TITLE: The Family Business
AUTHOR: JK Philips
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?
SPOILERS: Everything up to “The Gift”
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.
EMAIL:
. Would love feedback. This is only my third fanfic. Well, technically my first if you want to lump Death Brings Clarity, The Ticking Clock, and this together as one book.MY WEBSITE: www.jkphilips.com
--------------------------------------------------- This is the third book in a trilogy, set after the events in “Death Brings Clarity” and “The Ticking Clock.” It’s not necessary to have read them both in order to get this, but you might like to. You can find them archived at any number of sites including mine. If not, well then let me just fill in the necessary facts. Last time on Buffy the Vampire Slayer:
After the spear through the side and the RV crash in “Spiral,” as Giles is dying on the table in the gas station, he has an epiphany and realizes he’s in love with Buffy. It’s too late for him as the events of the final episodes lead quickly to Buffy’s death. Buffy herself becomes a ghost, watching over Dawn and Giles as he assumes the role of her guardian. Buffy can’t help but fall in love with Giles as she watches him take care of her sister with such devotion. But, alas, also too late for Buffy who is, of course, dead. Then there is a spell (isn’t there always?) and Buffy comes back to life and back to Giles, and the two are now a couple. After a brief custody battle with her father, Buffy becomes Dawn’s legal guardian on the condition that Giles remain living in their house as a kind of co-guardian. Five months later, Buffy has an inexplicable and powerful urge to mate and hunt. Turns out slayers have a shorter biological clock to match their shorter lifespan, and her body is pushing her to have a baby. After her “heat” passes, she’ll never be able to have children again, so she convinces Giles to father a baby with her. They soon learn that her slayer gifts have even more surprises in store for her, shortening her pregnancy from nine months to nine weeks and giving them twins. Things go from bad to worse as Randall’s father (remember Randall and Eyghon from “The Dark Age?”) seeks vengeance for his son’s death at Giles’ hands. He steals their twins after birth and disappears. They get their son back, but not their daughter. They can’t find her, and the agency lost the paperwork on her adoption. They seek help from Angel, who takes them to meet the Host at his karaoke bar. Giles and Buffy sing, and the Host tells them they will get their daughter back as a little girl and not any sooner. She has two possible futures after coming home: they will either be able to keep her and raise her or else they will lose her again and she will be raised into darkness. Ok, 282 pages distilled to two paragraphs. Now moving on. Three years later...
--------------------------------------------------- Part 1: Momma's Boy Alex paged through the booklet in his hands very carefully. He pointed to one letter and said to his father proudly, “A for apple.” “Yes, it is,” his father answered very softly. “But you must be quiet now. Everyone is trying to watch the play.” Alex didn’t know what the play was about, only that Aunt Dawn was going to be in it. He didn’t see her on stage yet. But a lot of the people had masks. Maybe one of those people was her. He pointed to someone near the edge of the stage. “Is ’at Dawnie?” he asked. His father shushed him again. “I’ll point her out when she comes on.” Alex squirmed in his father’s lap, and his dad stopped his legs from kicking the seat in front of him. Alex sighed. He was bored, but he was trying to be good. He wanted to see Aunt Dawn in her play. He had been too little to go last year. He paged through the booklet in his hands again. His father had read it to him, pointing out Dawn’s name and explaining what the play was about. But it was an old play, like his daddy’s books, and he didn’t understand it. There were letters on the back of the booklet that he knew. More than that, his father would be excited that he knew them. “Look, Daddy,” he said, pointing at each one. “Gamma Phi Beta.” The people in the row in front of them turned around to look at him. They must really be impressed that he knew those Greek letters. Alex waved at them and smiled brightly. “I’m Alex. I’m free,” he informed them, holding up three fingers to demonstrate his age. His father apologized to the people watching them and reminded Alex again that the theatre was supposed to be a quiet place, like how he had to whisper in the library. “Can I sit wif Mommy?” His father passed him over, and he sat in his mother’s lap for a few minutes. “What’s ’at?” he asked her, pointing to something they had brought on stage. She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “I think it’s supposed to be a boat.” Alex giggled. “Silly. Boats go water.” The people turned around to look at him again, and he waved. “Please, Alex,” his mother asked softly. “Can you be quiet until the lights come on? Dark means quiet. Pretend your lips are stuck together.” His mother made a face at him, with her lips all squished together. He copied her and looked back at the stage. He was trying to be a good boy and be quiet. But then he saw Aunt Dawn come on the stage. She had her hair all braided on her head and was wearing a long dress, but he knew it was her. He forgot to be quiet. “Auntie Dawnie!” He tried to stand in his mother’s lap to wave at Dawn. She must not see him, because she didn’t wave back. The people in front turned around. He smiled at them and pointed to the stage. “My Dawnie,” he told them, because they obviously didn’t understand just who was on stage right now. “Come on, Alex,” his mother whispered. “Now you’ve gotten to see Dawn in her play, let’s go for a walk around the school.” “It’s okay, Buffy, I’ll take him,” his father said. “You stay and watch Dawn.” And then his father’s arms were lifting him from her lap and carrying him down the aisle. He waved at Dawn on the stage, but she still must not see him. “Bye-bye, Dawnie,” he called with a final wave. The back doors of the theatre closed behind them, and they were standing in the high school hallway. A few other people milled about talking. His father set him down and took his hand. They walked aimlessly. Alex spotted a glass case and pressed his nose against it. “What’s ’at?” he asked. “Trophies,” his father answered. “Eagerly sought after by a school that would rather pour money into athletics than anything useful.” He frowned up at his father. He liked how his dad never talked down to him like he was a baby. He wasn’t a baby. He was a big boy now. Still, that meant he didn’t always understand. His father didn’t like the pretty trophies, and Alex didn’t know why. “Shiny.” He pointed at the case, trying to sway his father’s opinion. “Pretty.” His father laughed. “Yes, that’s about the sum total of their positive attributes. Come on, son, would you like to play in the gym while we wait for your Mummy and Dawn?” Alex nodded eagerly and tried to skip on ahead, but his father grabbed his hand and made him walk slowly beside him. They entered the gym and found another father and child making the same use out of the wide-open space. He had brought his daughter, probably the same age as Alex, to work off some nervous energy. She came running to greet the new arrivals. “I’m Alex,” the boy told her. “Sarah,” she answered. He looked up at his father, who didn’t seem too happy. Alex didn’t think his father liked little girls. They always made him unhappy just by being there. And then one time, Alex had asked his parents for a sister for his birthday. But his mother had left the room crying, and he had told his father that if they didn’t like little sisters, then he would take a little brother just as happily. His father had pulled him up onto his lap and had told him very seriously that Mommy and Daddy couldn’t have any more children, and so Alex was a special little boy. “I see you had the same solution in mind,” Sarah’s father said to his father. