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

DISTRIBUTION: Archived at http://www.traceyourhand.org/leoclaire
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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.  :)

For thanks, dedication, and inspiration, see first installment.
 

Unlocking the front door, Watcher ushered in his Slayer.
She timidly crossed the threshold, and with some trepidation,
surveyed the living area.  It didn't appear any different from those
research afternoons.  Couch, chair, table.  All here.
It was the same.  Why had she worried?

Giles retrieved the paper sack from her arms, and headed toward the
kitchen.  "Make yourself at home, Buffy.  I'll prepare our snack."

Buffy dropped onto the couch cushions with a groan of appreciation.
Shutting her eyes, she drifted, listening to the calm sounds of Giles
bustling about nearby.  Each footstep precise, each movement
measured.  He was humming; a slow, pretty tune that Buffy didn't
recognize.  He had a nice voice.  Sighing again, her burdens
lightened slightly.  It was going to be okay.  Sure, it wasn't
sun-shining-birds-singing cheerfulness, but she would survive.
With Giles, it would be okay, she knew.  Content for the moment, she
grabbed her favourite afghan and wrapped it around her middle,
toying with its frayed ends.  She would be fine.  She would.
She *would*.

The clatter of dishes broke her reverie.  "Giles?"
She twisted her neck to peer into the kitchen.  "What's to prepare?
All we need are two spoons."

Truly aghast, he regarded her from over the rims of his glasses.
"We will not eat without the proper utensils, Buffy.  It's uncouth."

Buffy made a face.  Giles and his British-ness.  "Xander drinks
orange juice out of the carton all the time," she protested.  After a
pause, she conceded, "Although, he usually drinks *all* of the orange
juice in one sitting.  We aren't really given the opportunity to
worry about germs."  Imagining the relished smack of her friend's
lips, she giggled.  Xander ate a lot, but there was no denying he
definitely *enjoyed* it.  She was so thankful to have him in her
life, even if it meant stocking up on the beverages.
Thankful for Willow too.  And Oz.  Even Cordelia, to an extent.
And then, there was Giles.  And Angel.

Except -- Angel wasn't in her life anymore.  He'd left her, not to
return. Ever.  Going as far as saying it was for her own good!
Well, what did he know?  Unexpected tears
stung her lashes -- *again*, and she angrily
swiped them away -- *again*.  More followed.  She hated this.
"Why, why, why?" she mumbled, even as she knew.  Hello?!
Angel is harboring an evil demon.  One opportunity for happiness
and it's goodbye sweet boyfriend, hello bloodthirsty killer.
No exchanges, no refunds.  "Oh shut up!" Buffy growled.

"I beg your pardon?"  Giles brought forth a tray, laden with
bowls of ice cream and two steaming cups.

Embarrassed, Buffy ducked her head, her fingers plucking restlessly
at the woolen blanket.  "Not you, Giles.  Me.  I'm just being dumb."
She sat up straighter, and cleared her throat.

"Buffy, you've been crying." Giles observed, in that tender tone of
his that soothed her, and made her feel awful at the same time.
He'd done so much for her already.  He shouldn't have to listen to
her problems.  It wasn't his fault that she couldn't get over some
stupid vampire.

"No, I haven't, I j-just...can I have my ice cream please?"

Wordlessly, he passed a dish, and settled in beside her.
Buffy scrutinized the heaping mountain of sugar, and
her mouth turned up weakly.  "Man, Giles, five scoops.  You must
really take pity on me."

"One does what one can." he said quietly, handing over a spoon.
Tasting his portion, the treat slid blissfully down his throat,
coating his tongue and teeth with sweetness.  Ice cream really did
work wonders, he thought.  "I must commend you on your choice of
flavour, Buffy.  Good job."

Buffy almost laughed at that; Giles' praise the same now as when she
defeated a particularly icky demon.  "You're never fully out of
Watcher mode, are you?"

"Er, sorry?"

She looked at him fondly, "Don't be, it's what I like best.
Makes you Giles."  Swallowing a bite, she continued before he had the
chance to speak.  "Yeah, well, the combination suits us both.
Mint for you,'cause I spotted that container of mint tea in the back
of the cupboard last week -- you can't fool me,
Mr. Pseudo-Earl Grey -- and besides, peppermint is cultured.
Restaurants always give red-and-white candies at the end of a meal,"
she adopted a haughty tone.  "To cleanse one's palate."
At Giles' chuckle, she brightened, only to frown a moment
later.  "And chocolate for me," she stabbed her ice cream for
emphasis, "because every girl who's been dumped, needs chocolate."

Giles watched the lumps of green cave under the attack of Buffy's
spoon.  "Would you like to talk about it?"

Buffy continued her assault on the bowl, her shoulders tense.
"Talk about what?  There's nothing to talk about.  There used to be
Angel and me.  Now there's just me."  She stirred ferociously,
creating a soupy mud.

The two were silent, Giles allowing his Slayer time to collect her
thoughts.  Finally, as her spoon scraped the china for what seemed
the thousandth time, he motioned toward the dish of sticky
liquid.  "Are you really going to eat that?"

She glanced up, "Huh?  'Course."

His lips twitched, "That's disgusting."

"It is not!  It's ice cream, and ice cream is always of the good.
Whether it's in a cone, or in a bowl, or..."  She trailed off,
meeting his twinkling eyes.  "Or a gross, green mess." she
admitted.  "Yuck," she declared, tossing the confection aside.
"I guess I wasn't really in the mood after all."  Spotting Giles'
rapidly diminishing amount, she teased, "But you go right ahead."

