CONTENT: Buffy/Giles
SUMMARY: Ice cream has come.  (Reference "The Prom")

DISTRIBUTION: Archived at http://www.traceyourhand.org/leoclaire  If
you would like my story for your site, I'd be flattered.  :)  Just
let me know.

FEEDBACK: How did it rate?  Would you like to read more?

DISCLAIMER: Everything 'Buffy' belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
Sandollar Productions, Warner Brothers, and 20th Century Fox.
Basically what I'm saying is: Not me.  Darn. But thank you for
inviting me over to play.  :)

THANKS TO: Brenda, Karen, Koala, and Trich for their support and
encouragement.  Jeanne and Mir for the architect blueprints.  <g>
And to my fabulous tweedtwin, for visions of 'Death by Caffeine'
still dance in my brain.  ;)

DEDICATION: This tale is affectionately dedicated to the wonderful
and kind soul that is Kim Wylie.

INSPIRATION: The song "32 Flavors" is written and performed by Ani
Difranco.  It can be found on her albums _Not a Pretty Girl_ and
_Living in Clip_.  Copyright 1995, and 1997, respectively.  Righteous
Babe Records.

"the kindness I've lavished on strangers
 is more than I can explain
 still there's many who've turned out their porch lights
 just so I would think they were not home
 and hid in the dark of their windows
 til I'd passed and left them alone
 I am a poster girl with no poster
 I am thirty-two flavors and then some."
 
-Ani Difranco
 

The echoes of the last bell were muffled by the incessant chatter of
Sunnydale High's inhabitants, as they slammed locker doors and
rustled backpacks.  Plans for the weekend festivities were already
underway, and if their gleeful hoots of merriment were any
indication, the level of exuberance did not intend to die down
anytime soon.  But who could blame them?  It is not often that a
student body rebels against an invincible demon -- and survives.
Apparently, the demon wasn't as invincible as he thought.  Ha, ha.
Too bad for him.

Amidst the busy noise, one teenager was remarkably hushed.
Buffy Summers hurried; her gaze downcast, her blond hair falling in a
curtain around her face.  Using her notebooks as a shield, she dodged
excited classmates who whooped and hollered through the halls.
Her nose scrunched with the beginnings of a headache, and she
increased her pace.  Targeting the one place she hoped would
ease her troubles.

Shouldering the library doors, she was immediately rewarded.
Peace.  Quiet.  Dropping her knapsack with a thud, Buffy sighed
gratefully.  No students clamouring for her yearbook autograph.
Those same students who didn't give her a second glance weeks ago.
None of her peers proclaiming she "could be the next Karate Kid."
Those same peers who had once upon a time effortlessly dismissed
her -- not even taking time to introduce themselves.

Hoisting herself up on the counter, Buffy bit her lip.
She knew they meant well.  The 'Class Protector' award had been a
fantastic surprise.  More than fantastic.  She recalled all too
clearly the Homecoming dance disaster; spurred on by her longing to
be recognized, to be remembered.  Buffy grimaced.  Well, she
certainly got her wish.  Earlier at lunch, one boy had even asked if
she was able to walk on water.  Her immediate reaction was one of
disbelieving laughter, but then she had registered his solemn air.
He was serious!  Buffy sat there stupefied, her mouth hanging widely,
until Oz had shut it with a gentle tap.  She didn't want to be
promoted as a contender for "Wrestlemania", nor treated like she was
a saviour.  She was Buffy.

Her eyes closed briefly, lost in visions of a time when monsters were
only regulated to childhood fears, easily banished with the flick of
a nightlight.  When her biggest dilemma was deciding the topping for
her slice of pizza, or which movie to watch.  Dreams unlike anything
in her present life; vampire ex-boyfriends, hairy hellhounds, stuffy
librarians.

Buffy chuckled and hopped to her feet.  The stuffy librarian wasn't
so bad.  And, she reminded herself, he wasn't so stuffy anymore.
Who knew he would look *that* handsome in a tuxedo?  She had been
shocked -- and definitely in a good way, she admitted with a tiny
blush.  Now that she had caught a glimpse of her black tie Watcher,
Buffy couldn't shake the memories.  Moreover, she wasn't sure she
wanted to.

Speaking of..."Giles?" she called into the empty room, noticing that
the silence was a bit *too* silent for her liking.