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have stopped for ice cream first, because my wiggly little Sarah’s on a sugar high.” He tickled his daughter on the last words. She giggled and turned to Alex. “Wanna play?” He nodded and the two of them started running in circles. They raced from one end of the gym to the other, laughing as they each won in turns. They spun around until they were dizzy and fell on the floor giggling. Alex zoomed around in figure eights, with his arms outstretched and making buzzing sounds. “Look, Daddy,” he called. “I bubblebee! I plane! Fly! Fly!” But his father was talking to the other man and not paying attention to him. That was when Alex noticed the bleachers along the wall. They were pushed up flat with only the little ledges sticking out. He wondered what it was like at the very top. He had seen mountain climbers on TV, pulling themselves up sheer rock face by their bare hands. Alex could be a mountain climber too. He walked to the bottom step, looking up at the straight wall above him. He reached his hands to the second ledge, only making it on his tippy toes, and wiggled his legs up to the first ledge just below. Sarah watched him with wide eyes, shaking her head. “Uh-oh. Bad boy.” Alex kept climbing, his fingers on one ledge as his feet pulled themselves up to the one just below it. He was only just tall enough to reach across two steps, and sometimes he had to stretch so far to grab the next that he would nearly slip from the last. But he always caught himself before he fell, and soon he was hauling himself up onto the narrow platform at the top of the bleachers. He stood on tippy toes and touched the ceiling of the gym. He turned around triumphantly. “Look, Daddy, I mou’ain climb!” He finally had his father’s attention, but Daddy didn’t look very happy. He sprinted the distance across the gym, calling urgently, “Alex, don’t move. Stay right there.” The other man followed, saying, “We could pull the bleachers out a little, take the steps up to get him.” But when the man moved them a little, Alex could feel the narrow platform beneath him wobble, and his arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance. “No,” his father told the other man. “Don’t move them. You’ll knock him over.” His father looked up at him, his face very frightened. Alex wanted to tell his father not to be scared, because he wasn’t. He could touch the ceiling from here, and it was really neat. He had never been this high up before, staring down at the people below him like he was king of the mountain. “Alex,” his father said very sternly. “Sit down right now and don’t move. I’m coming up for you.” Daddy reached for one of the ledges, but his fingers were too big to fit and his toes only slid off from the small purchase. The other man was looking behind the bleachers, to see if there was a way up from the back. But Alex knew how to get down. He had seen it on the same show as the mountain climber. Parachuters. He could be a parachuter too and sail through the air like a bird. “Daddy, catch!” Alex jumped. He soared like an eagle, like one of the paper airplanes his father would make for him at the store, like a pebble skimmed across a lake. It was only a moment, but it was a rush. His father staggered as he caught him, stumbling back onto one knee and breathing hard. “See? I climb.” Alex smiled proudly. “Yes, you certainly did.” His father hugged him tightly to his chest, a little too tightly. Alex squirmed, struggling to free himself from his father’s grip. “I go ’gain,” he insisted. “I rather think not.” His father stood back up, still holding tightly to his boy. “Most emphatically not,” he added as he caught his breath. Sarah’s father joined them, his daughter leaning against his leg. “And I thought my girl was a handful. But your boy’s got me beat.” Alex held up three fingers and informed the man, “I’m free.” Sarah’s father laughed. “And how old will you be next year, little Alex?” Alex frowned, clearly stumped. He stuck out another finger to his three and counted them aloud. “One, two, free, four.” He held out the appropriate digits proudly. “Four!” “Well, aren’t you the little counter? Well done.” He smiled at the praise and proceeded to count for the man in Latin, Greek, and Sumerian. His own father laughed at the man’s surprise and told him they had to go. Alex waved bye-bye to Sarah and her father as they left the gym and walked back along the length of the school hallway. “Down,” he demanded. “No,” his father responded, but he did the next best thing and let Alex ride up on his shoulders. They peeked through the theatre doors to see how soon before the play ended, and Alex caught a glimpse of Dawn kissing a boy. “They’re just pretending,” his father explained. They strolled along the corridor, Alex asking many questions. Was that the room Dawnie went to school in? Did she have a locker? Could he climb inside one of the lockers? Were her teachers nice? Was school scary? When would he go to school? Would he go to school with Dawnie? His father answered all his questions patiently. Sometimes Mommy would get irritated with all his questions, but Daddy never did. He thought it was a good thing and had told Mommy so. He had used a big word. He had told her their son was inquisitive. They reached the front doors of the school, and Alex pointed. “Ou’side.” “No, son, it’s after dark.” Dark was a bad time. He never got to go out when it was dark. There were bad men out at night, and it was Mommy’s job to stop them. A moment later and Alex saw the pretty blue and red lights in the parking lot and pointed again. “Mommy’s car.” His father was just noticing the police car too. “No, not Mummy’s car,” he corrected, and then added under his breath, “I suppose we’re not any safer in here. This is a public building with an open invite.” They walked out of the school and into the night air. Alex looked up to see all the pretty stars. Aunt Tara used to take him up to the roof where she and Aunt Willow lived. Tara would point out all the pretty stars for him, and they would make up names for what they looked like. When his pet turtle had died, they had named a star after it, so Tuck could live in the sky forever. Alex still didn’t know which star to name after Aunt Tara. None of them seemed bright enough. His father reached the police car, and in fact there were two cars. One of the officers came over to stop them from coming closer, and then noticed the boy on his father’s shoulders. “Well hello, Alex. Is your mother here?” He nodded and pointed back to the school. “Is everything alright?” his father asked. The cop shook his head and glanced over his shoulder just beyond both cars. “Found a body. Some poor high school kid. Nothing the paramedics could do; there wasn’t a drop of blood in him. We think it might be gang related. Kid had a mark burned into his chest with acid.” “Can I have a look?” Off the cop’s puzzled expression, his father elaborated. “I’m familiar with some of the more obscure gang symbols.” The officer shrugged. “We’re drawing a blank. If you can help, by all means.” He held out his arms to Alex. “Come on, kid. Want to sit in the car and play with the siren?” “Gun,” Alex corrected. He knew what he liked. His father hesitated before passing him over. The officer only laughed and assured the man, “The radar gun. He meant the radar gun. His mother lets him play with it when she brings him by the station. Go