Title: A Birthday Gift for Giles
Author: Susan MD
Spoilers: Season 4, up to and including A New Man.
Pairing: B/G
Rating: R (for one sexual situation)
Distribution: Just let me know, so I can visit. I'll also have it on my site.
Disclaimer: I don't claim any rights of ownership to characters, names, etc. Joss Whedon, Mutant
Enemy and Fox own everything.
Feedback: Gratefully accepted.
Summary: Giles and Buffy try to mend the chasm created when she began college. The attempts lead
to misunderstanding, confrontation and, eventually, a mutually agreeable conclusion. It's the getting
there that's the fun.
Notes: Thoughts are enclosed in ‘single quote’ marks.
My sincere thanks to Gail for offering to beta my maiden voyage into fan fiction writing and for
providing superb corrections, suggestions and feedback. Thank you to Della for also providing
welcomed feedback.


Chapter 1

“Hi Giles!” Buffy practically skipped through the door when he opened it.

When she saw his eyes skim over her she was pleased she had chosen the simple, pale green dress.
She thought it flattered her figure. Yes, she had been so looking forward to this day. The sun was
shining after two days of rain. Everything was rich in color. Even the grass was a healthy green. It
couldn’t get much better than this. Sometimes life was really, really good.

Warmth spread through Giles when he saw the sparkle in her eyes. It was good to see her like that,
almost joyful.

“Buffy, hello. You look chipper today.”

Just as he took note that she was hiding something behind her back she thrust out her arms and offered
a small box with a red bow on top.

He reached for it hesitantly. “What’s all this?”

“Happy Birthday!!” Her beaming smile was infectious.

He found himself laughing at her glee, while trying to figure out the joke, if there was one. “But it’s not
my birthday.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ll ever tell anybody when it is, so I decided to make it up. I assigned you a
birthday and today it is. “

“Hmmm, I see.” He paused a moment as a mild smirk smile crossed his face. “You missed the
mark.”

“Oh yeah, by how much?” She asked innocently.

“Nice try, Ms Summers.”

Shaking the box gently he tried to guess what was inside, a childlike endeavor, but fun.

“Agh, don’t do that!” She took the box from him and went into the kitchen. “Open it here,” she
instructed and turned to retrieve two small plates from the cupboard.

Giles murmured an appreciative ‘ahh’ as he pulled out two jelly doughnuts and gingerly placed them on
the plates, one for each of them.

Buffy leaned on the counter, propping herself up on her elbows, and asked, unabashedly, “So, do you
like?”

“Of course. You know I do. Thank you, Buffy. This is a wonderful non-birthday gift.” They shared a
smile, relishing the blissful moment that held no worries.

“So, what’s the deal anyway? Why won’t you tell me the date? “ She hoped to weasel it out of him
once and for all.

Moving to sit on one of the stools at the counter, he replied with a shrug, “I don’t like a fuss made.”

“Come on, everyone likes a fuss once in a while, Giles. More importantly, I like to make a fuss
sometimes.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that fact.” His eyes sparked as he remembered her obsession with preparing the
perfect Thanksgiving meal even amid the demon threat of the day.

She read his eyes. “Okay, I think we’re talking about two different kinds of fusses. So let’s not go
there.”

He grinned at her. “Agreed. Let’s not go to either place.”

“Alright, but be prepared, this day next year will be your birthday again.” She sat on the other stool.

He sighed in happy resignation and took a satisfying bite of doughnut, jelly seeping out the edges onto
the plate. Lost in the taste of the jelly, he was startled when Buffy groaned. After quickly surmising
there was no bodily damage, his concern turned to mirth as she pulled out a small, broken birthday
candle from her pocket, holding it up for him to see.

“Forget this,” she mumbled.

“Yes, let’s,” he added wryly.

She laughed, giving it her best overhand toss into the waste can near his desk. “Two points!”

“Tea?”

“Sure.” He filled two china cups from the teapot he had prepared for himself before she arrived, then
settled back down on the stool next to her.

“You’re acquiring a taste for it,” he noted.