Laden with a tower of texts, he materialized at the sound of her
voice.  Giles always seemed to do that.  All she had to do was speak
his name, and he appeared.  It was comforting to know that he was
nearby when she needed him.  Even when she wanted to share a funny
anecdote about her day, or complain about the pop quiz in math
class.  He was always available for her.  She liked that.  She also
found it a bit unnerving.  Perhaps he moonlighted as a magician.

Giles regarded Buffy with lifted brows, stepping carefully down the
stairs toward her, the stack in his arms wobbling dangerously.
She quickly ran to meet him, grabbing the top books just as they
began to slip from the pile.

"Ooof, thank you."  He set the remaining volumes on the nearby table,
and turned to her.  "You arrived in the nick of time.  One second
more and these priceless archives would have found themselves
sprawled everywhere."

Her smile sparkled.  "What can I say?  I have excellent reflexes.
My Watcher taught me well."

Giles flashed a grin in response, one that was immediately replaced
with growing concern.  "I wasn't expecting you today.  Is something
wrong?"

Buffy's forehead creased, but she tried to mask the turmoil she felt
with a question of her own.  "I could ask you the same thing.
Giles, school is finished.  Not only for the day, but for the
*year*.  And you're holed up in here, with nothing but a bunch of
dust mites for company."

"It's not a bother, really.  I do still have to finish the inventory,
but thankfully, it's moving along rather nicely.  It shouldn't take
much longer."

Buffy tapped her foot sternly.  "Giles, hello?"  She plopped down her
armful of texts, and placed her now empty hands on her hips.
"Time for fun and frolic.  No more homework.  No more tests.
No more troll-esque principals," she emphasized, a twinkle in her
eye.  "It's a beautiful day."

Giles appraised his Slayer, silently appreciating the shafts of
sunlight streaming through the library windows.  The added shine
transformed Buffy's normally lustrous curls into pure gold.  Coupled
with her rosy skin and dark lashes, Giles did not hesitate to agree.
It was a beautiful day indeed.

"Precisely the reason why you should be outside, enjoying the
weather," he spoke pointedly.  "As you said, your time at Sunnydale
High has drawn to a close.  And if that isn't reason enough to
rejoice, then surely the fact that you no longer have to endure
Principal Snyder, puts an extra bounce in your step."  He waggled his
eyebrows at her, and she giggled.

Her cheery demeanor was short-lived however, and Buffy faced him with
a sharp look of agitation.  "Are you positive?" she asked.
"Um, I mean, maybe I should train awhile.  It's been relatively calm
lately, and in vampire terms, that usually implies something big and
hellmouthy soon to come.  And of course, that is definitely not of
the good.  Yeah, I'm absolutely staying here."  Ceasing her ramble,
she nodded decisively, and moved to retrieve the workout mat from the
weapons cage.

Giles' surprised tone stopped her.  "Buffy, I didn't schedule a
session for today."  He met her incredulous expression and chided
lightly, "Yes, I am your Watcher.  And yes, I want you to work hard.
But did you honestly think I would be so rigid as to require training
on the last day of school?  Please tell me I'm not *that*
dictatorial."  Despite the faint smile lines etched on his features,
Buffy caught the slight hurt that laced his words.

She was hasty to hearten him.  "Giles, no.  You're not.  You've never
been.  I just thought I might stick around this afternoon..."
Buffy trailed off, shrugging.  Not wanting to elaborate, she promptly
changed the subject.  "Hey, you're wearing that sweater again!
I like it," She assessed him critically and then commented, "Cordelia
should drag you shopping more often.  Do something drastic, like
forego the tweed on a permanent basis."  Buffy tousled his sleeve
affectionately, revelling in the flush that stole across the cheeks
of her typically dignified Watcher.  As Giles' shade of pink
deepened, she felt an answering tingle in her belly.
He was so cute when he was embarrassed.

Giles cleared his throat, choosing for his own sake, to ignore her
compliment.As it was, the mere suggestion that she found him remotely
attractive would provide him with fantasy fodder for months.
"There have been rumours abound, of a celebratory party this
evening.  You are planning to attend?"

Buffy slumped into a chair and examined her fingernails with acute
interest, the spirited teasing immediately forgotten.  "Who cares?
A party's just a party.  After awhile, they're all the same -- loud
music, greasy food, sitting around gossiping, pretending to be
something you're not."

