Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Four

Something More

"Read me the signs!" A book flew past his head, crashing into the wall next to him. "Tell me my fortune! You're so helpful, sitting here with all of your books!"

Giles was standing in the library at Sunnydale High. His heart was shattering with every desperate word. What could he say to her? He, her Watcher, who was sent here to get her killed? Bile rose in his throat.

"I'm sixteen years old," she pleaded brokenly. "I don't want to die."

He reached out, trying to touch her, needing to clutch her and beg her not to go…but she was fading—everything was fading, and there was only darkness.

Gradually, he became aware that he was weeping. Strong arms surrounded him, and foreign tears were mingling with his own. The darkness faded, revealing a burning factory, and the memory flooded over him. Jenny. Jenny was gone. He cried in earnest, then, clinging to his Slayer as the world burned down behind them.

"You can't leave me," she wept against his hair, and he knew she was crying with him. For him. For all of them. "I can't do this alone!"

He tried to tell her she'd never have to—he'd never leave her, he couldn't—but his throat was choked with tears, and the words wouldn't come, and slowly, his Slayer faded away, leaving him clinging to nothingness as the darkness claimed him again. Voices floated, disembodied, around him in the blackness.

"You poisoned me." Buffy's voice, sick with anger. Anger at him.

"A father's love for the child…"

"Whatever I have to do…to win back your trust."

"A father's love—"

"I don't know you anymore."

The scene lightened as though the lights were coming up on a play, revealing the image he'd never wanted to see again—Buffy's face, bruised and torn and so betrayed. Quentin, smug and hateful, firing him—trying to take her away from him.

He deserved it. He had poisoned her—my God, what kind of monster was he?

He wanted to apologize—God, she deserved at least that—but once again, no words would come. What could he say? He, who had been more treacherous than any vampire….

She faded away again, and with her the light left the room, until all was dark once again.

"Is this a bad time?" Buffy's voice sounded again in the darkness, and he looked around until he was able to make out his apartment, slowly emerging from the gloom. Olivia was just ducking out of the room—what was she doing here?"

"This is a bad time," Buffy kept repeating, looking flustered and upset.

He wanted to brush the words away, wanted to tell her he would help her, but to his horror, he heard himself sending her away. The look on her face made him ill—what was he doing?

He reached for her retreating form, but the door closed with a click, enclosing him in darkness once again. He floated, aimless, trying to find her, but the air was like black velvet, smothering him, and he couldn't breathe.

And then it wasn't. He looked around, his heart lurching. No!

He was frozen in place, staring in horror at the torn, bleeding hole in the sky. He knew this place—he wanted to run, but, as he had known it would, fear kept him locked in place, unable to do anything but watch…watch the only thing he'd ever loved as she leapt….

She seemed to fall forever. It was a grotesquely graceful swan dive through space, her body glowing with an almost holy light, even as hell itself surrounded her. He tried to scream, but the words came out in a choked whisper only he would ever hear, snatched away by the wind; her words, in his voice…a helpless plea.

"You can't leave me. I can't do this alone."

Giles came awake with a start. His heart was pounding, and he thought he might be sick. He'd had the nightmares since she died—always different, and always the same, a litany of moments when he'd failed her; a hundred thousand things he should have said.

The tower was always what woke him—the memory of that place. Of watching her fall….watching her die.

Buffy shifted in his arms, bringing him for the first time to a full awareness of where he was.

He should be horrified. They were curled together once again, entwined like lovers in the center of the bed. Xander and Tara had made another appearance, and Buffy's hand rested comfortingly on the little girl's back, even in sleep.

It was all so…familial. His heart skipped. It would be so easy, to pretend…

And why not? he asked himself desperately. She's here, in my arms…why not pretend? Just for a little while…

This time, there was no disorientation upon waking up in Giles's arms. Buffy smiled slowly, content to lay still and enjoy the feeling of his arms around her, his thumb tracing absent circles on her hip in a way that was definitely raising her temperature—wait a minute.

Tracing circles?

He was awake!