on. Detective Cricks is with the body. Tell him I said it was okay for you to have a look.” His father handed him over and left. The officer bounced him a few times before climbing into the squad car. “Let’s see what fun toys your pal Rick has for you, little Alex.” Alex played with the radar gun for a while. He understood that the numbers told him how fast something was going. He couldn’t find much that was moving. He pointed it at his father, who was only going two. But then another car drove through the parking lot, and he aimed and pulled the trigger. Thirty-one. “A little fast,” Rick said, “but we have more important things to think about right now.” Alex played with the sirens and the lights. Rick let him call the nice lady from dispatch. She always had cherry suckers for him whenever Mommy brought him into work. Alex even got a little toy badge to pin on his shirt. His father claimed him after a little while, and they went back inside the school. “Look, Daddy,” he said, pointing at the toy badge. “I cop like Mommy.” “Heaven forbid,” his father muttered. “That’s all I need. Why can’t you pick something safe? How about a librarian, Alex? As long as your library’s not sitting on a Hellmouth, you should be fine. Or an accountant? My accountant makes fairly good money. Or a grocer? I wanted to be a grocer when I was your age.” “Mou’ain climber?” Alex suggested, remembering his earlier adventure. “Pair’chute?” His father sighed. “Why do I get the distinct impression that you’re going to have me worried sick everyday for the rest of my life?” Alex laid his head on his father’s shoulder, wrapping little arms around his neck. “I drive big trucks like Uncie Xand? Vroom, vroom.” “Yes,” his father answered, patting him on the back. “That doesn’t tend to be a life threatening profession. Perhaps we will have to take you to visit Uncle Xander at work more often.” A few minutes later the theatre doors opened, and the audience began streaming out. He squealed his excitement when he caught sight of his mother, and she scooped him up from his father’s arms, spinning him in circles. “So, little Rabbit, wanna go backstage and tell your Auntie Dawnie just how wonderful she was?” He nodded, and they walked down a side hallway, his father and Aunt Willow and Aunt Anya and Uncle Xander following behind. He told his mother all about his mountain climbing adventure and how he parachuted off the top and about Rick letting him play in the police car and then he showed her the badge he wore. The whole time he was talking, his mother stared over his head at Daddy, until Uncle Xander spoke up, laughing. “Giles, you are in sooo much trouble. She gives you the kid for less than an hour, and you have him jumping off of bleachers and sitting in cop cars while you look at dead bodies.” Xander laughed. “I’m glad I’m not in your shoes right now.” And then Dawn came out the side door of the theatre, and Alex was squirming to be let down. “Auntie Dawnie!” He raced over, his arms raised to be picked up. She obliged and almost dropped him several times until he was giggling and begging her, “ ’Gain! ’Gain!” Some other people he didn’t know passed by to tell Dawn how well she did. Alex smiled and informed her proudly, “I wave at you.” “I saw, honey.” He was set down on the ground, everyone else crowding around her with their own congratulations. Alex slipped over to Aunt Anya’s side. She wasn’t allowed to pick him up anymore, because she had a baby growing in her tummy. So he just put his hand on her round stomach, and she smiled down at him, shifting his hand to one side until he could feel the baby moving inside her. He wanted to see the baby, but everyone kept telling him it would be three, almost four, months more. And then they would make jokes about when Alex was in his mother’s tummy, and Uncle Xander would tell them all their jokes weren’t funny. But Aunt Anya would say she liked the sound of four weeks better than four months, and Alex wouldn’t understand why everyone was laughing. Everyone came over to his house after the play, even Aunt Willow. Alex climbed up into her lap with a book, but she said she was too tired to read to him. It was really hard to get Aunt Willow to smile, especially now that Aunt Tara was in heaven. He remembered when Willow used to be happy all the time, and make all his stuffed animals float around the room, and sneak him out for ice cream after his parents said he couldn’t have any. Now she was never happy and never did magic anymore. Mommy and Daddy told him that she missed Tara and would be herself again if they all gave her enough time. But Alex could see that his parents worried about her as much as he did. Dawn had some of her friends over to celebrate after opening night, but Alex didn’t know who any of them were. He climbed off Willow’s lap and followed the teenagers into the kitchen when he heard them talking about cake. Dawn gave him a little piece with one of the frosting flowers on it. He ate it while sitting on her lap, listening to the older kids around him joking and teasing each other. They teased him too, and he was happy to be included in their group. His father came looking for him, frowning at Dawn when he saw the cake. “You shouldn’t have given him that so close to his bedtime.” Dawn kissed her nephew on the top of his head and smiled knowingly. “That’s why I’m his favorite.” “Yes, well, it’s not your bed he’ll be climbing into after he gets a stomach ache tonight.” His father took him from her lap and washed his sticky fingers off under the sink, wiping his face with a wet paper towel until he was wiggling and squirming his face away from the wet rag. “Time for bed,” his father told him. “No!” Alex protested. “Yes,” his father replied firmly. “Don’t fight me about it, and you can have a story. Now go say goodnight to everyone.” “No bed!” Alex insisted, and then he began to cry. It wasn’t fair. He always got sent to bed while everyone else was still up and having fun without him. “Please, Alex, don’t pitch a fit over this. I said I would read to you before bed.” But he continued to cry and kick his legs out against the kitchen counter and thrash in his father’s arms. “I want Mommy!” “She’s only going to tell you it’s time for bed too.” Mommy came in a moment later, and he held his arms out to her. She took him into her own arms, kissing away his tears, and saying to his father, “He can stay up a little while longer, Giles. It is a special occasion.” Alex sniffled for a moment and wiped the backs of his hands across his wet cheeks. He laid his head on his mother’s shoulder and looked over at his father with some amount of smug satisfaction. His father sighed. “Really, Buffy, how can you ever expect the boy to listen to me if you tell him he can do something as soon as I tell him he can’t?” Alex watched the silent argument between his parents until his mother finally lost, which meant of course that he did too. “Ok, Alex, Daddy says it’s bedtime.” “No!” he screamed, throwing himself backwards in her arms, but she held him tight and headed out of the kitchen. “Wave goodnight to everyone,” she told him as they passed by the living room and up the stairs. But he was too busy crying and begging to stay up just a little bit longer. “I be good,” he promised. She wasn’t swayed and continued up to his room. Just before the doors closed, he made one last effort. “I want Daddy!” he called, loudly enough for the whole house to hear. Mommy only laughed and reminded him that Daddy was the one who sent him to bed in the first place. Alex sat on his bed, watching through watery eyes as his mother pulled out pajamas and turned on his nightlight. She pulled off his clothes and slipped on his PJ’s, even as he protested that he could do it himself. Then