“Caffeine is caffeine. And if you put enough sugar in, it tastes pretty good.”

“Ahem. Well...I think you might enjoy this more if you forgo the sugar today. The unsweetened tea
will provide a nice balance to the sweetness of the doughnut.”

It sounded like sacrilege to her so she ignored him, adding her usual amount of sugar.

Giles’ teeth hurt just watching her.

She saw the slight grimace and, not realizing it was her desecration of a perfectly good cup of tea that
brought it on, she followed her own line of thought. “I know it’s been a few weeks, but any
aftereffects from the demony thing?”

“No, thankfully. I feel quite myself, although the damage to the flat was unpleasant to deal with.
Especially so soon after the damage incurred on Thanksgiving.”

“Send the bill to Ethan.”

Giles gave a gruff laugh. “Now there’s a notion.”

“And that reminds me,” he continued while lowering the teacup from his lips to the saucer, “I was
thinking we might consider a session on identifying various types of metal alloys. Not that I’m
ungrateful you mistook pewter for silver in this particular instance, but I think, as a general rule, it would
prove more useful for you to actually know the difference.” After taking another sip of tea he peered
at her over the edge of his cup trying to hide the teasing smile that insisted on forming. He hoped she
didn’t see it.

She did and fired her rejoinder in their playful banter. “Hey, if it wasn’t for my ineptness you’d be dead,
mister!” She said it lightheartedly, but instantly felt a gripping fear when she realized how true that
statement was. She looked up at him with a pained expression.

He regretted making light of it when he saw her face. “I’m fine, Buffy. You did the right thing.”

“I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

She sighed.

“Perhaps this should be another topic to which we won’t go.”

She crinkled up her nose at his butchery of her slang, until she saw the smile on his lips telling her he
did it on purpose.

“Agreed.”

She was enjoying this moment with him, but a nagging thought crept in…how was she going to keep
track of the topics they were not to bring up again? Since the Fyarl demon incident, they each had been
trying to mend the distance created since she began college, but still it was there. She didn’t know what
to do except for that one specific thing that had been niggling in her brain: ‘get Olivia out of the picture.
No concrete plan yet, just the goal, but that’s half the battle,’ she told herself.

“There’s more.”

“I’m sorry?” Giles was long accustomed to her non-sequiturs, but that didn’t make them any less
mystifying at times.

“You do know that’s not your present, don’t you? That’s just the sweet stuff to get you in the mood.”

“Buffy, I hope you didn’t spend any money.”

“Happy Birthday, Giles.” The sincerity in her voice touched him as she handed him an envelope.

He took it carefully while watching the delight in her eyes.

The seal on the envelope broke easily and he slid out the card. It was handmade, on a heavy ivory
stock. He went still when he saw the cover and just stared at it, barely breathing. If he had given in to
his emotions he might have had tears in his eyes. Instead he removed his glasses and began to clean
them.

“It’s from my seventeenth birthday party.” She spoke softly, almost reverently, hoping he’d like it. “It’s
the one picture Willow got to take that night. Got kind of hectic after that; my usual birthday stuff.”

“Yes, I remember.” He was having trouble speaking so he tried not to.

“It’s the only picture I have of the two of us,” she commented. He glanced at her and replaced his
glasses. Her gaze was unfocused. She seemed lost in thought for a moment then looked intently into his
eyes. “I don’t know why that is.”

He returned to the photo, lost in his own memories of that day two years ago. Willow had captured the
two of them looking at each other, smiling. He didn’t remember that exact moment, though he wished
he could. She looked radiant. He remembered her outfit, the one with the white jacket. He was in his,
then, ubiquitous tweed. Her seventeenth birthday had been an ominous day, although none of them
realized it then. All they had to contend with was a severed arm in a box, the Judge. It seemed so
terribly difficult at the time, but more grief and pain than they ever imagined was to come.

“Giles, there’s more inside.” Her voice pulled him out of his reverie.

“Yes, of course,” he whispered, opening it to find a simple handwritten birthday greeting from Buffy.

He was content; this was all he needed. It was a superb birthday for a man who generally chose to
ignore them.

