a drop of alcohol, head swimming, no rationality to be found.

"God, Jenny, I--"

He still can't finish the sentence. He left the door ajar, too, but he can't be bothered to pick himself up anymore. Buffy's downstairs, Xander might be around, and that new girl-- Dawn, he's pretty sure-- could stumble upon this at any moment, but Giles won't be the one to alert them of it. If this is a curse, if the City is merely pulling from his most painful memories, then this is a day and a lesson that he's to receive himself. No point in spreading it.

It's been some weeks, but he can't bring himself to cry, still.

She doesn't hear his' voice so much as she feels it, rough and warm and achingly familiar. It must be part of her punishment, she tells herself. They must have sent him here to remind her of her betrayal, to lay out in agonizing detail all the death and suffering that her actions had caused, that she would never be able to make right. Or maybe he will forgive her, and then Angelus will come and kill him too. She has studied Hell; some of the dimensions are quite creative in their torture.

She's afraid to get up and face her punishment. And yet...it's Rupert. She never thought she would see him again. When Angelus caught her, when his cold, cruel hands clasped her face, she had thought that she would never see him again.

She shifts, her muscles sore and stiff. Rigor mortis. It hurts to move, but she pushes herself to a sitting position. Even if this is just some hellish torture, she needs to see him again.

"Rupert?"

"Oh my--"

He stumbles, even while seated in his chair, long legs catching on those of the chair, such that he only halfway makes it to a standing position before he sits right back down, eyes wide, searching. And finding. Jenny may recognize the suspicion that lies in them, even as there's a gentle touch to it all. This is only going to be for a day, isn't it? Yet the City isn't the sort of place that would grant wishes, or make much of anyone's life easier. There must be a catch.

Still, he rushes over, finally, kneeling next to the bed and cupping the air around Jenny's face, mouth agape.

"I-- I don't understand. This can't be just-- a-another curse, clearly. No god is so generous."

His palm finally brushes against her cheek, and he almost pulls back as though burned-- she's cold. Not icy, but clearly enough such that he knows. She's not alive.

Jenny jerks back when he starts to cup her face, the memory of Angelus still fresh in her thoughts. Her neck throbs, a pounding reminder.

It takes her some time to process what Rupert said; everything feels sluggish. She can tell that he's surprised -- shocked -- to see her, and somehow that surprises her. Isn't he a part of this place? If this is her punishment, why can't he believe she's here? His hand brushes her cheek and she flinches from the heat.

Her throat is dry; she tries to moisten it, but her voice still comes out hoarse. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I-- I think the better question is... what are you doing here?" Giles murmurs, his breathing still shallow at best. This is dangerous, risky, staying with the woman who's already served as an illusion to dupe him, even back in their world. So he waits, holds off giving as many answers as he can, so that she has a chance to prove to him. That perhaps Jenny is indeed here-- the guides have explained that much. That those who have deceased do occasionally come to the City, in a form much like the animated dead. No heartbeat, no body temperature.

Carefully, he brushes the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone.

"Th-this isn't... where you think. You-- er, both of us, really-- have traveled to an alternate dimension, one in which death doesn't... take in the manner that we know it will at home." He offers an almost apologetic smile--or perhaps, a grimace--before his gaze drops down as he collects himself. "This isn't right. You should have passed on, shouldn't be... forced back to life having to remember the way that you..."

"Died."

The word comes with surprising ease; in the maelstrom of confusion and emotion, that one fact is something she can hold onto.

She pushes herself back from him, needing space to -- to what? She doesn't breath. But she finds herself breathing anyway, a force of habit, and maybe the desire for space is another habit. But her eyes lock on him, even as he looks away, devouring every detail.

"I don't understand," she says. "That doesn't make any sense." Her eyes beg him for an explanation, even as suspicion festers in her heart.

It's strange, how having such frigid hands push him away, having a cold body leaving and the warmth of the room taking its place, can still leave Giles feeling even colder, confused. Jenny wants an explanation, but what can Giles honestly offer her? He doesn't understand this City, not to the extent that he would have to in order to explain things with any semblance of logic. He can hear her breathing-- is it for show? He's unsure.

"This place doesn't... doesn't make much sense at all, no." Giles stands weakly, turns around and slumps back in his chair, giving her the space she seems to need so desperately right now. "There are theories. Th-that this place is counting down to the end of all worlds, and that it has... brought us all here to stop it. Slow it down. Speed it up-- who knows, really, all of this claims are-- are unsubstantiated."