she carried him into the bathroom and set him on the counter to brush his teeth while she brushed hers with him, making funny faces around her toothbrush until he couldn’t help but smile. When they’d finished, she washed the tears from his face with a cool washcloth and gave him a horsy ride back to his bedroom. His mother tucked him into bed and pulled out the book his father had been reading to him the night before. They were just at the part where Charlotte had woven “super” into her web, and Wilbur wouldn’t be eaten. Daddy liked to read to him, but Alex liked it better when Mommy did. She made up funny voices for each of the animals and silly faces to go along with them. Sometimes she would act out the scenes as she read them, until he would be giggling and trying to play along with her. Daddy would never read in funny voices or make silly faces. He would only read a book just as it was written and answer Alex’s questions when he didn’t understand something. And Daddy never, ever changed the ending. Tonight, his mother read quietly, and he had to ask her to do the goose’s voice. He yawned and couldn’t remember if he had also asked her to do Wilbur’s voice, because she wasn’t doing that either. But then he closed his eyes while he listened, and soon after that he was fast asleep. *** Giles woke when he felt a soft tap on his arm. He opened his eyes to see Alex standing beside the bed. “Can I s’eep wif you?” “Do you have a stomach ache?” Sometimes Alex got sick during the night if he ate too much junk before going to bed. They’d gone for ice cream before the play, and Dawn had fed him cake. Giles couldn’t remember if the boy had eaten more than two bites of his actual dinner. But Alex only shook his head, his little chin quivering. “Did you have a bad dream?” The boy nodded and repeated his request. “Can I s’eep wif you?” Giles sighed and started to climb out of bed. “How about if I lay with you in your bed, just until you fall asleep?” But then he felt Buffy’s hands pulling him back to her side. “Just let him sleep with us, Giles. It won’t hurt anything. Come on, sweetheart, you can get in bed with us.” Giles could barely keep the irritation from his voice. “Buffy, he has to learn to sleep in his own bed sometime. I can’t remember a night in the last two months where there wasn’t three of us in this bed.” But he lifted his son up and laid him between the two of them. The boy immediately shifted over into his mother’s arms, and Buffy wrapped herself around the child, smoothing his hair back and stroking his cheeks. She looked over at Giles with an expression that brooked no argument. “I’m the expert on nightmares here. If he’s having bad dreams and wants to sleep with us, then he can. I was in high school, and I still slept with Mom sometimes when the nightmares were really bad.” Giles felt like quite the heartless monster at the moment. “Buffy, I’m so sorry. I had no idea…” “It’s okay. Just come snuggle with us.” He curled up closer to Buffy, their son sandwiched between them. Alex’s eyes were already closing, and one thumb found its way into his mouth. Giles pulled the offending thumb out, but the other one only replaced it. He pulled that one out too, and Alex’s eyes opened long enough to give his father an irritated glare. “Don’t!” Alex was sleepy and crabby, and finally Giles just relented and let him suck his thumb. The boy tucked his head beneath his mother’s chin and fell fast asleep. Buffy smiled, and then her eyes closed as well. Giles leaned over to place a kiss on her mouth, eliciting another smile and a hand on the back of his head to deepen the kiss. She sighed contentedly, her eyes still closed, and he lay there, their foreheads pressed together, simply watching her. Buffy made a wonderful mother to Alex, although she usually left it up to Giles to be the disciplinarian. Sometimes that bothered him, and he hated being the one who always said no. He had to admit that some part of that was jealousy, since Alex seemed to prefer Buffy whenever given a choice. He would want to sit in his mother’s lap, and go to the store with her, and have her read to him at night. Giles wondered if he wouldn’t be more favored if he were the one doing more of the spoiling and Buffy were the one saying no and handing out time-outs. Other times, he didn’t mind being the “stompy foot” as Buffy called it. When he watched the two of them together, there were times he could see the fear in Buffy’s eyes, like she knew her time with her son was running out. She had just turned 24. Two more years, and she would match the record for oldest slayer. After that, and they would be into uncharted territory. Buffy didn’t know this, of course, but Giles did. He felt it every night when she went on patrol, even if he went with her. He felt it like a cold grip of panic around his insides that sometimes choked away his very breath. Those were the times he didn’t begrudge her being the favorite. He would have a lifetime with Alex, and she would not. Giles didn’t want her to waste the time she did have doling out punishments and playing the heavy. He wanted his son’s memories of her to be of walks in the parks, and trips to the zoo, and bedtime stories, and nights like this, when he slept in her arms. She felt her time with her husband slipping away too. Sometimes his fingers would find tears trailing down her cheeks after they made love. She would laugh away his concerns, saying that it had just been that good. She would make grand gestures, which always angered Giles, more than pleased him. She had thrown him a huge birthday party the past year, even flying in some of his old friends from England, friends he hadn’t seen since moving to Sunnydale. They had a huge fight in the kitchen, away from the guests, over something trivial that Giles couldn’t even remember now. And he had a good memory. His anger had come more from the sense that she was ready to give up, that she had arranged a lavish party for him because she knew it would be the last birthday they spent together. And then there were the close calls, the times she barely made it home. There seemed to be an apocalypse to avert every year, but worse than that were the times she was injured on routine patrols. Sometimes while she was alone or with one of the others, sometimes right in front of his eyes while he was powerless to stop it. Twice she had landed in the hospital, and Giles had thought he really had lost her. Most of the close calls gave her cuts and bruises he could just treat at home. Sometimes she wasn't hurt at all, except for the knowledge that a second either way and she would have been dead. Giles would tend her hurts, whether that meant washing away her blood and taping her cuts, or wrapping her sprained joints, or whether that meant simply drying her tears and holding her until her fear passed. And then there would always come the moment when she would turn very quiet, when her tears would stop, when she would be so very calm and so much older than her age, older than even he, when she would be the oldest woman that Giles had ever known. Buffy would demand the promises from her watcher. She would trap him with her slayer strength, and he had no choice but to stand there and listen to her as she brought him to tears with what she asked of him, as she denied him even the smallest mercy of his dignity and private grief. She would wrest the promises through his sobs, until he would promise her anything if she would just let him go, if he wouldn't have to stand there and listen to anymore. Promises that Alex wouldn't be drafted into the Watcher's Council. Promises that Dawn would be made to finish college, no matter what thrilling acting job presented itself. Promises that Willow and Xander and Anya and the