Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Six

Outside Looking In

Hank Summers stared at the daughter he hadn't seen since—oh, hell. Years. At least. A twinge of familiar guilt ate at him, but he shoved it aside, offering a friendly smile at Buffy and her…friend.

"It's good to see you again," he told her, and meant it—he hadn't ever meant to let things go for so long. She looked…shell-shocked.

"Dad," she repeated, her voice a little strangled. "Oh, my god. I forgot-"

He stepped forward, concerned. "Buffy, it's okay," he assured her. "I should have called to remind you I was coming."

This didn't appear to have the reassuring effect he'd been hoping for. She was just staring at him, mouth slightly agape. The older man with her didn't look much happier.

Who was this guy, anyway?

"I knocked," he remarked, trying to fill the empty air their silence was leaving behind, "but nobody answered. Where's Dawnie?"

Buffy and her friend traded a complicated look. "Maybe she didn't hear the knock," Buffy replied finally, her tone evasive and carefully neutral. "Also, it's dark. We, uh…we don't like her answering the door after dark."

This startled a laugh out of him. "Even for her father?" he asked lightly. "It's good to be cautious, but that seems a little over-the-top, don't you think?"

Apparently, they did not. Another of those mysterious glances swept between them, and then the older man put a gentle hand on Buffy's shoulder. Hank's eyes narrowed.

'Perhaps we should take this inside," the man suggested, with a pointed glance over his shoulder. Buffy nodded, and the gesture had a helpless look.

"Uh, Dad…" she began, unlocking the door. "I have to warn you…this is a—well, this is kind of a really bad time. Maybe…maybe we could hook up tomorrow?"

The rejection stung, just a little, but Hank took it like a man. He'd been gone a long time—he'd made a lot of mistakes, and he could hardly expect his daughters to drop everything now, just because he wanted to have dinner. He drew a breath, forcing himself to respond lightly.

"No problem," he said smoothly. "I'll just come in and say hi to Dawn, if that's all right?"

Another strange look. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that these two were having whole conversations he didn't understand, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Who was this man—and what was he doing with Buffy?

The stranger was tall, and British, and oddly familiar. He looked close to Hank's own age, which immediately made him wonder what the man's place was in his daughters' lives. Was this, perhaps, Joyce's boyfriend? Had he taken a substitute-father role? The thought brought a new wave of resentment, but he forced it down, telling himself he should be grateful the man had stuck around. Even after Joyce's death.

It was more than he had managed to do.

When had he lost control of his life so completely?

Buffy had opened the door while he was lost in his inner monologue, and now she was looking at him expectantly. He hesitated for a moment, figuring he owed it to her to at least wait to be invited. This was her house, now, and he had a feeling it wouldn't go over well if he suddenly turned back up expecting to play the father again, all at once.

She merely gazed at him silently, as if waiting for something. So did the man she was with. There was something very strange about the whole thing, and Hank was growing frustrated with his inability to understand what was going on.

Eventually, with nothing else to do, he gave her a little nod and stepped through the door. She sighed a little, and it sounded almost like relief.

What was going on?

"So, Buffy, are you going to introduce me to your friend?" He managed a friendly smile at the British man, who was staring at him with a carefully neutral expression.

Buffy closed the front door, sighing. "Yeah. Of course. Um, Dad, this is Rupert Giles." She turned to the older guy with a little shrug. "Giles, my dad. Hank Summers."

Mr. Giles held out his hand, and Hank shook it, something teasing at the back of his mind. Rupert Giles. Wasn't that—

His face lightened. "You're the librarian from Buffy's old school," he announced with a wide smile. Joyce had told him that Buffy had grown close to the man, and that he had helped their young daughter with everything from studying to some sort of martial arts training. Joyce had smothered a laugh when she'd said it, and Hank wondered idly if Buffy was any good.

Mr. Giles, hesitated, and then nodded, smiling somewhat weakly. "Yes. Yes, I am. You have a very special family, Mr. Summers."

Hank gazed proudly at Buffy. "Yes, I do," he agreed. Turning to the librarian, he smiled. "I understand you've been something of a mentor to my little girl, here."

Buffy stiffened, and Hank instantly regretted the words 'little girl'. She evidently chose not to say anything about it, settling for squaring her shoulders.

Mr. Giles was giving Buffy a quizzical glance. "Y-yes," he stammered, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I suppose you could say—"

"He's my friend, Dad." Buffy interrupted the older man's stuttering.

Hank blinked. All right, then. Friend it was.

"Buffy!" Dawn's voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and Buffy's shoulders stiffened, her eyes widening in what looked like alarm. "You have to come up here! And bring Giles—you guys gotta see this. Xander and Tara are all cuddled up in the middle of your guys' bed…it's so cute…" Her voice trailed off as she came into view, stopping dead at the top of the stairwell. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at her father. "Oh, crap," she muttered.