He pulls off his glasses and rubs his eyes. "All I know is that... having people show up who've passed away, that isn't-- isn't... uncommon in the slightest, here. We could call this... bought time, in a manner of speaking."

She wants it to be true so badly. She wants that time, that chance. But it's impossible.

"Why should I believe you?" she asks, her voice harsh. It hurts to question this, but she can't just wait for the other shoe to drop. "How do I know this isn't some kind of hellish trick designed to torture me?" Her fingers clench the the bedsheets, and she takes a steadying breath. "I want to believe you," she says more gently. "But I can't. It's too good to be true. You don't get second chances."

"Because, I think, were this a hellish... trick, as you say," Giles murmurs, still toying with his glasses, cleaning them despite the fact that there isn't a single speck of dust or water spot on them, "I think that whoever in charge would give us a glimpse of something better than this. You have no pulse. You have no body temperature. And-- and you being here, it... hurts me in a way that is very real already. How is this too good to be true?"

He looks up at Jenny, slowing putting his glasses back on.

"You don't... have to believe me. But I think it would be worth trying, on your part. The seconds are... are ticking by already, and regardless of circumstance, I should very much like to... embrace you."

She has to admit, he has a point. She smiles weakly. "I suppose if they really wanted to make it seem like paradise, they would have included chocolate cake." It's lame joke, but it's the only thing she can think of to say.

She still doesn't entirely believe him. Dead or not, seeing him again is more than she had ever hoped for. If this is real, if this is an actual opportunity, then she can't let it slip by. And if it really is part of some hellish torture, then she suffers. She'd suffer anyway. The smile fades from her face, replaced with an earnest, desiring look.

"I'd like that too."

"You might, erm, be pleased to know that they still have... computers here," Giles replies with a slight furrow of the brow, although a small smile quirks on his lips as well. "And far beyond-- beyond anything we had at home, since it seems... a great deal of people here are from the twenty-first century."

His knees are still a little weak when he stands, and in retrospect mentioning the year probably wasn't a smart idea, as his mind starts drifting in a million directions. The most prominent one being, of course, that no matter how awkward things are for him, having people in the City from years on ahead, it's doubly worse--at least--for Jenny. And it makes him angry, that she was robbed in such a way by Angel, and the fact that everyone here seems so keen on believing Angel again makes him feel betrayed.

All in all, though, he supposes he can't see so far into the future. Perhaps he doesn't want to, considering Cordelia's death.

But he sinks heavily into the bed, tracing Jenny's face with his hand. She's still cold. All that serves to do, however, is make him want to warm her up somehow, in whatever way he's able. So he pulls her into his arms, chin resting on the top of her head, and he blinks rapidly to try and spare himself the tears.

"I'm... so sorry I failed to protect you."

"Unlike yourself," Jenny quips affectionately. "I'm telling you, Rupert, you need to catch up with the rest of humanity."

The warmth of his hand hurts, like a sudden burst of hot water. But her body gradually adjusts until it's comforting, like a thick blanket or a cup of cocoa. She fights back tears, not wanting to be distracted with crying. She wants to savor this.

She takes a moment to think about his final words, how she should respond. A small, irrational part of her agrees with him, wants to blame him and Buffy and everyone else for shutting her out, for letting her die. But that isn't fair, and she knows it. She pulls back so she can look at him.

"It's not your fault, Rupert," she says, her gaze earnest. "It's not your job to protect me. I'm a big girl."

"I am as caught up as-- as I'd ever want to be," he counters halfheartedly, not quite willing to admit that he'd dabbled a bit with technology after her death. Some might say in honor of her, and others would point towards practicality--as surely, he couldn't always rely on Willow to be around the school for his electronic needs.

He feels the flinch from her and loosens the hug somewhat, until the tension seems to have left her body, enough for him to find a more comfortable position for the two of them. Gradually, she's warming up, although the irony of the fact that Giles will always have to be the one to keep her warm from here on out doesn't escape him. He can't push her away anymore, despite the fact that even now, he still feels betrayed by what she had done. Lied to him about her background, her identity.

When she pulls back to look at him, his expression is once more pained. How is it possible for things to be so normal, and yet... the exact opposite of it?

"Perhaps not my... job, but it was my desire to, and I allowed other things to get in the way of that," he quietly murmurs, lips thinning.