coming baby would be watched over. Promises that Giles himself would find someone after she had gone, would remarry and be happy without her. Worst of all, the promises for her funeral arrangements, for the money that would come from her substantial life insurance. The hardest promise to give: to cremate her. Dust and ash, the end she had brought to so many vampires was the end that she wanted. No fear of being turned, of having her body stolen. Just dust and ash, and she didn't care what he did with it. No matter how many times he promised, she would want to hear it the next time too. The promises had changed over the years. At first, when Alex had been smaller, she had been terrified that she would die while he was too young to remember her. Giles had promised that their son would know her through him, that he would keep her alive through stories and pictures and home movies, that Alex would always know how much she loved him. But the final promise had never changed. He made the same vow every time. That he would find their daughter and bring her home, no matter how long it took. And then Buffy would be satisfied and hold him until his sobs quieted, and Giles would feel as if he had mourned her so many times his heart would break from it. If she were injured, he would finish tending her wounds, his hands still shaking, his breathing still ragged. And if she were not, he would retreat the moment she released him, burying his grief in a book and a bottle of Guinness. Giles glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. 4:16am. He couldn't fall back asleep. His mind was spinning down paths best left untouched. Plus, there was the matter of the symbol burned into the body found outside the high school. He gently slipped his arm out from under Buffy's head, careful not to wake her. He paused for a moment after climbing out of bed, checking to make sure that wife and son were still sleeping peacefully. Then he grabbed his robe and made his way quietly down to the living room. One bookcase and a desk were all that remained of the study he had sacrificed for Alex's bedroom. The rest of his collection he stored at the shop, doing most of his research there or else carting the necessary volumes back and forth between work and home. As much as Giles would miss Dawn when she started college in the fall, he was already looking forward to converting her room into his study. As expected, the volumes he needed were not on his shelf, but rather at the shop. He flipped through the pages of the books that he did have, absently searching for the symbol he had seen burned into the dead flesh. It didn't seem the least bit familiar, and he hoped some of his more obscure texts on vampire cults would show him the symbol and provide him some information on who had done it. He was fairly certain a vampire was responsible. The victim had been drained of blood with the telltale puncture marks at his neck. What worried him was that the detective said it wasn’t an isolated occurrence. It was the third body bearing that mark in as many months. Giles would have to ask Buffy to look into it when she reported for duty on Monday. That turned his mind in whole new direction, one he was just as desperate to avoid and just as powerless to stop. His wife was a cop. Of all the things Buffy could have chosen to do with her life, she had to pick a day job that equaled the danger of her night job. She had managed to graduate with Willow and Tara, taking summer school and a full credit load to make up the semesters she had missed after her mother’s death and her own pregnancy. Giles had watched Alex at the shop while she was at school or working on papers. And when she had walked across the stage in her cap and gown, they had waved at her from the audience, Alex only 16 months old and not understanding why he couldn’t go up on stage with Mommy, Dawn trying to distract him with the itsy-bitsy spider, Xander making jokes about how much better this was than her high school graduation, and Anya complaining that it was too hot to be outside. Giles had been so proud of his slayer. He didn’t know why he had expected Buffy to go on to graduate school with Willow and Tara. School had never been her thing. But he had certainly never expected her to bring home admission brochures for the Police Academy. They’d had the biggest fight of their lives over that, and it had lasted for days. He’d slept on the couch, and every morning it would be the same argument until one of them would storm out of the house. Giles had been under the mistaken impression that he had some say in the matter. At first Buffy had tried to reason with him. She already had more combat skills and experience than any officer on the force. Now she would just learn how to use a gun and be able to call for backup when she needed it. Plus, she could turn the sirens on, and everyone would have to get out of her way. That last had instead become an argument against the Academy, since Giles could only imagine how fast and recklessly Buffy would drive if she had sirens and no worries about getting a ticket. Buffy thought her career choice fit perfectly with a life as the Slayer. She would catch bad guys during the day and would kill bad demons during the night. It could only help to have someone on the inside, and she would be able to access information that even Willow couldn’t hack. She would be called to the scene of a crime while she still had some chance to save the victim. They wouldn’t ever have to fight the law at the same time they were trying to fight the forces of darkness. And her slaying would never become suspicious if she had the cover of a cop on patrol. None of that had swayed Giles, who only wanted a safe, normal job for her during the day, one where he wouldn’t have to wonder whether she would make it home for dinner. She may be the Slayer, with superhuman strength and healing, but even the Slayer was not immune to gunfire. And Sunnydale may not be LA, but it was on a Hellmouth, and a cop in Sunnydale had a shorter life expectancy than one in LA. Buffy had finally given up on trying to convince Giles and had ended the argument. He didn’t get to make this choice for her. This was what she wanted, and he would just have to deal with it. She was going to be a cop, and he could either divorce her and find her another watcher, or support her and help her through it. There had followed a few days of complete silence and more nights on the couch. They would each talk to Alex and Dawn, but not to each other. Giles had finally known when he was beaten. He was too stubborn for apologies or sweeping romantic overtures for forgiveness. Especially since he was not wrong about this. He had simply gotten up one night and gone upstairs to climb into bed beside her. To her credit, she hadn’t demanded any apologies or concessions from him. She hadn’t questioned why he was there. She had simply scooted over in the bed until she was lying on top of him, falling asleep in his arms, and they had never talked about it again. Buffy had breezed through the Police Academy in record time. Her physical prowess had amazed her instructors. The full training had lasted six months, but by the third month, she was helping to teach basic self-defense and showing her fellow recruits innovative ways to break choke holds and block attacks. Even her instructors couldn’t take her down, and she had graduated at the top of her class. She had been hired immediately, which Giles said was only proof that the department lost officers faster than it could replace them. He had spent the past year and a half grumbling about her job and trying not to panic whenever the phone rang. She had tried to calm his fears and assured him that she was only a rookie, and that they