But it was not to be the end of it. A manila envelope had fallen out of the card onto the counter.
Buffy’s smile engulfed his heart as she handed it to him.

Inside was another photograph. Of just what, he was still trying to decipher, his brows knitted together.

‘A tattoo?’ He mused to himself. ‘On a woman’s back.’

It was a nice photo, a nice tattoo, a nice back...a very lovely back, indeed, but the meaning of it all
confounded him.

He shot a questioning look at Buffy.

“Giles, it’s a tattoo.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Do you like it?” Her tone was filled with anticipation.

Removing his glasses he squinted, taking a closer look for a quick analysis. It was not large, not small,
edging out across the lower back. Black ink. There were two distinct images. The outer was a stylized
sun with flames shooting outward in gentle curved arcs. Inside the sun he recognized the ancient
Egyptian symbol, Udjat, the sacred eye of Horus, falcon god of Egypt. An eye with two curved lines
descending; he couldn’t recall it’s meaning off the top of his head.

Pulling back, he fixed his eyes on her and spoke, his tone giving away mild surprise and confusion.
“Actually, it is quite lovely. Simple, elegant. But ....?”

“It’s yours!”

He lowered his eyes for another look. “I see.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “You’re giving me a
photograph of a tattoo for my birthday,” he stated blankly, trying to comprehend. There must be a
reason that he just hadn’t clued into yet.

“No, not the photo. Well, yes, the photo is yours, but the tattoo is yours too.”

He gulped inwardly as he grasped her meaning. ‘She’s giving me a tattoo. Dear Lord.’
“Buffy, you can’t afford something like this.”

When he saw the disappointment on her face he began to hem and haw. “It...it’s very thoughtful of you
but much too extravagant.”

“First of all, it’s not as expensive as you might think. Secondly, it’s entirely impolite to question the cost
of a gift.” She harrumphed at him.

“Well, yes of course, you’re right, but still...”

“Do you like it or don’t you?” she demanded.

“Y...yes...yes, I…I told you I do.” Damned stammering didn’t help. He needed time to think. A flush
rose up in him as he began to panic. He didn’t want a tattoo, but how could he tell her? She’d be hurt.
He could hedge, but she would expect to see it at some future date, most likely demand to see it, so
there was no chance of saying he’d had it done and not. He took a deep breath.

Buffy latched onto his assurance of liking it and leaned toward him to study the picture. “Do you
recognize the symbolism in it? I picked it out myself.”

“I assumed you chose it.” He moved his attention to the photo again, deciding to worry about the actual
application later. “As for the symbolism, uh, yes, I see the Udjat symbol, Egyptian…”

“Egyptian, yes! Not Etruscan. I was very specific with the guy at the shop, I told him I did not want
anything Etruscan.”

Giles smiled at her, enjoying her earnestness and in complete agreement with her. He didn’t want
another Etruscan symbol adorning his body. One was quite sufficient, more than sufficient really.

“When the guy saw how serious I was, he showed me a book of symbols. A reference book. You
would have been so pleased.” She grinned teasingly at him. “This was on a page filled with other
Egyptian symbols. At first I thought this one fit you best, but I made sure to look at them all and read
their meanings.” Leaning back on the stool, she scowled. “You know, a lot of them have to do with
death.” ‘What was the deal with that?’ she had wondered.

‘Ah yes, those pesky ancient Egyptians and their preoccupation with life after death,’ he chuckled to
himself.

“The guy said that a lot of people like the Ankh symbol because it means eternal life. I kind of liked the
sound of that, but then I read more about it and it was about life after death. Definitely not a subject I
wanted permanently fixed to my body. I’ve got enough life after death in my life as it is.”

Inwardly he nodded in agreement and smiled at her play on words.

“So I went with my first impulse: the Udjat, for obvious reasons. The eye...you being a Watcher and
all.” She looked expectantly at him waiting for some indication that he got it.

He grinned at her. “Ah, yes, an obvious choice.” She was right. It was an obvious choice, but did he
really want to advertise his life’s work on his body? Sometimes subtlety was more appropriate.

