Chapter Five: Tell Me A Story

When he had climbed the stairs again, he found the bathroom empty. Turning towards Joyce's old bedroom, he could hear the chattering of small voices, and Buffy's voice over them, trying to quell them. Pushing open the door, he was met with the miniature Scooby Gang, all bundled up in bed together. Xander was at one end, with Willow next to him. Tara had wisely been placed in between Anya and Willow, as the toddlers seemed to tolerate each other as well as their adult counterparts did; which was to say not at all.

Buffy turned at the sound of his steps, her eyes wide. "Please, Giles, help me out with a story, will you? They won't go to sleep without one, and I don't think I can remember anything Mom used to read to us." Her voice took on that hollow tone again as her eyes dropped from his, her head turning away. Dawn was snuggled into her lap, chubby hand weaving clumsily through her older sister's hair. At that moment, it seemed to him that the comfort gained was all on Buffy's part, and he was loathe to take that small blessing away from her.

"Alright, let's see what I can do," he said gamely, perching on the end of the bed. Five faces swung to meet his, their curious gazes resting on him like a searchlight.

"Something decent, Giles," Buffy interrupted before he could open his mouth again. Arching an eyebrow at her, he smirked.

"Funny thing," he countered. "The only things that come to mind are dirty limericks."

"Giles," she warned, laying Dawn next to Anya, and pulling the covers up to her chin.

"There once was a man from Nantucket."

"Rupert Giles!" Buffy interjected, scandalized.

The bed creaked as he shifted into a more comfortable position. "Don't be so worried, Buffy. It was just a joke."

She snorted. "You'd better be joking. Just tell them something nice. A fairy tale."

"A fairy tale?"

The Slayer stood up, her brow creased as she crossed to the window. For a few silent moments she stared up at the full moon, and then back at him. "Yeah. White Knights, Fairy Princesses. Happy endings. You know the drill. Lie to them."

The half-hearted attempt at a smile that she offered him broke his heart. Rising to his feet, he took a couple steps toward her, his hand reaching out. A lock of hair grazed his palm as she deftly avoided his touch, maneuvering around his person and making for the door on light feet. Stopping just outside the room, she turned back, her face devoid of expression.

"Don't tell them anything scary," she whispered, and then she was gone down the stairs. Sighing heavily, he faced his silent audience. Their faces were grave, as if they were aware, with what little childish wisdom they carried, that what had happened was a bad thing.

"She sad," Tara whispered, her eyes luminous in the lamplight. He sat down at the end of the bed again, patting her feet through the covers.

"Yes, Tara, she is very sad," he found himself saying aloud. The child digested this and then raised her eyes to his again.

"Story?" she asked. Looking back toward the stairs, he found there was only one story he wanted to tell. He'd have to do quite a bit of editing, but it would have to do.

"Once, there was a beautiful princess," he began. The girls giggled, and even Xander seemed riveted. "She was the strongest girl in all the land, and she had a sacred calling that only she could perform."

"Say-cwed?" Willow asked, fumbling with the large word. He smiled kindly at her, his eyes sparkling.

"It means very, very important."

"Ohh."

Smiling widely, he relaxed, pulling his leg up under his knee, resting his elbows on his lap. He began the story, five enraptured faces hanging on his every word.