Hank was hardly listening. Their bed? This man—her high school librarian—was sleeping with his daughter? With her teenaged sister under the same roof?

Buffy was holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "Dad, this isn't what it—"

"What the hell is going on here?" Hank bellowed, unable to let this go. Buffy may have every right to be angry, but she was still his daughter, and he would not see her taken advantage of by some old man—

"—looks like," Buffy finished lamely, closing her eyes.

"Don't yell!" Dawn was whispering heatedly, casting quick glances over her shoulder. "You'll wake the—"

A childish cry interrupted her, followed by another, and then another.

Hank froze.

"Dad," Buffy said warningly, her hand coming out to rest on his arm, "don't freak out. This isn't what you think, okay? Don't freak out," she begged again.

While Hank stared, cold with shock, a little boy stumbled to the front of the hall, rubbing his sleepy, tear-filled eyes. Two little blonde girls followed, one of them pausing to cling to Dawn's leg, staring, wide-eyed, at the newcomer in the hall. A redhead brought up the rear. All four children were crying, and the three that weren't clinging to Dawn's leg were scooting down the stairs on their butts, stretching their arms toward Buffy and the man everyone seemed to refer to as 'Giles'.

With simultaneous, weary sighs, Buffy and Giles moved forward. Buffy scooped the little boy and the remaining blonde girl into her arms, crooning softly and making comforting sounds. Giles picked up the redhead, smoothing her long hair with one big hand, and murmuring softly into her ear. For the moment, both his daughter and her…her lover, Hank thought with disgust, seemed content to ignore him entirely, focusing all their attention on the children.

Movement at the top of the stairs caught his eye, and he watched as Dawn scooped up the fourth toddler and made her way downstairs. She didn't look particularly happy with him, Hank noticed.

"Happy now?" she demanded in a whisper as she passed. "They were sleeping!" She hesitated, then added, "Oh, and, uh…hi, Dad."

In spite of himself, Hank felt the urge to apologize. He tamped it down. What was he apologizing for? Buffy had kids? Four of them? With her librarian?

He couldn't figure out what made him the angriest.

Buffy saw his face, shaking her head firmly at him. "Dad, I'm warning you. Don't say something you're going to regret. You have no idea what's going on, here, so just…watch it."

He stiffened. "Then somebody better explain what's going on here!" he retorted hotly.

With a hiss, his eldest daughter shushed him. "You're upsetting them!" she whispered harshly. "Now. Just sit down, and wait here. Or better yet, go. We'll see you tomorrow, and we can explain everything, I swear—"

"If you think I'm leaving this house before I know what's going on," Hank began, but Buffy cut him off, rolling her eyes.

Buffy looked tired. "Dad, I'm begging you. Tomorrow, okay? We're all really tired—in case you haven't noticed, we are taking care of four children. I need to sleep. Just…this can all be explained. All right?"

Against his better judgment, Hank sighed and capitulated. They did look tired. "I'll be back in the morning," he conceded, walking to the door. "We'll talk over breakfast."

"Lunch," Buffy contradicted. "Mornings are crazy around here."

With a last nod, Hank left. His mind was racing.

Just what the hell had been going on since he'd been gone?

The children were in bed. Giles finished changing his clothes, sighing. It had been a long day.

He stepped into the bedroom he was sharing with Buffy—he still hadn't gotten used to those words—and smiled at the sight of her sleeping form. The poor girl; she was bearing the brunt of all this.

He slipped into bed as carefully as possible, trying not to wake her. She stirred, anyway, her eyes fluttering open in the darkness. She gave him a sweet, sleepy smile. His heart melted.

"Giles?" she whispered in the darkness.

"Yes?"

There was a long pause, and then she murmured, "What would you do if I kissed you?"

He froze. His heart stopped, then began beating loudly in his ears. He couldn't have heard that correctly. "P-pardon?"

"If I kissed you," she repeated, her voice heavy with sleep. "What would you do?"

He turned to stare at her in the darkness, searching her face for signs that she was mocking him. Finding none, he drew a deep breath—and took the plunge.

"I imagine," he managed, his voice hoarse, "th-that I would kiss you back."

Silence. To Giles, it felt eternal.

Eventually, she shifted, curling up to lay against him and burrowing her head against his chest.

"Good," she replied, so softly he could barely hear her. With a contented sigh, she fell asleep.

He was shaking, he realized. The moment played again and again in his mind.

If I kissed you…what would you do?

Gazing at his sleeping Slayer, Giles allowed a smile to creep across his face. She wanted to kiss him. He had to fight to suppress a joyful, triumphant laugh.

She wanted to kiss him!

Morning dawned bright and sunny, and Buffy cringed, not wanting to open her eyes. The bed was so warm, and Giles was holding her, and…if she could just stay in this moment forever, life would be perfect. Waking up meant taking care of four tiny Scoobies. Waking up meant facing her father's untimely visit, and the endless explanations they would have to give…. Waking up meant badness.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Now that she'd gone and thought about it, the badness was creeping in, whether she wanted it to or not.