She continued, “And, it symbolizes healing and protection.” She met his eyes, tilting her head slightly.
Her demeanor shifted from exuberance to thoughtfulness as she continued. “That fit you perfectly, I
thought, because you’ve been both my protector and my healer.”

Surprised by her statement, his eyes snapped up to hers. He held her gaze and felt her presence as he
hadn’t felt it for a long while, both with him and in him. His heart tightened as he reflected on the
thought she’d put into this and the significance to her. He had to resort to stiff upper lip mode again to
keep his emotions in check.

“What about the rest of it? What do you see?” she asked.

“Well, the outside object looks like a sun, a stylized design with shooting flames, sunbursts or sun
flares.” He glanced at her with raised eyebrows silently looking for her response. The warmth of her
body as she leaned next to him, along with this rush of insightful sharing, created a heady feeling in him.
He did his best to continue.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

“What?” she asked, her eyes glancing between him and the picture hoping he could see what she saw.

“Four of the flames extend further than the others. They mimic the points on a compass indicating
North, South, East and West.”

He didn’t see her pleased expression, as he was too busy noticing something else. ‘Oh, dear Lord.’ The
photograph didn’t actually show the entire tattoo. The southern point on the sun/compass traveled below
the edge of the photo where he could just see the top lace edge of the woman’s panties, which were
low cut to begin with. ‘Just how far south did that southern point extend? If it was the same length as
the others, it must very nearly touch the tailbone.’ He sat upright and focused on keeping his
expression neutral, hoping it didn’t betray how disconcerted he was by the mental image he had just
created.

In the meantime, she was elated with his comment about the compass. “I knew you’d get it. That’s
exactly what it is. A sun and a compass. They had the flaming sun thing already but I asked if they
could stretch out four points like a compass.” She paused for a second. “Now, do you know what it all
means?” The delight in her eyes thrilled him. The whole tattoo concept was still puzzling, but it was
wonderful to see her so happy and engaged.

“Tell me.” Came his quiet response. He could have easily expounded on the meanings of sun and
directional iconography in various cultures, but he knew whatever it meant to her would be very
personal and distinctly ‘Buffy.’ After her thoughts on the Udjat, he was eager to hear more.

She resituated herself on the stool, and her voice took on a studious, serious tone. “The sun is the
source of all life on earth. Without the sun nothing would exist, no plants, no animals, no humans. So in a
big way the sun represents life in general. But it also represents something more personal to you and
me.”

He was intrigued as she looked at him, assuming he’d figured it out by now. He had an idea of what
she might be thinking but didn’t want to spoil it by guessing wrongly, or correctly for that matter. It
would be sinful to take away the pleasure she was enjoying in revealing all to him. Not to mention the
pleasure it gave him, too.

“The sunlight is the positive part of our days, sort of like a healing time. Sunlight kills vampires, so the
sun represents the absence of vampires and the part of the day where we can replenish ourselves for
the coming night when we focus on our fight against evil.” She flashed a quick grin at him. “Wishful
thinking about the restful day part, I know, but a girl’s gotta dream.”

He had guessed correctly but never could have stated it as she did, nor would he have wanted to miss
the glow she exuded, as bright and healing as the sun she spoke of.

“And the compass represents direction...like a guiding force. The points are different directions that can
be taken in life, choices.” She looked at him again. “The compass is you. You give me guidance,
direction, and help me to see options that I might not have otherwise looked for. So really, the whole
tattoo is you: the eye, the sun and the compass...healing, protection, warmth, guidance and direction.”
She smiled. “That’s my Watcher.”

Giles tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He looked down, ostensibly at the photo, but really his eyes
weren’t focused on anything. He let the emotion wash over him. Her interpretation was more than he
would have imagined. The tenderness he felt for her was overwhelming, bordering on painful since he
wouldn’t allow himself to show it.

Buffy sat quietly, waiting for him to respond. She saw him trying to get control and wanted to tell him
not to, but she let him deal at his own pace.

