Title: Odd Couples 4/16
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.

As Giles drove home from the hotel, he stubbornly refused to listen to his mother's advice. Apologize to Buffy when she was the one who started the argument? Hardly! She'd never reacted so badly to one of his surprises before. He'd thought she'd be pleased to meet his parents, that she would welcome them properly. Instead, she couldn't wait to pick a fight. Bloody, immature, confounded woman.

He switched the ignition off and got out of his car. The light was still on in his living room. At least Buffy was still there to talk to. A part of him had felt uncertain she would stay after their fight.

He peered in the window. She was curled up on his sofa in a defensive ball. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and there was a stubborn angle to her chin. She looked angry and fragile and very, very young.

Again, Giles reflected that he was the injured party in this matter. She'd behaved horribly in front of his parents, and there she sat looking for all the world as though it wasn't her fault. Perhaps he ought to have mentioned they were coming, but she usually loved surprises. How was he to know this was a different case?

Best get this over with, he decided. The fight was now officially unavoidable. If Buffy looked like that and he felt as much resentment as this, it was time to talk.

He opened the door.

"That took a while," she said, still sitting with her back to him. "Where are they staying?"

"The Sunnydale Inn." He dropped his keys on the desk and hung up his coat. "I wanted to talk with them a little. I haven't seen my parents in several years, you know."

"No, I didn't know that. You want some tea?"

"Please."

She poured him a cup and fixed it exactly the way she knew he liked it. While she prepared it, he tried again.

"Did it never occur to you that my parents would be here for our wedding? Did you think they wouldn't come?"

Her grim expression became an actual glower. She handed him his teacup with such vehemence that a little sloshed over onto the saucer.

"No, it didn't occur to me they'd be here. You never talk about them. I wasn't completely sure you had any parents. How could I know they were coming here?"

"What do you mean you didn't know I had parents? Did you think I was...spawned out of some energy matrix? Materialized fully grown out of thin air? That's absurd. It simply isn't possible."

"Well what was I supposed to think? You never talk about them, you never say you talked to them, and you never even showed me a picture. Rupert, the only times you've ever said anything to me about your mom and dad is when you told me your dad sat you down when you were ten and said you had to be a Watcher, and when you told me that weird pudding thingy you've had soaking in booze for the last couple weeks was your mom's special recipe and you're gonna eat it on Christmas. That's it. An energy matrix was starting to look pretty reasonable. You could have said they were still alive somewhere along the line."

"That's utter nonsense," he protested. "Of course I've talked about them...haven't I?"

She shook her head silently.

"You're...you're quite certain of that?"

"I just sort of assumed they were dead or something and you didn't want to talk about it. Then suddenly they're here right in front of me telling me you call them and tell them all about me. What am I supposed to think? And they look so...so...normal."

"Normal? What are you talking about?"

"They match," she said quietly. "Like we don't. Like nobody around us does."

Giles' anger had begun to dissipate when he realized he hadn't ever said anything about his parents to Buffy. Now he felt trepidation.

"I don't understand, Buffy. What do you mean we don't match?"

She took his hand and lead him across the room to the mirror he kept over the old-fashioned washbasin.

"What do you see when you look at us?" she demanded.

"I see...us. Two people who have been through hell and back again and love one another. What do you see?"

"Pretty much the same thing," she said. "But what do you think other people see?"

"A couple in love?" he hazarded.

"A cradle robber and a kid. A middle-aged pervert and his walking Barbie doll to prove he's still got it. Humbert Humbert and Lolita. They see a dirty joke. And when they see my mom and Xander, they're looking at the older woman having one last fling with the pretty pool boy. When we go out in public, we pretty much have to get way into the PDAs or resign ourselves to everyone figuring I'm your and Mom's daughter and Xander's with me. We don't match. Oscar and Felix raise less eyebrows."

Giles turned from the mirror and took Buffy in his arms.

"I don't care whether people can see that we match. We do. Perhaps not to the casual observer, but we do belong together," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "You believe that, don't you?"

"Most of the time. But then I see what other people think and I start wondering if they're as wrong as we say they are. And after tonight, I'm betting your parents had a few things to say about how I'm obviously not ready for something as big as getting married."

"Actually, the one Mum was worried about was me," he confessed ruefully. "She gave me quite a proper dressing down for not warning you of their impending arrival."

"See? I was right. Though I admit I could have been a little nicer, seeing as they'd been on a really long trip and they probably were hoping for something to eat before the fireworks. Look, we both screwed up. I just...I've been kinda on edge lately." She wrapped her arms around him and snuggled against his chest. "Finals, wedding plans, Christmas...it's all getting to me. You might want to keep the surprises fairly tiny for a bit, okay?"

"I suppose now is not the time to mention the prophecy I found in the Codex, then."