"Thank you, I will."  He smiled at her answering giggle,
but started abruptly when Buffy stretched out, placing her feet in
his lap. "Buffy, I-" He shakily transferred his bowl to the table,
before it splintered on the ground.

"What?  Oh!  Right, right," She sat up immediately. "Sorry.
I shouldn't have-" She blushed, "It's just that I'm so tired and,
well, everything.  Sorry."  She shuffled away, abashed.
Did every male in her life have to reject her in some form or
another?  What was wrong with her?

"No, it's fine, only I wasn't expecting-"  He regarded her huddled
form in consternation.  "Buffy please, I didn't mean-"
His hand on her back was tender and light, as if
the very thing he touched was made of the most exquisite glass.

She turned to him, tentatively, scared.  Scared because she had
started to cry again; that was twice in the last half hour.
Scared of whether he thought her worthless for doing so; whether she
was no longer a Slayer in which to take pride.  Her face streaked
with tears, she tried to explain, to apologize.
"Giles, I need...I feel...Angel, he..."

The sentence was full of stops and starts, and really wasn't much of
a sentence at all but a bunch of jumbled words.  For the life of him,
Giles couldn't think of an suitable thing to say in response.
And so, carefully, with the utmost delicacy, he drew her near;
pillowing Buffy against his side and stroking her hair with warm
fingers.  "My dear girl," he murmured.  "My dearest,
most wonderful girl."

Such action only made Buffy's tears fall faster, as he accepted her
weaknesses with the same grace as he recognized her strengths.
Good God, were there no limits to the elegance of this man?
What was he doing with *her*?

"It hurts," she gasped.  "It hurts so much."  She wept then, long and
hard sobs, until she was crying over the fact that she was *still*
crying and couldn't seem to stop.  "Giles..."

He tugged a tissue from the box beside the lamp, and dried her skin
in soft, smooth strokes.  Travelling down her nose, beneath her eyes,
over her cheeks,the damp hair around her ears where stray droplets
collected.  "Hush love, all shall be well.  You mustn't torment
yourself like this."

Buffy inhaled raggedly, expelling the breath with astonishingly
physical force, as if to rid herself of the sadness which saturated
her very bones.  She sat up, but lolled against the back of the
couch, her exasperated gaze focussed on an indistinct point above her
head.  "Look at me," she muttered, "Pathetic much?"

Giles tucked the blanket firmly round her shoulders, patting her
somewhat awkwardly now that there was no immediate distress.
"A love lost is not to be trivialized, Buffy.  It is normal to be
feeling as you are."

They were quiet for a time; so quiet, they could hear the sounds of
Giles' apartment settling in for the evening.  There, that was the
hum of the refrigerator.  The creak of water pipes in the bathroom.
The groan of the wooden staircase as it shifted and squared into
place.  Buffy wasn't surprised at the number of noises she
recognized.  She spent more time here than she did at home.
In her most secret of secret places, she confessed that she even
liked it better, here.  Her own house was too big for just her and
her mom, and wandering room to room made her empty inside.
She wanted Willow.  And Xander.  And chocolate chip cookies.
And big musty books that took forever to page through.  Giles'
apartment had all those things.  Most importantly, it had Giles.

For a split second, Buffy allowed herself to think the unthinkable.
In her mind's eye, she substituted Giles for Angel.  It was Giles who
walked away, obscured in a cloud of mist.  It was Giles who left her
standing there, alone, on the dark wet pavement.
It was Giles who never looked back.

She wasn't prepared for the spasm that gripped her then, a solid
punch to the stomach that left her shuddering and gasping for air.
She reached blindly outward, anchoring her small hand in his larger
one.  "No, oh please, Giles no..."

Giles rubbed her back, his touch never faltering, tracing vague
patterns on the lines of her shirt.  Never had he felt quite so
inadequate, witnessing his Slayer's heart shatter piece by piece,
and knowing there was nothing to be done.  "The pain will fade,
Buffy, I promise you this with my entire being.  You shall survive
this, dearheart, as you have everything else."

"But not without you!  Giles, please don't leave me.  Please," she
whispered the words fervently, like a prayer.  For Buffy, it was.
"I don't want to be alone."

At that admission, Giles tilted her chin, addressing her stricken
gaze with a pair of dark green eyes -- darker than she ever thought
possible.  Such that Buffy would have been frightened, had the
intensity not been coupled with equal amounts of sincerity and
devotion.  "Indeed, you are not.  You have your mother, and Xander,
and Willow.  Angel loves you deeply Buffy, even if it may not seem
so."  The young woman swallowed convulsively and bit her lip.
Giles wondered briefly whether it had been a wise mention, but
continued, "There are many who care for you, and who are honoured to
receive your love in return."

She gulped, wrinkling her forehead, all too conscious of the name
left off the list.  "And you?  I have you?"

His eyes were emerald stars.  "You will never be alone, Buffy."

She knew then; was as certain of his answer as she was the beating of
her own heart.  Still, she needed to hear it, needed to hear his
gentle accent affirm the space between them.  Raising a tender hand
to his cheek, she repeated, "I have you?"

He softened, "Eternally."

Her arms were around him in a flash, squeezing so tightly it was a
wonder he didn't protest out of necessity to breathe.  "Thank you,"
she mumbled into his neck.  "Oh, thank you."
Thank you, thank you, thank you...

Time passed.  The refrigerator hummed.  The water pipes creaked.
The staircase groaned.  When the embrace finally loosened, Buffy
raised her head, her face shimmery.

Giles' heart dropped at the sight.  "Buffy, oh my, here,
it's alright."  He fumbled for the tissue box, but the
pressure of her hand stayed his movements.

"No, no, wait.  It's good."  She assured him,
smiling.  "They're good tears."

END