never sent her on the dangerous calls, and that she was at far more risk when she patrolled at night as the Slayer. None of her well-intentioned assurances mattered on nights like this, when he was up at five in the bloody morning, wishing that Monday would never come so he could keep her here safe at home. Sometimes the more irrational part of his mind would wish that he could get her pregnant again, so she would have to stay home, no slaying, no police department, no worries for eight or nine weeks. He sighed and closed the book. He wasn’t in any frame of mind to research. He didn’t have the books he needed anyway. He went in the kitchen to make himself some tea. He would watch the sunrise and enjoy what he could of his Saturday morning before heading out to the Magic Box. And as long as he was up this early, he would make the weekly phone call. Vampires were nocturnal, after all. The water boiled, and he left his tea to steep. He lifted the receiver, still surprised after all these years that he should still feel the slightest bit of hope stir in his chest, but he did. The calls were short and the same every week. “It’s Giles. Anything?” “Sorry. Nothing.” “Thank you.” Click. It had become easier and easier to say thank you to Angel. The conversations used to be longer. Sometimes Wesley or Cordelia used to answer. Someone used to tell him what they had done over the past week. People they had talked to. Places they had been. The conversations had shortened over the months and years. Angel came to expect the calls every Saturday morning and soon made sure he was the one to answer them. By now the calls were scripted, the same exact words every week. Giles didn’t know anymore if Angel Investigations still bothered to look for his daughter or if they had given up hope and were only humoring him. But the weekly calls were the ritual he still clung to. Giles himself had nothing left to try, no more leads left to follow, no more favors left to call in. They had hired their own investigators until the money had slowly slipped away, until the store was mortgaged and the house too. He had sold his flat across town and some property in England. He would never be going back there again anyway. What money they could afford to spend, they spent. And it still wasn’t enough to buy him back his daughter. Not even Buffy’s contacts on the force had brought them any closer. Giles sat at the kitchen island with his tea and a book he didn’t read. It was an hour later before he remembered that he had forgotten to go outside and watch the sunrise. It was a few minutes after that when his son came toddling out into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Good morning,” Giles said with a smile. It was only a quarter after six, and Alex was still sleepy. He held out his arms to be picked up, and Giles lifted him onto his lap. The boy was an early riser, as his mother was not, and mornings tended to be their time together. “Would you like some cereal?” “Crap.” Giles chuckled. “Crepes? With strawberries like Aunt Dawn likes?” Alex nodded eagerly and grabbed for his father’s tea. Giles pushed it quickly out of reach. “Caffeine and three-year olds, not a pleasant mix.” They had let him have some once, thinking he would spit it out in disgust and that would be the end of his demands, but he actually liked tea. Buffy had laughed, saying that only proved who his father was. One only had to look at the boy to know who his father was. Alex had his father’s sandy brown hair, and green eyes, and the shape of his mouth and chin. In fact, Giles could see nothing of Buffy in the boy at all, which weighed on his heart and made him fear her loss all the more. The child had learned some of her mannerisms, though, including her pout and puppy dog eyes, which Giles found strange coming from his own green eyes. Alex was smaller than other boys his age, still trying to catch up from being a twin. In spite of his size, the boy was fearless. The swan dive off the bleachers was only one of many close calls, and Giles often wondered whose bright idea it had been to teach the child to walk. He balanced his son on his left hip as he cooked with his right hand, even breaking the eggs deftly with only the one set of fingers. He used to be left-handed, but ever since Angelus, he found himself doing more with his right. His left hand still ached sometimes, and his left leg too, mostly on the days where he did too much with them. But he only limped on those days where he pushed himself too hard, which was a better recovery than the doctor had expected for him. He felt Alex’s head against his shoulder, the child’s soft breaths against his neck, and Giles was filled with an overpowering love that he couldn’t have imagined before becoming a father. He had loved before; he had loved Buffy and Jenny and all the children that had somehow wandered into his protection. But he hadn’t been lying to Buffy before the final battle with Glory, before the battle that killed her. He had told her that he loved Dawn, but that he would kill her to protect this sorry world. And Buffy hadn’t been lying either, when she had warned him that she would kill him if he tried. He understood now what Buffy had felt that day. Giles knew he would give anything for Alex. He would have given Angelus the secret of Acathla to save his son and to hell with the rest of the world. He sat the boy down with his breakfast and a glass of milk. Giles joined him a moment later, and they ate in silence. By the time Alex had eaten half his meal, he was more awake, and squirming on the kitchen stool. “Done. Down.” “Two more bites,” Giles insisted firmly. Alex obeyed, while swinging his legs back and forth off the end of the stool. He pushed his plate back on the final bite, clearly indicating that he would take no more. “Go park.” “Yes,” Giles answered, collecting the dishes and rinsing them in the sink. “Your mother’s taking you to the park when she gets up.” Catching the glint in his son’s eyes, he added very firmly. “No, you may not wake her up. She didn’t get home from patrol until very late.” How strange to think that word now had a double meaning. With the others, he had to specify whether Buffy was slaying or working. He washed the sticky fingers under the sink, and the sticky face as well. When he was finished, he set the boy down and led him by the hand up to his room. “Now let’s both get dressed, shall we?” Alex had reached the age where he liked to pick out his own clothes, but he wasn’t quite at the age where he was any good at it. Giles discouraged some of his choices, until the boy was finally dressed in an acceptable outfit. “Daddy go park?” he asked. Giles helped him with the buttons of his overalls as he answered. “Daddy will join you this afternoon. I have to work at the shop this morning.” They slipped into the bedroom where Buffy was still sleeping. Giles collected clothes to wear to the Magic Box, carrying the boy to prevent him from waking his mother. Giles dressed in the bathroom while Alex brushed his teeth and mimicked the actions of his father shaving. Giles let him smear on some shaving cream and smiled as Alex mirrored each stroke of the razor with his own little finger. He always wanted to help, and Giles always had to remind him that the razor was too sharp. They both washed the remaining spots of foam from their faces, and Giles finished with aftershave, giving Alex a few drops as well. They started back downstairs again, Giles needing to quickly head off the boy before he could make it in to wake Buffy. Giles was somewhat more lax about Dawn, and let Alex slip into her room. “Hey!” she complained when she woke to a giggling three-year old on her chest. “Late night?” Giles asked with a smirk, leaning against her