She raised her eyes to his, a hot flush creeping up her cheeks as the implications of those sexy little circles just got a whole lot bigger.

Warm green eyes gazed steadily back at her. His face was a little flushed, but he wasn't backing off, either.

Buffy could barely breathe. "Good morning," she whispered, a little more huskily than she had intended.

"Good morning." His thumb kept up that tiny, sweeping movement, and her heart stopped, then threatened to thunder right out of her chest. "We have guests again, as you can see."

She nodded without looking, unable to tear her gaze from his. "I forgot to ask yesterday," she managed, trying to sound casual and failing. "How's the research coming?"

"I found a few spells that could do this," he reported, his own voice a little gritty. Was it just because it was morning? Was it…was it because of her?

"Really?" She had no idea what she was saying. She was just murmuring absently, trying to hold off the moment when he would stop touching her. Her pulse was racing.

"I don't think it's Ethan," he offered, never stopping that tiny, delicious touch. "He's still in Nevada by all accounts."

Who was Ethan? "Bummer," she breathed, unable to think of anything intelligent to say. Was this really Giles? Sweet, stuffy Giles, who still stuttered when she hugged him?

"Indeed," he murmured, faint amusement lacing his tone. His thumb brushed upward, just a little—just enough to slip beneath the hem of her shirt, resuming his teasing touch against the bare skin of her waist.

"Oh, god…" The whisper slipped out before she could call it back, and Giles's eyes widened in concern, his thumb halting its lazy strokes. She wanted to beg him not to stop, but she didn't quite have the nerve.

Something must have showed in her face, because understanding dawned on his. His eyes blazed with sudden heat, and she couldn't hear him breathing any more. He swept his thumb in a bolder, wider stroke, and she thought she would explode with the force of her heartbeat alone. Something was happening here…what was it?

Tara chose that moment to shift in her sleep, and the motion was enough to break the spell. Giles whipped his hand away almost guiltily, swearing under his breath in five different languages.

Buffy managed a breathless giggle, and he shot her a rueful look.

She couldn't let it end like this—they couldn't just get up and pretend nothing had happened. She couldn't handle that.

But what could she say? This was hardly the place to beg him for wild monkey love—two toddlers slept peacefully, right there in bed. Besides, what if she was misunderstanding the situation? What if this was just an extension of Stealth Snuggling Giles? He cuddles in his sleep, he's a little…um, amorous in the morning…but what happens when he's fully awake?

Nothing, she acknowledged ruefully. Nothing whatsoever.

But maybe…maybe she could convince him?

She almost giggled again—she couldn't help it, it seemed so silly. Was she really going to try to seduce her Watcher?

Yes, she decided giddily. She certainly was.

There wasn't much she could do with the kids in the bed, but she could at least stall that inevitable moment when they would have to untangle their sleep-entwined bodies.

All right, she thought helplessly. So stall already.

"If you leave your laundry where I can find it, I'll clean those pants today," she blurted in a whisper, then flushed to the roots of her hair. Oh, that was romantic. Remind him of Anya's little…accident. Because, urine? Always an excellent seduction tactic.

He groaned quietly at the memory. "I'll buy new ones," he assured her. "I don't think I could live with the memory."

Well, at least he wasn't moving yet. Chalk it up to the win column.

"They're on me," she offered. At his horrified expression, she replayed the sentence in her head, and choked back a slightly hysterical laugh that threatened to wake the children. "Not the…the pee-pants," she assured him. "The new ones. I mean, not on me…I'll pay for them. Is what I meant."

His brow cleared, and he smothered a chuckle of his own. "I'm terribly relieved to hear that," he informed her dryly.

She giggled again. She liked Morning Giles, she decided. He was so…relaxed. Not to mention affectionate…she pushed the thought away. She was stalling, she reminded herself firmly.

"By the way," she asked pointedly, poking him lightly in the chest, "you wouldn't happen to know where little Xander picked up the word 'pillock', would you?"

He flushed. "I didn't think he'd heard that."