Her voice had softened with the last statement, and Giles studied her
carefully.  Something wasn't right.  Buffy was never known to miss a
social opportunity, and what with the onset of summer -- resulting in
less vampiric activity, and therefore, increased relaxation time --
he had anticipated a double dose of her usual bubbly self.  And yet,
here she was; staring blindly at her feet, the picture of utter
desolation.  "Buffy?  Dear heavens, what is the matter?"

She propped her chin in her hand, intently observing a lone spider
scuttling across the floor.  "Nothing."  Her protest was feeble,
tinged with no small amount of sadness.

"Buffy..."  Giles waited a moment but upon receiving no reply, added
tentatively, "Perhaps I can help."
 
The petite girl shied away, her throat swollen with unshed tears.
She glanced anywhere but at Giles, trying her hardest to avoid his
penetrating stare.  She wished he wouldn't look at her like that.
He always seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, regardless of
her valiant attempts to hide her emotions.  And, true to form, she
continually fell prey to his compassion; his warmth.
God, why was he *looking* at her like that?

It required immense self-control not to teeter forward into his
embrace.  To clutch at his shoulders and sob unrestrainedly,
releasing the whole mess -- all of the recent despair, confusion, and
fear -- into a huge mushy blob, which she could then pummel into
oblivion, never to be seen again.

But it was not to be.  Giles relied on her.  He gave of himself
freely, just to keep her safe.  The number of times he had risked his
life for her...and she still didn't fully understand why.
To compensate for his unselfishness, Buffy had worked faster.
Trained harder.  Unrelenting.  Determined to make him proud.
And she had succeeded.  The night of the prom, she had spotted Giles
amongst the clapping crowd and his beam of satisfaction had made her
heart soar.  In comparison to his delight, the award itself meant so
little.

He had devoted his entire life to preparing for her; waiting for
her.  She couldn't break down; couldn't bear to let him down.
She had to be strong.  Strong for him.  Strong for everyone.

Denying her physical ache, she instead raised her eyes to the gentle
lines of his face.  "I just want to be Buffy."

Although the declaration did not puzzle him entirely, he wondered at
its sudden emergence.  However, before Giles had opportunity to
inquire further, the library doors opened to reveal two boisterous
Slayerettes.

"No more pencils!  No more books!" Xander crowed, jogging into the
room.  "No more teachers' dirty looks!"  He continued his triumphant
chant, as Willow executed a perfect pirouette and sank into the seat
opposite Buffy.

"Hey Buffy," she chirped.  "School's out." she remarked,
unnecessarily.  "No homework for two months."  Willow's eyes widened
in comprehension, "Oh.  Oh wow.  No homework for two *months*,"
Her expression was one of mischief.  "Leaving plenty of time for
wicca practice," she whispered conspiratorially.  Swinging her feet,
the redhead began to whistle off key.

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose at the sudden burst of
energy.  "Er, at exactly what point did the two of you forget this is
a library?"

Xander surveyed his surroundings in mock amazement.  "You're
kidding.  This is a library?  And here I thought all of the pretty
books were for decoration."  Spying the man's subsequent glare,
Xander waved his hand in warning.  "It's the last day of school,
remember?  No more teachers' dirty looks.  It says so in the song."
The lanky boy crossed his arms defiantly.

"Yes, well, what a lovely tune."  Giles grumbled.

Always one to diffuse possible tension, Willow steered the
conversation to happier things.  "Ready to boogie, Buff?"
Or, witnessing Buffy's mouth droop a fraction, perhaps not-so-happier
things.  She repeated her question a little louder, on the offchance
that her blond friend simply had not heard.

"Uh, I don't think so, Will.  Not this time."  Buffy ventured a
remorseful half-smile, but the apology didn't quite reach her eyes.

Xander bolted upright, quizzical.  "What?!  Why?  Buffster, this is
our last highschool hurrah.  Our glorious 'We Weren't Eaten By A Big
Ugly Monster' shebang.  I've even been rehearsing my BeeGees
impersonation for the occasion!  Listen," Xander proceeded to
warble "Stayin' Alive", complete with falsetto and matching dance
moves.  "You can't miss it," he implored.

"Yeah Buffy," Willow chimed in.  "The Dingoes are playing tonight,
and Oz says the event has the makings of a hootenanny.
Think of it -- a *hootenanny*," she speculated in wonderment.
"You have to come."