He moved his hand up to touch the edge of the photo. “It’s perfect, Buffy,” he whispered.

She smiled a small smile, pleased that he felt it too.

A minute later, feeling more composed, he spoke. “So, where shall I put it? Any suggestions? And only
reasonable ones, please,” he asked wryly, trying to lighten the mood.

“Anyplace you like. You could frame it and put it on your desk or dresser or hang it.”

The bewilderment showed on his face.

“You know, so you could have it out to look at whenever you like. You can keep it upstairs if it’s too
personal, and you don’t want to have to explain it to everyone.” ‘Although I’d like to be here when
you explain it to Olivia,’ she thought guardedly.

“Well, yes, I suppose I could.” He figured she was talking about the photo now, but still....

Just as he was about to pursue it further, a different thought occurred to him, one that was as intriguing
as any aspect of this day so far.

“Buffy, you said you put these designs together yourself and asked for specific changes to the sun
image, correct?

“Yep, it’s a one-of-a kind Buffy original.” She spoke proudly.

“I see...so how did this woman get it before me?”

She looked at him like he had grown an extra head.

“That is yours,” she stated, pointing at the photo.

“Yes, I understand that, but how did she get it?”

“Who?”

“The woman in this photo.”

“What do you mean?”

“How?” His voice began to echoed his exasperation.

“The same way anybody gets a tattoo. The tattoo guy inked it with his incredibly painful needle.”

“But this is supposedly unique, so why did she get it?”

“Giles, what’s wrong with you?”

This was going to give him a headache, he could tell. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of
his nose.

“You’re being obtuse, that’s what’s wrong with me.”

“I am not obtuse. You’re being dense.” If she hadn’t been suddenly so frustrated with him she would
have been concerned. ‘How had their beautiful moment disintegrated so quickly?’

“Buffy…” Giles finally sighed. “Shall I leave the room and come back in so we can start again?”

She looked at him and enunciated each word slowly. “What don’t you get?”

He held the picture up for both to plainly see. “This photo I’m holding in my hand is of a tattoo you say
you have given to me as a gift for my birthday…which, for the record, is not today.” He muttered the
last part.

“Yessss.” She dragged out the word, allowing her to hiss at him.

“And, presumably, I am going to have this uniquely designed tattoo applied to my body somewhere. But,
clearly this woman has it already. So, in effect, this is not one-of-a-kind, as you intended.”

“Giles!” Now she understood his confusion, but she couldn’t believe he didn’t get it. “The tattoo is
yours but you aren’t going to have it on your body. My God, look at it! The symbols are all about you!
You would never display something so…so…well, you just aren’t that narcissistic.”

He sat looking at her blankly.

Misinterpreting his silence, she shot a glare at him. “I’m not a complete idiot. I learned a few things in
college. It’s a good word, and I know I used it correctly.”

“Um, yes, it’s a useful word,” he commented, still confused.

‘Oh, God.’ She suddenly had a thought.

Her voice softened. “Giles, do you want another tattoo?” She couldn’t imagine it, but maybe he liked
the idea.

He moved his hand quickly when he saw her eyes resting where his fingers had been, on his left upper
arm: Eyghon.

“No, not really.” He was relieved in a way.

“I didn’t think so.”

“Buffy, this is very perplexing. If not me, then who is getting a tattoo?”

“I am!”

A moment passed while he thought it through. Understanding hit him with a flash and he didn’t like it
one bit. Giles leaned back on the stool, crossed his arms over his chest and peered down at Buffy,
knowingly and with a highly superior look on his face.

“Buffy, this suddenly feels just like your decision that Thanksgiving dinner would be at my flat because I
was the patriarch, as you put it, when in reality it was to leave me with the mess.”

“Giles, what are you talking about?” She wore a puzzled frown. “And anyway, Willow and I helped
clean up.”

“Yes, some,” he muttered. “But I still had to fill in all the holes left by the arrows when we were
attacked. Not to mention the ongoing Spike mess.”

“Well, it serves you right for not telling me Angel was lurking around. Get over it. Anyway, next year
we’ll have it at my house.” They exchanged suspicious looks before she added, “And can we please
get back to the point.”