"He hears everything," Buffy pointed out. "Especially where you're concerned. You've got yourself quite a little worshipper, there."

Slightly embarrassed by the observation, Giles chuckled. "Yes, well, when he returns to adulthood, I intend to lord that over him to no end."

Buffy smiled. "And he'll be embarrassed, and he'll deny it—and you'll still be his hero. You always were."

He cleared his throat softly, discomfited by the praise. "Interesting way he has of showing it," he remarked grumpily, and Buffy tried not to laugh. Poor Giles. Emotions made him so cranky. Must be because he was British.

Tara shifted again, and her eyes fluttered open. Uh-oh. Time was up.

Buffy sighed as they unwound their limbs, gathering up their little friends. Wistfully, she eyed the bed they were leaving behind. She wished it could be morning all the time.

Giles studied his Slayer surreptitiously over breakfast. Scrambled eggs, again. She really did need to learn to cook.

The morning's events ran through his mind, yet again. He was shocked at himself—at his forwardness. And at her response.

His breath hitched at the memory alone, and he had to force himself to continue eating as though everything was normal. She had responded to him—she'd been warm, and sleepy, and probably he was a bastard for taking advantage of that…but she had responded, all the same.

Could she see him as more than a father-figure? More than a stuffy old Watcher?

It didn't seem possible.

And yet...

The sound of her broken whisper replayed in his mind, his body tightening at the memory. If the children hadn't been there…

But they had. In fact, the children were the only reason he had been there. And when this was over, he was going back to England. Buffy would have a new Watcher, now. He couldn't forget that.

Unless he told her. What did he have to lose, after all? He could tell her, and maybe…

He swallowed, the very thought of her reaction scaring the life out of him. His relationship with Buffy was turning upside down, and he frankly didn't know what to make of it. Her affectionate touches, her frequent praise, and thanks…

And her decision to let the Council replace him in her life.

It didn't make sense.

She was a sight, this morning, as always. Their lingering…encounter…had not given her time to shower before the children were awake and clamoring for her attention. As a result, she was still wandering around in his boxer shorts, filling his mind with images he was still not quite able to act on. It was confusing an already confused situation.

He stood abruptly, startling little Willow. He needed to get some distance. Maybe, with a few hours away, he could figure this thing out.

"I'm leaving for the Magic Box," he told Buffy, who nodded distractedly from her position at the counter, mediating yet another fight between Anya and Xander.

The argument ceased immediately as the kids noticed him leaving. Already accustomed to the new morning ritual, they slid off their chairs, one by one, and followed him to the door, a smiling Buffy on their heels.

He waved goodbye to the little band on the porch, conflicting emotions battling for supremacy. Part of him wanted to keep driving until he reached LA, and hop the first flight back to England, and his calm, uncluttered life there.

And part of him wanted to turn the car around and run back to his makeshift little family, and spend the day—or the year, or his life—basking in childish smiles and morning cuddles.

He needed to research. As soon as he figured out how to restore the kids to their rightful ages, maybe things would calm down.

"What do you mean, it's broken?" Andrew's whiny voice cut into Warren's train of thought, grating on his last nerve.

He glared at his effeminate friend, sick of the constant explanations. They were supposed to be supervillains. You'd think they could figure some things out for themselves.

"I mean," he stressed irritably, "that it's broken. Kaput. This Deceleration Beam has ceased to be! How many languages do you need me to say this in before you get the drift?"

"You could say it in Klingon," suggested Jonathan brightly. "That would be—ow!" He rubbed his arm, shooting Warren a dirty look. "You didn't have to hit me," he complained.

"Can we fix it?" Andrew asked anxiously. "I mean, we didn't get the Slayer—we have to do something!"

Warren growled. "Of course I could fix it," he said, speaking very slowly. "But I need another Mandelusian Orb, which we don't have. Until we get that Orb, this thing is worthless."

"So, where do we find this Orb?" Jonathan asked reasonably.

Rolling his eyes, Warren sighed. These guys were worthless. "Probably LA. That is where we got the first one."

"Cool," Andrew put in. "Road trip!"