The last thing Buffy wanted to do was spend time in a public place.
A public place with music, food, and dancing.  Lots of dancing.
Girls dancing with their super-hunky boyfriends.  While Buffy leaned
dejectedly against a wall, reminded of the fact that she no longer
had a super-hunky boyfriend.  Buffy tiredly rubbed at her forehead,
trying to erase the sudden stab of pressure.  It didn't work.
She still saw Angel.  Saw him as he disappeared in a cloud of smoke;
headed away.  Somewhere away from her.

Willow hesitated briefly, then gave into the impulse and lay a
consoling hand atop Buffy's arm.  "Is it -- is it Angel?"  Her voice
dropped at the name, somewhat afraid to bring up a subject they had
all successfully avoided since the Ascension.  Afterward, Buffy
hadn't mentioned Angel once, and the others had gladly followed
suit.  It was as if the vampire's existence had all but been
forgotten.  Which was, of course, entirely untrue.
 
Buffy saw the worry in her friend's countenance, and offered a smile
that she hoped was convincing.  She could fool herself a little
longer.  "It's not Angel," she lied.  The others knew she was lying
too.  And *she* knew that they knew but they all faked it well.
It was ludicrous; the whole 'let's pretend' scenario, when all Buffy
wanted was to pull the sheets up over her head and cry until there
were no tears left.  Mourning a love that could never be.

"Really," she continued vehemently.  "Angel is in the past.
Witness me, Buffy Summers, present and accounted for.
And on the 12-step road to recovery."  She rose abruptly, stretching
her palms toward the ceiling. "Of which the first step is vigorous
Slayer training.  Right Giles?"

The librarian's head snapped up, shooting her a quizzical look,
"I thought that we-"

Xander cut in crossly, "Way to go G-man.  Doesn't she get even one
day of rest?"

Willow traced abstract patterns on the tabletop, crestfallen.
"Oh, well, if Giles wants you to..."  But she held the man's gaze,
her own beseeching.

"I-I-I um, that is, I-" he stammered in response, gesturing
helplessly and wishing, not for the first time, that his Slayer would
be so kind as to clue him in to her wild mood swings.

Buffy swiftly rescued her Watcher from further stuttering.  "It's not
his fault.  Truthfully, it was my idea.  I'm leaving for my dad's
place next week, and wanted to brush up on some techniques before I
left.  You guys are sure going to have a hard time without me this
summer," she joked with a wink, willing to sound more cheerful than
she felt.

"We managed okay last year."  Xander said bluntly.  A pause, as his
shock mirrored Buffy's.  Did he actually voice that sentence aloud?
Dammit.  He was really going to have to work harder to resolve some
of his obviously unresolved issues.  Xander winced in pain,
"Buff, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

But the damage was done.  The harsh words were visible in the air;
swinging back and forth on a crazed pendulum, wondering who would be
brave enough to still the rising tide.  All four daren't breathe.

In the end, it was Willow who spoke; her voice small against the
looming silence.  "We just want to spend time with you, Buffy.
You know, in case..."

The thought was never verbally completed, as Willow suddenly found
herself swept into a bone-crushing hug.  "No.  No 'in case', Will.
Don't even think it.  I'll be home.  I promise."  Buffy pulled away
and peered at her friend intently.  "I *promise*."

Willow rubbed her left shoulder, rotating it experimentally.  "So,
Slayer strength applies to hugs too, hmm?  You realize I'll be
covered in bruises by morning?"  But the redhead was grinning.

Buffy tentatively took a step toward Xander, then two, as he
retreated.  "Xand?"

The boy was staring at the ceiling tiles, methodically counting their
dots in his head.  He could feel the prickle of tears behind his
eyelids, and counted faster.  One, two, three, four, five, six -- the
dots were blurring, start again -- one, two, three, four...

"Xander."  She crooked a finger under his chin, her touch at once
soft and firm.  "I promise.  Don't worry."

The tears spilled, dripping messily over his cheeks and nose.
"Last summer was hell.  Not just for him, Buffy.  For us too.
I wanted you to come back.  I wanted you back so bad..."  And
suddenly, he was the one hugging *her*, fingers digging into her
spine, head buried in the crook of her neck.  Perhaps if he summoned
enough strength, he could keep Buffy here in his arms.  Here to watch
black-and-white movies at 3am with him and Will.  To begin baking
cookies, knowing full well they intended to eat the raw dough
straight from the bowl.  Here in Sunnydale.  Where she belonged.