Jenny can't help running a finger across his pursed lips, as if smoothing away a crease. "You really are an old-fashioned boy, aren't you?" she murmurs, more to herself than for his benefit. Her usual crowd -- not that she had ever had many friends -- had all been very rebellious, modern, anti-establishment. Even with Rupert looking the part of a stuffed-shirt, she sometimes forgets just how deep his old-fashioned values run.

She shifts again, settling once more into a comfortable position, but with a clearer mind. With the clarity comes more questions, in such a dizzying array that she doesn't really know where to begin. Finally, she picks the simplest one.

"How long have you been here?"

"Several days, not... long at all, but, erm. Buffy's been here for months, and-- and there are others. Willow, and-- and Xander. Cordelia most recently, in fact," he mutters, pulling off his glasses to clean them once more. "I'm still getting accustomed to the place, and I didn't expect another... arrival so soon, although yours may be..."

He pauses. It wouldn't be lying.

"...yours may be the most welcome yet."

For now, he neglects to mention that Angel is here. There will be plenty of time for that later, he thinks-- perhaps sleep is the best idea for Jenny.

"How, erm. Are you feeling right now? Is there any pain, anything I can help with?"

Jenny smiles, pleased that she is welcome. She shouldn't be surprised, considering how quickly he had taken her into his arms, but fear is rarely rational. She shakes her head in response to his question, and is surprised to find that the throbbing has died down. This place may not have restored her life fully, but at least she wouldn't be a walking corpse with a broken neck.

"I'm fine," she says. "Better than fine, really. I still can't believe it. How have we never heard of this place before? You'd think a dimension like this would warrant some kind of mention on the net, and especially in all your books. Somebody must have written about this place. It can't be completely unknown."

There's a pleased grin that passes for a moment over Giles' expression at the mention of the likelihood of something being mentioned especially in all of his books. As wonderful as the net is for some people, he's sure, there are a lot of things in books which simply can't be found on the web. He almost gives Jenny a nod, but he settles with a chuckle under his breath instead. The fact that Jenny's able to move her head around with some degree of comfort puts him further at ease.

"Well, erm... there are creatures that call themselves deities in this dimension, and they pull people from whatever dimensions or worlds they choose. Demigods at the least, I should think, and I don't know that we've dealt with anything quite-- quite of that magnitude before," Giles explains. "This place very clearly doesn't want to be found. There have been citizens who've gone back to their worlds for... for however long, and they say that upon returning to their worlds, they don't remember things which have passed, here. It's all quite fascinating."

She notices that grin, and if he had made a comment, she would have made a sassy remark. She has never claimed that the internet has more information on the supernatural than Rupert's texts; only that its information is more widely available. And someday...

"Memory spells are tricky, though," she says, thinking. "Even for gods. Especially with an operation of this scale, mistakes have to happen. Something must have gone wrong with somebody's memories."

Her observations are reassuring; this is what Jenny would do, pore over the details, analyze a situation--something the both of them had in common, even if they often consulted different sources. All things considered, between the two of them, they were able to cover a great deal of material. But even this City had, thus far, managed to elude Giles completely.

"Memory spells are tricky, yes," Giles nods, tapping his lip for a moment before biting down on the hook of his glasses. "Although really, I haven't encountered a-- a great deal of gods in my time, so I find it hard to speculate about how much they may be, erm, capable of. But memories are indeed one of the most uncertain things about this place. People returning with memories of this place, or without, or regaining them over time. In all the records I've found, however, it seems that no one's mentioned remember this City upon returning home. It may-- as much as I hate to say it-- be nigh impossible."

"Give it time before you use the 'i' word," Jenny says wryly. "We haven't even been here a week."

She's only been here a few hours, maybe even less. And as fascinating as the metaphysical discussion on the nature of this place is, Jenny has some more immediate, practical issues to resolve. She hesitates to bring them up, as loaded as they are with emotion, and there is a long stretch of silence as she gathers up her courage.

"We should...probably discuss some of the practical issues," she says at length.

"I've been here before as well, though, I just don't... recall," Giles admits finally, reaching for one of her hands and turning it over in his own. "For months, it seems, although still not anywhere as long as Buffy in particular. She says I was unable to find most anything, and, erm, well. Even Willow's... gone a bit skeptical, and you know how determined she can be."