She stiffened in his arms.

"What prophecy? I so hate that book."

When she looked up and saw his sly grin, she swatted him lightly.

"Don't joke about that, Rupert! It's not funny."

His expression turned serious; his hands continued to explore her blonde tresses.

"I'll make it up to you," he promised.

Then his lips were on hers, teasing, tasting, caressing. Her hands fisted automatically against his chest as she opened herself to him. A moment later, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the loft. As he laid her down on his bed, she looked up at him seriously.

"I'm sorry I was so crappy to your mom and dad."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you they were coming."

"How long are they in town for?"

"Certainly until after Christmas. Possibly until the new year. I told you they're here for the wedding."

He kissed her softly.

"Yeah, I know," she said as she ruffled his hair. "I just...I guess I'm wondering how to break this one to my mom. She's not handling surprises so well right now, herself. I think it's a hormone thing."

"Well, that wouldn't be so surprising considering her current condition. But there's something dreadfully wrong with this picture."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Buffy, you're lying here in my bed, and we're both fully dressed and discussing your mother's hormones. Do you really need to ask what I'm complaining about?"

"Probably not," she agreed wryly. "I think I can figure this one out all on my own. So, what do you want to do about the problem?"

"This."

His kisses left her in no doubt of his preferred activity.

*****

The next morning, Buffy went to her mother's house early. There was no putting off telling Joyce about Giles' parents. If nothing else, Willow was holding Buffy's wedding shower that evening, and since the dorm room wasn't big enough for a party, she was holding it at Joyce's house. The meeting was about to happen.

"Hey, Mom," she smiled a little too cheerfully.

"Hi, Honey," Joyce said. "Have you had breakfast yet? I was just making a little something."

"Maybe just some juice." She followed her mother into the kitchen. In the doorway, she came to an abrupt halt. "Or...possibly a dozen muffins. Mom, what is this? This is breakfast for the Army, the Navy, the Marines and the entire cast of Seventh Heaven."

Three batches of muffins sat on cooling racks. A mountain of scrambled eggs lay on a platter surrounded by bacon and sausages. There was a pitcher of freshly-squeezed orange juice and a large pot of herbal tea. Joyce looked sheepish as she surveyed the feast.

"I know I went a little overboard, but...you know how it is. I was having a fat day and in my wisdom I thought food would make me feel better."

Buffy slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar and helped herself to some eggs and juice.

"You're not having a fat day, Mom; just another pregnant one. You're sharing your body with a whole other person in training, so there's going to be some expansion. It's allowed. In fact, I believe it might be expected of the expecting."

"I know, you're right." Joyce sat heavily next to her daughter. "It's that first day when you realize absolutely nothing in your closet fits anymore. Even my fat clothes are too skinny. And the thought of climbing into maternity muu-muus is just too depressing. Don't worry. I'll get over my vanity before they wheel me into delivery."

"So, I'm guessing today is not a good day for dropping bombshells?"

"Bombshells? Oh, Buffy. No. Not today. Let me get through today without knowing anything bad. You're not sick, are you?"

"Nope. I sit before you the picture of health."

"And you're not calling off the wedding? You didn't elope, did you?"

"Of course not! Rupert and I have every intention of tying the knot on schedule and in public so our friends and families have the chance to humiliate us and make tasteless jokes about our sex life. It's more about family, actually. His family, to be exact."

"Does he even have one?" Joyce frowned in puzzlement. "I don't think I've ever heard him mention anyone."

"Well, so far there's a mom and a dad. I found out about them last night when he gave them to me as a romantic surprise."

"He didn't."

"Oh, he did. Trust me; I was there. So were they. And I'm feeling a serious need to change the foot I got off on with my in-laws-to-be."

Joyce nibbled at a muffin.

"Honey, the guest list is not my department. All I can tell you is Rupert's mother is welcome here, of course, if Willow's okay with a sudden additional guest at the last minute."

"Thanks, Mom. Will already said it was fine with her as long as it was okay with you. So. That's taken care of."

"Of course, you owe me big time for springing this on me today when I discovered I no longer fit in the dress I was planning to wear."

"Is this going to involve baby-sitting?"

"Oh, I think I can come up with something long before I need that from you."

*****

Giles rinsed his teacup, set it in the drainer, and dried his hands on the linen towel. He was a bit late in his morning ritual, due to the fact that Buffy had finally agreed to stay the entire night. As delightful as it had been, she'd kept him in bed late and then taken over his bathroom for a surprising length of time. Breakfast, as well as his ablutions, had been pushed back.

Still, he supposed he ought to do his best to get used to it. After all, in a mere three weeks, he would be publicly pledging his life to Buffy the whirlwind, as he had done privately for so long.

He was roused from his thoughts by a knock at the door. Stopping only to put down his towel, he answered.