Ensconced in the fuzzy plaid of Xander's shirt, Buffy cursed.
Her friend was weeping uncontrollably, and his grief was all because
of Angel.  Which, in turn, was all because of her.  Or, wait, maybe
it was the other way around.  Buffy's pulse pounded in her ears.
Was Angel the bad guy?  Was she?  The familiar weight of blame
perched on her shoulders, growing heavier with each passing second.
God, she was so mixed up.

Sobs subsiding to sniffles, Xander gradually lifted his head to find
Willow watching him sympathetically.  And Giles just...watching.
As he always did.  A constant from which Xander derived an
inexplicable sense of comfort.  He scrubbed his reddened face with
his hands, and glanced at Buffy sheepishly.  "Wow.  That sure was an
Oprah moment, huh?"

The blond squeezed his arm, understanding but still regretful.
"No hoopla for me tonight, though.  Duty calls," Buffy paused a
moment.  "In fact, duty calls and calls and calls.  The Slayphone
never stops ringing."  She pursed her lips in thought.  "Can we get
an unlisted number?"

Xander rolled his eyes and kissed her forehead chastely.  "Give our
regards to the baddies, would ya?"  Gripping Willow's torso, he
hauled her to her feet and they linked arms.  "C'mon Will, there is
partying to be done.  Buffy may not be making an appearance tonight,
but I bet we can score some free drinks by saying we know her."

Buffy stared at him, and Xander shrugged in teasing response.
"Hey, if you won't take advantage of your newfound fame, I'll gladly
do it." He half-dragged Willow out of the room, her reluctance at
leaving a not-so-perky Buffy causing her shoes to scuff along the
hardwood floor.  A forceful yank, and Willow was pulled through the
swinging doors, her voice floating desperately through the air,
"Call me later!"

With that, Buffy found herself once again surrounded by silence.
Even though it was what she wanted, the quiet felt oppressive.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to the place upon which her friends had
stood moments before.  She didn't know what to do.  She didn't know
what to think.  She missed Angel.  No, she didn't.  Yes, she did.
No, she *didn't*.  Yes, she *did*.  *NO*, she -- "Argh!"  Buffy ran a
hand haphazardly through her hair, and stalked over to the cage.
She wanted to hit something.

"Buffy?"

The accented voice stilled her movement.  Giles.  She had forgotten
he was in the room; the only signal of his presence being the slight
crinkle of a turned page.  And having spent so much time in the
library these past years, Buffy had learned to tune out the
crinkles.

But that didn't mean it was her right to tune out Giles.  Crossing
over to him, she met his questioning gaze.  His eyes were green
today.  Usually they were brown -- a muddy brown when he was upset or
distracted.  Warm, like melted chocolate, when he smiled.  But green;
green was the most special colour.  Pure emotion.  Pure Giles.

Buffy shifted self-consciously, not wanting to ruin his deserved
worry-free day.  "I'm sorry," she blurted.

The admission caught Giles off-guard.  "Wh-wh-whatever for?"

Disbelieving laughter lodged in the teen's throat.  Giles asked why
she was apologizing?!  She could make a list of reasons.
Complete with an index and bibliography.  "For everything," she
choked.  "I'm sorry for absolutely everything."

"It's alright, Buffy..."

The blond let loose an anguished wail.  "No, it's not!  It is *not*
alright!  Stop *saying* that!  After everything I've done -- after
Jenny, after the whole mess with Angel...Giles, he *tortured* you."
A sob burst anew as she confessed, "And I was *in love* with him.
I *still* love him."

Giles' chest constricted.

Sinking to her knees, Buffy wept, leaving saltwater splotches on the
polished floor.  "But-but-but *I hate him*.  I *hate* him!  He drank
from me," her voice was vicious through her tears.  "Angel fed off
me, and oh God, Giles I almost died..."

Buffy fell into the strong arms that were opened to her, muscular
hands clasping her close.  She wanted desperately to maintain
composure, but the softness of Giles' shoulder welcomed her without
hesitation.  His nonsensical murmurs were her final undoing, and
Buffy's pain flowed forth, soaking the sleeve of his shirt.
She clung to him, her body shaking.