doorframe. She glared at him with that long-suffering expression unique to teenagers, the kind that only tempted him to push her buttons even more. “You never let him wake up Buffy,” she whined. “Your sister was out until two this morning. And then up again at four when someone came into bed with us after I told you not to give him cake.” Giles straightened his tie, crossed his arms, and began to study her ceiling very casually. “You, on the other hand, if I recall, went to bed promptly at 10:30, and so should have had plenty of sleep by now.” Alex was trying to tickle her, and she batted his hands away in irritation. “That doesn’t mean I went to sleep right away. I could have been on the net or something.” Giles sighed and fixed her with a level stare. “Yes, of course, you sent all your friends home from your opening night party after only an hour, so you could come up here and use the computer.” “Maybe.” “Don’t lie to me, Dawn. You climbed out the window and sneaked off. This used to be Buffy’s room, remember? She made ample use of that tree when she was your age.” “So what if I did?” Dawn countered. “I’m eighteen now, and I can do what I like.” Giles strolled into her room. He took a deep breath. God, he couldn’t believe he was about to say it. His father used to say it to him, and he had sworn the same words would never pass through his lips. “As long as you live in my house, you will follow my rules. We have a front door for a reason, and you will use it. Climb out the window again, and I will cut that tree down. Are we clear?” She shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I got home before Buffy did.” He closed the rest of the distance between them, sitting on her bed and pulling Alex into his lap. “Dawn, I shouldn’t even need to tell you this. You’re not ignorant of the dangers that are out there at night. Your classmates may have an excuse but you should know better. We just want to keep you safe. If something had happened to you last night, and we had both thought you were asleep in your room, no one would have realized it until morning.” “I was careful,” she insisted. “I took a cross.” Alex started squirming in his lap, impatient with this conversation. Dawn tickled her nephew’s feet, playing with the boy and not meeting Giles’ eyes. He pressed on. “Dawn, I know Buffy may not like to consider this possibility. She still thinks of you as her little sister. But you’re of an age... And it would be highly probable... Well, it has crossed my mind that you might have a boyfriend. It would actually be highly unlikely for a girl your age not to have had at least one boyfriend by now. And you have become quite an attractive young lady...” “Giles,” she said softly, sparing him from any further babble. “I’ve had a boyfriend.” He paused for a moment, but she didn’t continue. “I rather thought so,” he said. He waited, but she didn’t elaborate, and he wasn’t really sure if he wanted the details anyway. “You don’t have to climb out windows in the middle of the night to see him. You could invite him over sometime. Although, without actually inviting him in, you know, just to be safe.” Dawn laughed hard at that, until tears were streaming down her face. Alex laughed too, without really knowing what they were laughing at. Finally, she had to bite her lip to compose herself and dismiss his concerns. “Trust me. He doesn’t need an invite.” “Well, in any case, you needn’t keep him a secret from us. I think Buffy would be hurt by it. I’m sure she would consider this a big sister, sharing sort of thing.” Dawn quickly became more somber. “I wanted to tell you guys, but I was afraid you would freak out.” “Give us a little credit. When your sister dated Angel again after he returned from hell, I didn’t ‘freak out.’ Perhaps a little at first, but still. And as your sister is often fond of reminding me, she did catch me with your mother after the band candy. Well, you would know best how she handled that.” Dawn flopped back against her pillows. “It totally wigged her out.” Giles sighed. “Well, how much worse can your young man be?” Dawn groaned. “Just don’t say anything yet, okay? I’ll tell her, but not yet.” Giles nodded reluctantly, not relishing the idea of keeping secrets from Buffy. They were silent for a moment before Alex piped up, “Dawnie boy’fend?” She pulled the covers over her head and lamented, “God, Alex, you’re going to rat me out, aren’t you?” Giles rose from her bed, pulling his son into his arms as he went. “It would appear that you should tell your sister sooner rather than later.” She remained under the covers, and called out to him as he left, “Wake me when it’s time for college.” He spent the rest of the early morning downstairs with Alex, reading to him and coloring and doing any number of other activities that would keep him quietly occupied so his mother could sleep. Finally, Giles could wait no longer, or else he wouldn’t be able to open the shop on time. He allowed the boy to at last wake his mother, which Alex wasted no time in accomplishing. Giles kissed her goodbye and left for the Magic Box. Whatever time he wasn’t spending with customers, he used to research the symbol from the body the night before. When Anya came in mid-morning, he started her on the same task. They were looking for a crescent moon turned on its side, with a lightning bolt straight through the center. Anya took one look at his hastily reproduced drawing and announced that she had never seen the thing before, as if that were all he required of her. He quickly set her straight with a stack of books, and she complained that a large amount of reading wasn’t good for the baby. Off his withering stare, she grudgingly cracked the first book. Several times Giles found himself wishing things back the way they were, when the whole Scoobie gang would tackle research together. The bulk of that duty had fallen back on him, which was, he supposed, how watchers had done it since the beginning. Perhaps he had grown lax in his studies or overly dependant on the others, but he preferred to think that the team effort was what had kept Buffy alive for so long. Anya usually helped when she could, and sometimes her eleven hundred and some odd years of experiences could point him in directions he wouldn’t have otherwise thought of going. Of course, Buffy, Xander, and Dawn too, now that she was older, all pitched in with what they could. But research and poring through old books had never been Buffy or Xander’s specialties, and Dawn had understandably developed a distaste for all Hellmouth and apocalypse related things. She just wanted to be a normal girl and forget all about having once been the Key. Tara had always been so quiet, so much in the background, that Giles had never realized how much she held the group together until after she was gone. She had always been the one to bring the gossip and the jokes and the teasing banter back on topic. She knew how to gently rein in her friends before they went too far and when to suggest that they all needed a break. She always thought of everyone else first and never once complained, even though none of this was her responsibility or her calling. When Tara died, she took Willow with her. The young witch was only a shadow of her former self. Willow no longer researched with the group or touched magic in any form. Giles knew she blamed herself for Tara’s death, and he knew exactly how she felt. He had gone through the same thing after Eyghon and Randall. And just as Giles had buried himself in his watcher’s studies, Willow buried herself in her graduate work, spending less and less time with the friends that had once been her whole world. Giles had hoped that time would bring her back into the fold, but it had been over four months and she only