“The point is you wanted to get a tattoo. And, you’ve wrapped it up as a pseudo gift to me. Very
clever and devious and not terribly flattering to me, I might add.” He rose from his seat and turned
away in a dismissive manner, picking up the tea things and plates and began washing up at the sink.

“What?!” She looked at him, first in utter disbelief and then the hurt settled over her. How could he
think that when she tried to make it so special for him? She couldn’t believe he didn’t get it. It was for
him, for them. A connection. She was trying to find some way to bring them back in synch. This was
like a concrete demonstration of her commitment. She sighed. And, besides, if she carried this mark
on her body, his mark in effect, it was as if she possessed him, and no one else could have him, not
Olivia, not anyone. Okay, maybe it was a little selfish, but she was desperate. He tried to push her
away at the beginning of the school year, and she didn’t know how to get him back without resorting to
old childish ploys like whining, pouting or feigning helplessness. She was certain those wouldn’t work on
him anymore (well, the helpless routine never did work, he knew better). Anyway, she was sick of
whining and pouting. And, after all, wasn’t that his whole point in telling her she had to be more self
reliant, figure things out for herself? That’s what she did with this tattoo. ‘Now, how to make him
understand…?’

Giles put the last plate in the draining rack and dried his hands, still having said nothing further. The
disappointment he felt was unmistakable and weighed heavily on him. He couldn’t believe she’d gone to
such lengths. Christ, it was so bloody juvenile. First she ignored him for months and couldn’t be
bothered to keep him informed on crucial things like the Initiative, and now this...this sham in the guise
of a gift. It was the proverbial straw and he was the camel. He felt something give inside him,
something break. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but it hurt.

With a deep breath, he turned back to the counter and picked up the photo. “When are you going to
have it done?”

“I did already.” Her response was tentative, suddenly unsure of anything and everything. She wanted to
say more, to explain, but she didn’t know how or where to start. The abrupt tension in the room was
hindering her. She knew she’d say the wrong thing; she usually did. “You haven’t figured it out yet, but
that’s me in the picture.”

His eyes widened and he stiffened as he realized he had been admiring her bare back, openly admiring
it. He gently laid the photo on the counter and slowly pushed it away from him, using one finger only
and turned his eyes away from it. He was angry with himself for not figuring it out.

“When did you have it done?” he asked quietly.

“Last week.” They were both speaking in near whispers now, as if afraid. They were back to square
one, where they had been a few weeks ago. Each was at a loss, unaware of the other’s suffering and
confusion.

“I see.” Then he turned toward her abruptly and asked with a whisper and an accusing look, “Who took
the photo?” He had a particularly maddening idea the boy soldier might be involved.

“A woman who worked in the tattoo parlor.”

“Oh.” He mouthed the word rather than actually speaking it and looked away again.

He wanted to ask her if anyone had seen it yet, but was afraid of her answer. The last thing he needed
was to hear Riley’s name. He wasn’t sure how far along in the relationship they were, but he was
certain he didn’t want to know the details. He just wished…

“Did Willow like it?” It seemed a safe assumption Buffy had shown Willow.

“She doesn’t know about it. Nobody does, except you and me…and the tattoo people. I wanted it to be
a surprise just for you. I guess it wasn’t quite what I had hoped, or what you had hoped for.”

“Buffy, I didn’t have any hopes. Today was just another day until you assigned a birthday to it.”

She looked at him, trying to read him. His expression was blank. ‘Well, not quite. Maybe it was sad or
resigned. Shit, what do I do now?’ she thought.

“Did...did it hurt?”

“At first, but after a while nothing.”

“I’m surprised you wanted it done. After your last tattoo experience I’d have thought you would have
had enough.”

“Ethan.” She gave a gruff laugh, almost a grunt. “He keeps popping up in our lives.”

Giles smiled ruefully, looking off into the distance, anyplace but at her or the photograph.

“Do you think we’ll ever see him again?” she asked, not sure why, all of a sudden, she was talking
about the usual shared unhappy moments of their lives. The day had begun so well.