Giles was aware that the two were embracing on the library floor,
surely a sticky situation if another were to appear.  He didn't
care.  Instead, he held Buffy tighter, wishing with his whole heart
that he might relieve her sorrow.

It was minutes before the cradled girl calmed.  Raising her eyes to
his and seeing compassion so plainly written across his face, Buffy
almost started crying again.  "Giles, why do you put up with me?
These horrible things that happen when I'm around.  I-I-I don't..."
She wanted an answer.  She *needed* an answer.
The desperation made her ache.

Giles hated to deny his Slayer anything, especially in such a
vulnerable state.  But, however much it tore at him, he dared not
reveal his affection and risk destroying whatever bond between them.
He grasped her hand, his own voice rough with feeling.
"Buffy, do not berate yourself.  Please believe me when I say
that it is alright.  It is alright, I promise you."

His honesty spoke volumes, and Buffy knew that all was forgiven of
the past.  Why?  Why would he be so unconditional in his support of
her?  Understanding dawned, as familiar and comforting as her own
skin.  Because he was Giles, and that was his way.  She raised a
finger to his cheek, tracing downward until she cupped his chin with
a hesitant hand.  "I don't deserve you, y'know.  I really don't
deserve you."

Silent they sat, time tracked by the ticking clock on the far wall.
Buffy's palm dipped lower, attracted to the tender spot connecting
chin to neck.  Pressing firmly, she felt the heartbeat throbbing
beneath Giles' warm skin.  It was so warm.  Thump-ba-thump-ba-thump.
Fascinated, she smoothed over his pulse, smiling to herself when it
sped up.

Giles stood so quickly that, had his shoes laces, he would have
tripped.  Cautiously he stepped back, trying to erase the memory of
her brief touch.  "A-a-are you certain you don't wish to go to the
Bronze?  I could drop you there," he offered, praying that his voice
sounded neutral.

The absence of Giles' arms was more than a little affecting, and
Buffy again plunged into the despair which existed in a world without
Angel.  Reminded of their nightly trysts in the graveyard.  Their
stolen kisses at her bedroom window.  Pledges of everlasting love.
Reminders that he wanted her.  Her focus altered as Angelus' taunts
rang in her ears, his yellow eyes glinting in the moonlight.
More accurately, he wanted to kill her.  How could she love and hate
someone at the same time?  Buffy's face crumpled.

Giles fought the urge to gather her up and steal away into the
night.  Somewhere demons were no longer, and all that existed was
lovely Buffy by his side -- free to be not the Slayer, not the Chosen
One, but the beautiful, wonderful self that was she.  Alas, there was
no such place.  They could run, they could hide, and the darkness
would assuredly follow.

"Home then, Buffy?  I'll take you home?"  Giles had already slipped
his car keys into his pocket.

Images of Buffy's empty house flew unbidden to her mind and she
shivered.  Her mom was still out of town, having finally heeded her
daughter's warning of graduation badness, and was not to return until
the end of the week.  Thoughts of Mr. Gordo brought little comfort.
She shook her head, "No, not home.  But maybe...?"

Giles waited patiently.

Buffy swallowed and tried again, "Maybe, Giles, your home?"
She squeaked out the last word, flushing.  It shouldn't be this
difficult, asking to spend time with Giles.  She had visited his
apartment many times.  She even had a designated "research blanket";
a woven afghan that fit snugly around her waist as she lay, reading
the latest on supernatural evil.  It was dark brown in colour, worn
in just the right places, and smelled faintly of...whatever it was
his apartment smelled like.  Something cozy.  Spice, and tea, and
firewood.

Still, she had yet to be in his apartment for any other purpose but
duty.  Research, research, and more research.  A break for pizza
notwithstanding.  Would Giles mind her hanging around,
just to -- hang around?  Surely he had better things to do.

Giles' brows lifted in surprise, but it was pleasant surprise.
"Of course," he assented kindly.  "Whatever you'd like."

Buffy appraised his face for signs of annoyance, but found none.
She slung her bookbag over her shoulder, giving him a weary but
genuine grin.  "Off to the Gilesmobile."

The two walked in contented silence to the parking lot, where Buffy
confronted the Citroen with undisguised distaste.  Slipping in the
passenger side, her knees found themselves scrunched against the
dashboard.

"The lever to adjust the seat is broken," Giles confessed, fastening
his safety belt.  "Are you too cramped?"