"Dad. What brings you here? Did Mum come with you?"

"No, she didn't," Ernest Giles said as he stepped into his son's home. "I thought it was time you and I had a talk, man to man."

"If you've come to deliver the dread news of where babies really come from, you've left it a bit late."

"And if you're unaware of the process at this late stage, all I can say is I'm sorry for your Buffy. A frustrated Slayer is a dangerous thing, Rupert."

"Not that I would ever contradict you, but you've never had a Slayer of your own, so how would you know?"

"The Council rumor mill flourishes, as ever, son."

"And I imagine Stebbins and Rutherford are as crude and ill-informed as ever. Would you like some tea? Or some breakfast?"

Giles moved toward the kitchen. His father snorted.

"Breakfast? I ate hours ago. It's nearly lunch time."

"It's nine-twenty, and I just finished breakfast a short time ago, myself."

"It's this California sunshine," Ernest opined. "Saps a man's will and vitality."

"Do you want tea or not?"

"I suppose I might as well, if you're having some." He sat heavily on the sofa. "Are you quite sure you know what you're doing, Rupert?"

"You needn't worry, Dad, I've been making tea for years."

"I was talking about this mad idea of marrying your Slayer."

Giles finished setting the kettle to boil and came out of the kitchen. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I wasn't aware it was a mad idea. Frankly, I consider it one of the saner things I've ever done. Of course, I imagine Quentin has had a thing or two to say about it."

"Rupert, you know as well as I do that a suitable marriage is important to a Watcher."

"And you know perfectly well that I don't work for the Council anymore. As long as they don't pay me, they don't have any say in the matter. I'll live as I please. I'll marry whom I choose, and their opinion is not a matter of interest to me or to Buffy."

"What if they were to pay you?"

Giles stood straighter.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"I mean, Quentin wants you to return to the fold. He asked me to deliver a message: if you'd like your job back, he'll be happy to have you as a Watcher again."

"On what terms?"

"He wants you for research, primarily. You could live and work anywhere in the world you like, with one proviso: you are to leave Sunnydale and never return while Buffy is the active Slayer."

Giles stared at his father for a long moment. At last, he gave a mirthless laugh.

"I can't believe you, of all people, would deliver that message to me. Do you really think I'm going to throw away the best chance at happiness I've ever had in return for a steady paycheck? If I needed it that badly, I'd have found more honest work long before this.

Ernest smiled wryly.

"That's more or less what I told him you'd say," he observed. "Of course, I added a bit of foul language because it's so amusing to watch him squirm at a few dirty words."

"You're the devil, you know," Giles said with a grin. "You knew I'd squirm if you let me think you agreed with that...that...toad."

"I never said I didn't agree with him, toad though he may be."

At that moment, the electric kettle began to boil. Giles headed back to the kitchen and went through the steps of making tea automatically.

"You? Agree with Quentin Travers?" he called out to the living room. "Isn't that a sign of impending apocalypse? I'd best get Buffy on it straightaway."

"I'm serious, Rupert. This sudden marriage of yours has me worried. What do you know about being married? And are you being fair to Buffy?"

Giles stacked the last of the needed items on the teatray and carried it out to the living room. He set it on the coffee table.

"Still one sugar and a dash of milk?" he asked politely.

"Yes. Damned doctor tried to tell me I ought to drink herbal tea. Plain, no less. I told him what he could do with his herbal tea."

"Yes, I imagine you did." Giles handed his father a cup and prepared his own. "What do you mean am I being fair to Buffy?"

"Americans aren't like us, Rupert. They worry too much about little things and the wrong sort of appearances."

"When did any appearances matter a damn to you?"

"You know I have seniority over Quentin. I have more experience than he could ever dream of in interpretation of prophecy, the black arts, and beaurocratic nonsense besides, yet he's the head of the Council and I'm not. And it's all because I married your mother. Don't think for a minute I regret that, but you've got to consider the consequences if you persist in this. What of your career with the Council?"

"I haven't one," Giles said steadily. "I was sacked. I cared more about Buffy than the job then, and that hasn't changed. She will always come first with me."

Ernest snorted and shook his head.

"Well, you're one apple that fell well within the shadow of the tree, aren't you? Bloody, stubborn young idiot." The two men grinned at one another. "Still, if you're determined to ruin yourself for the sake of a girl who'll likely be dead within the year, you have my blessing, son. When's the Bacchanalia to celebrate the end of your bachelor days?"

"Tonight, actually. I know it's a bit early, but Buffy said if I arrived at the altar hungover and draped in a stripper's boa, she'd knock me on the head and enter a convent."

"You think your hangover will last that long?"

"Considering who's planning this party, I'm actually more worried about finding my way back from Mexico in time for the wedding."

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