seemed to drift further away. He even considered tracking down Oz to help her through her grief, but he couldn’t find the werewolf through any contacts in Tibet or Bombay or Jerusalem or any other place he thought the young man might go. Without Willow or Tara, he was lost on the computers, and Anya was a poor substitute. He felt their loss in the research too, realizing now that they had nearly been his equal in their familiarity with the library and the ease with which they found the pertinent facts from its volumes. Willow had even begun to pick up some of the languages in the texts: a little Gallic, a little Latin, bits of other languages he hadn’t known she studied until she would point out a relevant passage to him, knowing the correct translation herself. Now he was the only one who could sift through the texts that weren’t in English. Anya knew phrases in French, German, a few demonic languages, but the moment she was trapped in her mortal guise, she had lost the multi-lingual talents she possessed as a vengeance demon and was no longer fluent in any of them. For the first time in nine years, Giles was experiencing what it was truly like to be a Watcher. If the two witches were nearly his equals in research, then they had definitely surpassed him in magic. Separate, they were each formidable. Together, their power was astounding. That was where he felt their absence most keenly. He had been a rather impressive sorcerer in his youth, but after Randall he had stopped practicing. After more than twenty years of disuse, his skills were lacking, and with Willow and then Tara on the team, there had been no need for him to brush up. He had the knowledge, but not the practice. And now the few spells he had tried… Well, he regretted ever being so harsh with Willow when her magic backfired. It was the difference between reading about swordplay and actually wielding a blade to save your life. Swordplay. Giles suddenly remembered seeing the crescent moon speared with a lightning bolt. It had been painted on a sword, wielded by a demonic soldier in one of his books’ illustrations. Now if he could only remember which book. He wished again for Willow and Tara. A familiar pang of guilt immediately followed that thought, that he should only regret Tara’s death in these moments when he needed their help. But that was not all there was to it, he assured himself. He genuinely missed the girl. Tara had grown on him, and more than any of the others, she had been like him. Quiet. Reserved. Not overly emotionally demonstrative. She had possessed a quick mind and a quiet strength. She had even tended to get tongue-tied or stutter when she was nervous, one of his own faults as well. He did miss Tara, and more than that, he hated what her death was doing to Willow. This was by far worse than when Oz left. Giles couldn’t even interest her in newly acquired books, or spells that he really shouldn’t be showing her, or in recent archeological finds. Sometimes it seemed like she couldn’t bear to even come in the magic shop anymore, so they had her over to the house as often as she would come. Giles removed his glasses and rubbed his weary eyes. Five volumes, and he still couldn’t find the lithograph with the symbol on the sword. Anya didn’t seem to be having any luck either. Giles’ mind reasoned through the only clues they had so far: A crescent moon turned on its side with a lightning bolt through its center. The moon. Usually tied to cults that involved themselves with a goddess figure. Perhaps tipped on its side to symbolize the dethroning of such a female deity. Perhaps he should look for a male centered cult. Or perhaps it was not a moon, but an archway, or a gateway. Perhaps an image of the sun rising over the horizon. No, something about this reminded him of the moon. The lightning bolt. Usually a representation of raw power: the power of nature, the power of magic, the symbol for a myriad of different kinds of power. Perhaps the bolt through the moon symbolized the destruction of the female goddess by that power, or the theft of her power by a greater force? Giles glanced at his watch. After one o’clock. He was already late for his rendezvous in the park with his family. The afternoon help had arrived for her shift. He had hired Charity a few months after Tara’s death. Not to replace her, he rationalized, but rather to help Anya with the tasks she could no longer do while pregnant. He gave Anya a few suggestions to continue with the research, knowing she would abandon the books for the financial ledgers as soon as he had left. He asked Charity to keep her boss on track and hide the ledgers for the time being. He grabbed a stack of books for himself and headed out to the park. He saw them at a distance. Buffy and Alex were playing tag through the grass and then weaving back and forth between the swings and the merry-go-round. Dawn and Xander were stretched out on a blanket a short distance from the playground. Willow, as usual, was absent. Alex caught sight of his father mid-run, and simply changed direction, his little arms flailing through the air as he came charging, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!” His son’s joy at his arrival never ceased to lift even his darkest mood. Giles nearly dropped his stack of books when he stopped the boy’s momentum with one arm and lifted him up into a warm embrace. It never mattered whether it had been a day or an hour; Alex always greeted him with the same enthusiasm. “I go slide,” his son informed him. “Swing high. Go monkey by self.” Giles had reached the others by then, Buffy meeting him halfway. He raised a questioning eyebrow in her direction. “He made it all the way across the monkey bars by himself?” “Yeah,” she confirmed. “I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t fall once. Come on, Alex, let’s go show Daddy.” He leaned over for his mother to take him, and the two headed off to the monkey bars. Giles sat down on the blanket with his stack of books. Xander looked over with a wry grin. “More research?” Giles passed him a book. “Yes, and your help would be greatly appreciated. We’re looking for anything that has this specific symbol.” He offered out the same drawing he had shown Anya. Xander studied it for a moment, frowning. “Looks like a bow with one messed up arrow.” Giles reached across and rotated the paper 90 degrees. “I believe it’s a crescent moon tipped on its side with a lightning bolt running through its center.” “Oh,” Xander said. “That makes much more sense. I was about to comment on your lousy artistry.” And then he dutifully cracked open his book, paging through it as he lay on his back on the blanket. Dawn groaned. “It’s Saturday. You’re not supposed to work today.” “Unfortunately the demon population is not aware of that fact,” Giles told her, as he passed a book to her as well. She huffed in irritation, rolling over onto her stomach and paging slowly through the book he gave her. Giles looked up to see his son hanging from the monkey bars. His little arms shook as he dropped each rung and reached for the next. Buffy walked just behind him, ready to catch him should he fall. Sure enough, he made it all the way across. He spun to face his audience, his arms raised triumphantly, and his father applauded for him. Alex turned back to his mother, and the two resumed their game of chase. She caught him as they bounded over the sandbox, tossing him into the air again and again as he cried, “Higher!” Xander watched them together for a minute or so, shaking his head and laughing. He threw Giles a look over the top of his book. “Momma’s boy has a whole different meaning when your mom’s the Slayer.” Giles chuckled and quickly agreed. ***
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