Buffy rolled her eyes, "I'll deal.  But seriously Giles, Cordelia did
such a great job dressing you," she paused, her mischievous choice of
words causing her Watcher to blush again.  "I bet she'd love to take
you car hunting.  Although, with her influence, you'd probably end up
buying a Jaguar."  Buffy glanced out the window as the vehicle
shifted into noisy reverse, imagining she and Giles travelling to
destinations unknown.  Sun shining, the car's top down, her hair
streaming in the breeze.  The gearshift screeched again.  "Yep, a
Jaguar would be nice."

Giles chuckled, "Cordelia's already lobbying for a Ferrari."

"Fine too."

The sleepy automobile rolled along the tree-lined streets.  It's
rumble lulled Buffy into a state of drowsiness; a considerable feat,
since the rumble was similar to that of a pounding jackhammer.
Her energy spent from the last day's activities, Buffy didn't wish
emotional upheaval on anyone.  It was too exhausting.  "Let's just
drive forever.  Can't we drive forever?"  The whispered question was
laced with a yearning o intense it broke Giles' heart.
 
"We're almost there, love," Giles pressed the gas pedal in
determination, but the obstinate vehicle continued to chug along
at a tortoise pace.  So focussed was he on his Slayer's pain, the
endearment passed his lips unnoticed.

Not so for Buffy, who stared.  Love?  Giles loved her?
Her stomach flipped oddly, and the feeling wasn't entirely
unpleasant.  She suddenly had to remind herself to breathe.  Did he?
Did he *really*?  She opened her mouth to speak, shut it abruptly,
and slumped against the window.  Well, sure he did.  A father's
love.  That's what the jerk, Quentin Travers, had said.  Giles hadn't
denied it.  And so, that was okay, she guessed.  Closing her eyes,
Buffy conveniently ignored the little voice in her head, busily
stamping its foot and shouting *no*, it wasn't okay at all.
 
The young woman sighed.  This just hadn't been her day.  Her week,
really.  Maybe year, too.  Let's face it, if she hadn't stupidly done
the horizontal mambo with a vampire...Buffy massaged her temples.
She needed food.  Food of the non-nourishing kind.  Like chocolate.
Or barbecue potato chips.  Or --

She placed a slender hand on Giles thigh, feeling the muscle bunch
beneath her fingers.  "Turn here?" she signalled, indicating the
grocery store to their right.

Puzzled, he did so, securing a parking spot near the entrance.
Shutting off the engine, Giles looked at her.  She hadn't
removed her hand.

She smiled, a tiny tired smile that nonetheless, lit the car's
interior.  "I haven't forgotten."

"Wh-what's that?"  The heat from her palm seared his trouser leg.

"Ice cream.  You offered, remember?  On prom night," Buffy nervously
tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  "You *do* remember,
don't you?  You said-"

Giles smiled too.  "I remember."

"Oh, good."  And then, the hand was gone.  She unfurled her legs from
their squished position, sliding out the door.  "Because I think that
enduring boyfriend breakup, not to mention battle with a demon
serpent, is worthy of major calories."

The prospect of a gooey dessert seemed to revitalize Buffy.
She practically bounced into the market,  steering Giles directly
to the white freezers lining one wall.  Pressing her face to the
frosty glass, she speculatively eyed the endless rows of ice cream
cartons.  "Yum."

Giles read from a brightly-coloured sign attached to the counter with
masking tape.  "It says here they have more than thirty-one flavours."

"I'd believe it," Buffy asserted, licking her lips.  "So, what kind
should we get?"

"It's up to you."

She shook her head.  "Uh-uh, Giles.  I may be depressed, but I'm
*not* devouring a tub of ice cream by myself.  You're helping me,
and that's an order."  She pulled him along.  "Share my misery.
What kind?"

The twosome paced back and forth, overwhelmed with options.

"Butterscotch Ripple?"

"Cookies n' Cream?"

"Rum Raisin?"

"Bubblegum?"

"Maple Walnut?"

"Raspberry?"

"That's sorbet, not ice cream."

"Oh, yeah.  Heavenly Hash?"

And so on, and so on, Buffy and Giles bickering good-naturedly while
a nearby cashier watched in open amusement.  Suddenly, the blond teen
let loose a cry of victory, reaching with both hands.  She turned to
her companion, proudly displaying the carton.  "How about it?"

Giles grinned in agreement, "Perfect."
 

End Part 1.