Title: Full Of Love 7/10
Author: Gileswench
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. Praise abjectly sought.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc., etc., etc. I just let them have all the fun Joss won't. I own nothing except my twisted mind which you really don't want. Please don't sue.

It took some time, but Buffy eventually settled down and went to sleep. Giles held her close. Her body felt so small, yet so overwhelming, curled up next to him that he wondered if he would sleep at all. For some reason he couldn't articulate in his own mind, he felt a need to stay awake and protect her. In all their years together, he'd rarely felt that need. Training, camaraderie, cajoling, providing emotional support in his admittedly clumsy way, even occasionally making her face up to facts she didn't want to, yes, but not protection. That wasn't what a Slayer needed.

But he wasn't lying in bed with the Slayer; he was with Buffy.

He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face as she slept.

"Mmmm...I remember how that felt," came a voice from across the room. "For a guy who could barely get a sentence out sometimes, you could be awfully eloquent with your hands."

He looked up and swallowed hard, pulling Buffy closer.

"You're not Jenny," he said.

"Sure I am. I'm anyone I want to be. Well, anyone who's died. I couldn't be any of your other old lovers, but I was your favorite, anyway...until she grew up," the First nodded at Buffy's sleeping form. "Now...well, you know if I was still alive, you'd have betrayed me by this time, don't you?"

"That isn't true." He swallowed hard.

"Isn't it? You gave me up for her adolescent hissy fit. It got me killed just when we were getting back together. That must eat you up inside, Rupert. She even stopped you from avenging my death."

"She saved me. She kept me alive."

"And you resented that for a long time, didn't you? Be honest. You still do, sometimes. You wanted to give up. You wanted it over, and she took away your excuse. You're a pathetic little man, aren't you? Always running away, always hiding whatever you feel, always ashamed. Does she know you're a cold-blooded killer?"

"I'm not." His voice shook, but his gaze remained steely.

"Aren't you?" The form morphed suddenly into Ben. "You killed me. You killed Jenny, you killed Randall, and you were ready to kill Dawn. Sounds pretty much like a serial killer to me. Oh, and I know how much you want Spike dead, too. Not just gone, that's not what you really want. You want his dust blowing in the wind. Not that I can blame you for that one. She's pretty obsessed with him. She'll always compare you, you know. And let's face it, a fifty-year-old has-been is never going to measure up to a vampire with six-pack abs. You know when she wakes up in the morning, you won't be the one she wants to see. She'll be off with the next guy who's younger, better looking, or just less work. Hell, she almost picked me, and she did pick two dead men over you. She's nothing but a heartbreak waiting to happen, and you're next on the list. And you'll let her grind you into the dust, because you're too weak to leave her again."

Giles squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will the voice from his mind. He knew what this was; knew that listening to it would only poison his soul. Still, it voiced every fear, every painful self-doubt, every insecurity and harsh fact until the mounting evidence of his uselessness and moral bankruptcy seemed irrefutable. He wanted desperately to lash out, but the thing was incorporeal. It would be a foolish waste of energy and a sign of capitulation. He wouldn't give up like that. He couldn't. And yet, it was so tempting to simply give in to the dark side of his nature; to shake off everything proper and safe about himself.

"Go away," he hissed. "I'm not what you say I am. And Buffy is better than that."

"Really?" came a new and yet more sardonic voice. "And does she know you lusted after her even when she was a student? I was just waiting for you to slip up and give me some proof you were teaching her more than History in that library."

"Wonderful," Giles muttered. "Herr Snyder. Just who I most wanted to see."

"She'd be disgusted if she knew some of the things you thought about her then. She'd run screaming into the night...and then she'd come back and kill you, you big pervert. That time you dreamed about doing it with her and the computer teacher on my desk - my desk! not even yours - revolting."

The faux Snyder looked disconcerted when Giles began to giggle.

"Stop that!"

"Or what? You were a sniveling little weasel in life, and you're still one in death. A petty, trumped up, hateful Facist who got his kicks by lording it over schoolchildren because he was always the one picked last for the team. You're pathetic. If you weren't such an utter nonentity, I might even feel sorry for you."

His victory was short-lived, however, as the First turned changed persona again. Giles felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach turn sour.

"You aren't real," he reminded himself. "You're not here."

"That's where you're wrong, Rupert. I'm always here. I'll never go away. And no matter what, she'll always pick me over you. Has she looked at your back yet? Has she seen the souvenirs from the night she hung you out to dry? Does she know the memories still make you drink until you fall down to keep from crying? Man! What wouldn't I give for a solid body and a chainsaw right now. Because...I really want to torture you again."

*****

Andrew came barreling down the stairs, half a dozen Potentials in close pursuit.

"You have to answer, or you have to take a dare. That's the rules," Amanda insisted.

"What makes you think I even know any Barbra Streisand songs?" he asked, almost in tears. "And I can't sing standing on my head."

"You wouldn't answer the question," Kennedy repeated. "You have to take the dare or you're even more of a wuss than I thought...and that's pretty bad."

"What's going on?" Willow asked.

"Andrew won't play the game right," Dawn said.

"They didn't say they were going to ask such an embarrassing question," Andrew whined. "You guys are as mean as...as...Romulans! Only not as smart."

Xander took one look at the potential violence brewing in the Potentials and counseled Andrew wisely.

"I'd shut up about now, if I were you...which I'm very glad I'm not. Why are you still living here, anyway?"

"Because...the Slayer is protecting me from the First."

"More like because she hasn't bothered to throw you out. If you really want to stay here and be protected, I think you're gonna have to make a serious effort to be a lot less annoying and a lot more helpful. These girls don't look like they're very interested in protecting you from anything."

"But...I'm an innocent with vital information."

"No. You're a weasly little coward who won't take responsibility for all the pain and suffering he's caused who *used* to have some helpful information, which we already beat out of you."

"I'm also the chef."

"Show of hands," Xander said to the Potentials. "Who here thinks Andrew's cooking is enough reason to have him here hogging the bathroom and bugging the hell out of us?"

Not a single hand went up for a long time. Finally, Willow raised hers. Xander and the Potentials stared at her.

"He makes good blintzes," she said sheepishly. "And he's sort of pathetic with no friends or anything...not that I want to be friends. Sorry, Andrew. No offense."

"None taken," he mumbled.

"So, if you want to stay," Xander continued, "you'll have to behave yourself...and you can start by playing the game right. What did they ask you?"

Andrew shifted from foot to foot for a moment. At last he went into a corner, got into an awkward, wobbly headstand and started singing.

"Hello, Dolly..."

The Potentials grinned and high-fived one another. Dawn hugged Xander. Everybody laughed.

Until the window shattered and five Bringers burst into the room.

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