“I think you can count on it.”

“I’ll have to kill him one of these days.”

He looked at her again, concerned, and responded with quiet resolve. “No. If it needs to be done, I’ll
be the one, Buffy, not you.”

They both jumped when the phone rang.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 2

“Hello?”

Giles’ face fell, but he quickly readjusted his expression so she wouldn’t see. He hadn’t thought it was
possible to feel worse than he already did.

“Um, yes, hello, she’s right here.” He placed the receiver on his desk and walked toward the hallway.
“Riley,” was all he said, believing it was sufficient.

Buffy wasn’t any more pleased that Giles, but she didn’t show it either. She looked at Giles, who had
his eyes fixed on a point down the hall, and mumbled, “Oh...I told him I’d be here and to call when he
was free, so we could do something.”

“Hello?” she said with a tentative tone that didn’t fit since she knew who it was and what he wanted.

Giles continued walking down the hallway toward the bathroom, anyplace to get out of hearing range.
He didn’t want to listen to her talk to the current man in her life.

“Oh…sure. I suppose so. I’m kind of in the middle of something though…No, everything’s okay, just
talking to Giles.”

As much as Giles didn’t want to, he could hear.

Buffy listened for another moment and said, “Okay, I’ll see you then,” and hung up.

Giles turned and retraced his steps until he was again in the living room.

“You don’t have to stay, Buffy. Clearly you have plans. Go, have fun with your friends. I suspect you
and I have probably hit our own limit of fun for the day, anyway.”

“But Giles, I want to...”

“Riley’s waiting, isn’t he?”

She gave him a look that indicated she was unsure of what to do next. He decided to help her and
walked to the front door, opened it and waited.

She got the message, although her mind was racing trying to find some reason to stay.

She exited the door saying she’d talk to him later. He just nodded.

He waited a few minutes to be sure she was out of hearing range before he let loose a curse that had
been building inside. Then, for good measure, he kicked his desk chair sending it flying into the stools by
the counter.

Feeling frustrated and defeated, he pulled the bottle of Scotch down from the bookshelves and found his
way into the kitchen for a glass, but he thought better of it before he poured out his solace. “No, not this
again.” He put it away and began searching for another outlet.

After a quick search through his record collection he stopped at his favorite Traffic LP, put it on the
turntable and turned it up, loud.

Waiting for the music to soothe him, he paced, stopping at every window on the ground floor where he
would stand a moment, looking out at nothing, lost in thought.

‘What does she see in him? Christ, she has the worst tastes in men. First Angel and now this toy
soldier. Doesn’t she see he’s just overcompensation for Angel and a dull one at that? One of Maggie
Walsh’s drones. How did Anya describe him once?’ ‘…A corn fed Iowa farm boy.’ He laughed out
loud but it faded quickly as he remembered the rest of her comment ‘He may not be particularly
exciting but he sure is built.’

Leaning against the wall, head tilted back with his eyes toward heaven, he tried to let go of his anger,
but his mind wouldn’t budge. He thought back on their years together. The many trials, successes,
mistakes, close calls, missed chances, and the pain. He loved her as he had loved no other. He found it
ironic that a Watcher should come to love his Slayer like this. He wished in some ways that he did love
her as a daughter, but it had never been like that. He couldn’t pinpoint when it happened but he knew it
was real. She didn’t have to love him the same way; he never expected that. As long as they could
continue their work, he’d be content, but this year things had changed. He felt bloody useless. No job
and now his Slayer didn’t need him. He’d been banished to the back of the closet, brought out only in
times of dire trouble and, even then, rarely. Olivia had been a diversion, a mistake. He’d watched
himself become sullen and sulky. Sarcasm was his major means of communication and he drank too
much. Getting pissed in a bar with Ethan was blatant evidence of that. He didn’t know how much
longer he could live with these circumstances. It might be better for both of them if he left. She could
manage with Willow and Xander assisting her, as they always had, and now she also had Riley and the
Initiative. It was time to take control of his life again.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

:: Part Two ::
 

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