Or maybe not.

Her breath hitched. Giles was already awake, staring at her with an expression she couldn't read. He wasn't tracing any sexy little circles, but he hadn't moved from their now-familiar entwined position, either.

"Good morning," he greeted softly, his voice sounding strange. Husky. Gritty. Cautious.

She smiled at him, wondering what was going on. "Good morning."

He gazed at her for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. "Xander and Tara don't appear to have made an appearance last night," he observed, studying her closely.

What was he—oh.

Realization hit her like a punch in the stomach, and her breath hitched in her throat.

They were alone.

Suddenly, their tangled position took on almost unbearably exciting new implications. Her heart raced. He didn't move, she thought again, and now the thought was bigger, more meaningful than it had been before. He didn't move.

(I imagine I would kiss you back.) He wanted to kiss her—he wanted her. The admission was there, in his hand on her hip, in the way his legs wound around her own. This was Giles. And he wanted this. It was the single, most powerfully erotic thought she'd ever had.

She was so nervous, she couldn't breathe. It was time.

She didn't bother with flirty banter, or coy teasing. She simply dropped her gaze deliberately to that soft, full lower lip that had always fascinated her so much, and leaned forward.

He was passive, at first, not responding—not even breathing. As though he were afraid to believe this was real, he held very still while she learned the contours of his mouth, the taste of his breath. His lips were warm, and soft, and if he didn't touch her, she was going to go insane. She pulled away slowly, hesitantly.

A shaky breath hissed between his lips, and his eyes were glazed with heat. His own gaze dropped to her mouth, and she suddenly found she needed air. She sucked in a breath, waiting, and the moment seemed to go on forever, and she was going to die, and—

And he was kissing her. The world fell apart.

A houseful of people could walk in at any moment. Dawn could be scarred for life.

Buffy didn't care. Soft, curious experimentation was giving way to a hot, thorough exploration that was stealing her ability to breathe, to think. She didn't care about that, either.

All she cared about was his mouth. Oh, god, his mouth. She couldn't believe this was Giles—that he could kiss this way, that he could kiss her this way. But—oh, god—he could kiss.

Somewhere, in the recesses of her mind, she had expected kissing Giles to be…soft. Slow. Sweet—almost painfully so.

She'd been wrong.

His mouth was hot, demanding, slanting over hers until she opened for him. His tongue swept boldly into her mouth, his fingers tightening against her hip, and he tugged her body closer to his until she came flush against him. Showing her, with his mouth—with his body—how he wanted her.

A giddy, feminine triumph washed over her at the thought, even as heat pooled low in her belly. She slid her hand up the heated skin of his chest, pausing to learn the texture of soft, crisp curls beneath her fingers. She shivered at the sound of his low groan.

His hand flattened against her back, dragging her even closer. Without warning, he rolled them until she was beneath him, grinding his hips against hers. It was her turn to moan. She gazed up at him, stunned. His eyes were bright and hot, staring into hers. His hands tangled in her hair, and he ravished her mouth like a starving man. She was lost—melting and burning and dying, and—

"Tisses!"

The childish voice broke into the moment with all the finesse of a charging bull. Buffy and Giles sprang apart, gazing in horror at the sight of little Willow, who had somehow managed to get into the room and seat herself on the foot of the bed. She clapped her little hands. "Tisses!" she cried again, and clambered up the bed with more eagerness than grace.

Without warning, the little girl planted one chubby hand firmly on each of Giles's cheeks and planted a smacking kiss squarely on his mouth. The expression on his face was…priceless. He couldn't have been more surprised if the Hellmouth had opened up right there in the bedroom.

Willow didn't seem to notice his astonishment. Obviously intent on including herself in the affection, she turned to Buffy, bestowing a sweet childish kiss directly on her lips. Buffy's aggravation at her aborted smoochies melted instantly, right along with her heart. She had to try very hard not to crush Willow's tiny body in the hug she swept the little girl into.

Giles, too, seemed to be experiencing some squishy feelings. Buffy's own eyes stung when she saw the telltale glitter in his, and she wondered fleetingly if it were the first time a child had ever kissed the usually-taciturn man. She gave him a shaky smile, regretfully climbing from the bed, Willow in her arms.

There was a slightly awkward silence. Buffy refused to allow that—no way was he going to get away with backing out of this one. He'd been kissing her, and he'd enjoyed it. She had proof.

At the thought, her body flushed, and she made sure he saw her expression. "Next time, we'll lock the door," she murmured.

He blushed deeply, and she laughed. Turning to the door, she glanced back, giving him a saucy wink, and finally headed off down the hall with a little sigh.

Breakfast for seven, coming up.