Part of that, he does admit to himself, may be thanks to the fact that Willow's significant other is here, and apparently deceased, from what Giles was able to glean from the others. But that's something else he doesn't want to bring up, yet. Things past her time. It's an unpleasant thing to do, and selfishly, Giles wants to cling to what he's able to, right now.

"But yes, as for discussions, we... should indeed. Erm, what did you... have in mind?"

Of course he would leave the brainstorming up to her. It's the polite thing to do, of course -- it's her life (afterlife?), after all -- but a small, petty part of her feels like he's passing the buck. Mostly because she doesn't want to sort through the jumble of emotions, both her own and his.

She doesn't know what she wants, not really. A part of her wants to embrace this second chance, to hold onto him and never let go. A part of her needs space, space and time to adjust to this place, to being dead, to how she died. A part of her resents him; another part of her can't bear the guilt.

She needs space. She knows this is true, although she doesn't want to admit it even to herself. If she's going to fix things with Rupert, with Buffy and the others, then she can't be around all the time. They all will need safe places to retreat to. But how can she tell him that without hurting him?

In the end, she decides to just lay out the truth, painful or not. She had hurt him before by concealing the truth; she will not make that mistake again.

"I think...I think I need my own space." Her words are slow and halting, as she tries to put her thoughts as delicately as possible. "I think we both, we all, will need space to sort things through."

He spends about half a minute simply breathing, focusing all of his attention on finding a calm center. Was her suggestion unexpected? No, not in the slightest. After all, even at the closest point in their relationship, neither had spent the night in the other's place--after so many years of rash decisions, of Ethan, more or less, Giles now prefers to take things slowly. But at the same time, there are doubts that quickly rise to the surface, and memories of having such a conversation before.

How Jenny needed so much space, after finding out about his own history. Had also asked him to give her space and time. All things considered, in retrospect, while perhaps it didn't quite breach the point of hypocrisy, Giles couldn't help but wonder if Jenny ever realized the parallels between their situations. Giles had kept secrets from her, causing her to need space, but the opposite was also true.

And perhaps worse, as Giles' history had been just that-- something he'd meant to keep behind him, in the past. Not an ongoing way of life, an ongoing identity, that he was purposefully hiding from sight.

"I understand," he nods, the lack of stutter indicating his apparent calm. "There are plenty of free apartments in the center of the City that I could guide you to. And it appears I have a fair amount in my savings account from my prior stay here, if you, ah... need a loan."

Jenny isn't sure what to make of his reaction. It's better than him being angry or upset or arguing, but it also feels unnatural. She wonders what exactly he's feeling under that veneer of calm.

But she doesn't question him on it. Instead, she just quirks an eyebrow at him. "Advanced computers and free apartments?" she asks. "This must be what heaven looks like."

"Oh, by free, I meant... open. In terms of price, you'll find them to be roughly equivalent to rent in Sunnydale, and most jobs here pay decently if one gets to know their employers," Giles corrects himself, rubbing at his forehead for a moment. "I'm sure that we could head on over now-- many arrivals occur at night-- or you're free to use one of the spare rooms in the house for the night, as well. This place... used to house about twice our number, but a great deal of people left the City."

"Knew it was too good to be true. Know anyone in need of an outdated computer teacher?" Her jovial tone is a little forced; it's still too soon for her to be herself, but she feels obligated to try.

She pulls away from him and gets to her feet. Her legs feel weak and wobbly, but she refuses to indulge them. She smiles at Rupert, feigning strength.

"If you're not too tired, I'd love to see them," she says.

"I'm sure that Willow could catch you up with the most recent technologies." Giles doesn't make much of an attempt for jovial, sticking with polite composure, forcing conflicted thoughts into the deeper reaches of his mind until he has time to himself, time to think. "I can't imagine that you'd have much trouble... keeping up with the rest of the City after a few crash courses, perhaps."

He smiles back, distracted, before getting to his feet as well and walking to his closet, pulling out one of his smaller jumpers, as well as a jacket for himself. It isn't terribly cold out, but Jenny doesn't have the benefit of body heat to help her.

"I'm afraid that I'm rather awake now, actually," he smiles in return, offering Jenny the jumper.

Jenny takes the jumper with a smile and a suppressed laugh. His clothes are all so terribly stuffy and British. But that's what she likes about it.

"I'm glad," she says, and she is. She could handle herself alone; she's not the kind of person who need someone with her always. But she likes having him around. She puts on the jumper and gestures to the door. "Lead on."

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