Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter 7

That Morning After Feeling

Something had happened, Dawn could tell. Buffy and Giles were acting weird—even weirder than they normally did, she amended. She was just glad it was Saturday, so she could stay home for a front-row seat.

The kids were feeling crazier than usual today, and everyone was tense, what with their Dad coming back over for lunch…but that didn't explain the funky vibes that were coming off the two of them in waves.

At breakfast, Buffy had seemed to be walking on air. Dawn couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her sister so happy—even when Xander had dumped the…er, freshly-used potty chair all over the bathroom floor, it hadn't seemed to spoil Buffy's mood. Dawn grimaced. It had, however, gone a long way towards spoiling hers.

But for some reason, as the morning wore on, Buffy seemed to get more and more frustrated. Dawn was pretty sure this had something to do with the fact that Giles couldn't seem to look her sister in the eye. He was blushing and stammering more than Dawn had heard him do since his first year in Sunnydale. Twice, when he thought no one was looking, Dawn had caught him smiling in a way that made her think she had a pretty good idea what was going on.

But, boy, if Giles knew what was good for him, he'd say something reassuring to Buffy pretty fast—her sister was getting crankier with every embarrassed glance her Watcher sent her way.

Dawn briefly considered sharing this insight with Giles, but that would probably just mortify him even more, she rationalized. If he and Buffy had actually had sex—which was what Dawn was betting on—then he was not likely to want to discuss it with Buffy's little sister, now was he?

Screw that, she admitted wryly. The truth was, this was too much fun to watch.

The knock at the door startled them all, and Buffy glanced up at the clock with a gasp. Dawn, too, was shocked—was it really eleven o'clock already? None of them had even showered….

Oh, no!

Dawn chewed on her lip to keep from laughing, and tried to decide whether or not it would be a good idea to point out that neither Giles nor Buffy had changed out of their nightclothes. Giles had thrown on a T-shirt, but…well; it was obvious, even to the most casual observer, that Buffy's shirt went with his pants. If they answered the door like that, and it did turn out to be Hank, the pair of them were going to end up pretty damn embarrassed.

An excellent reason not to warn them, she decided, enjoying herself immensely. Because, when these two got flustered? That was comedy.

Buffy thrust a very naked Xander into Giles's surprised arms, and ran for the door. Dawn wished she had some popcorn. This was gonna be good.

Hank drew a deep breath as he heard the footsteps approaching the door. He'd been doing a lot of thinking, and he'd reached a few decisions.

He'd screwed up last night. Royally. He'd had no right to barge into Buffy's life and start making judgments that way—he'd given up that right long ago, although it was hard to admit, even to himself. Okay, so he didn't particularly want his daughter shacking up with some old man. But he did want her to be happy. And here she was with a family of her own—he should be finding a way to be happy about that. He'd come back here wanting to repair his relationship with his daughters. He had a feeling blowing up at Buffy's boyfriend wasn't the ideal way to do that.

So…he'd start over. He'd apologize, even if he had to choke on the words to do it, and he'd make this work. He would.

Buffy opened the door, looking frazzled. If it hadn't been for the fact that she appeared to be wearing half of someone's breakfast—were those scrambled eggs sticking out of the pocket of her pajamas?—he would have guessed that she had just tumbled out of bed. Hank flinched slightly at the thought. Better not to go there.

In the background, the three little girls were sitting, enthralled, in front of a movie on the TV. Giles was attempting to wrestle the little boy—Hank realized he didn't even know the children's names—into a pull-up diaper. He was…

Oh, hell. He was wearing the bottom half of Buffy's pajamas.

Hank cringed. This was going to be harder than he'd thought.

"Dad," Buffy said breathlessly. "I'm so sorry—it's been a crazed morning. Come on in, just let us get settled."

He stepped through the door, trying very hard not to think about the details of the pajama-sharing. Maybe he should come back later.

Wait, he told himself firmly. He'd already come back later. Later was now, and if he didn't do this now, he'd never do it at all.

With that thought in mind, he turned to face the man in the living room. He'd better get this over with.

"I owe you an apology," he said frankly. "I was out of line last night. This meeting is very hard for me," he confessed. "I kept picturing my daughters as this tiny, broken little family, rattling around in this big house all alone. I hated that thought—and I hated that it was my fault..." He turned briefly to Buffy. "I'm so sorry," he said plainly. "I should have been here." He turned to Dawn, who was watching him closely.

Turning back to Giles, he drew a breath. "I can't say I'm happy about Buffy being with you," honesty compelled him to admit. "I would have liked for her to be with someone…a little closer to her own age. And I certainly would have liked for her to have more time before—well, a family."

"Dad," Buffy interrupted, but Hank held up a hand to quiet her, never taking his eyes off the startled gaze of the man in front of him.

"No, Buffy. If I don't say this now, I'll never say it." He squared his shoulders, offering Giles a nod. "It may take me some time to get used to this," he went on, forcing the words past his throat. "But I want you to know that I will get used to it. The most important thing to me is that Buffy has found someone to love. It's very obvious my girls have a loving family here. As long as you make them happy, I will get used to anything."

There was a long, tense silence. The librarian looked as if Hank had punched him squarely in the solar plexus. Behind him, Buffy was staring, open-mouthed, at her father.

It was Dawn who broke the silence, watching from the doorway to the kitchen. Without warning, she burst out laughing. And kept laughing. For a long, long time.

Hank's jaw dropped. Of all the reactions he'd expected, it hadn't been this. He turned to Buffy and Giles, hoping they would have an explanation for this, but to his surprise, Buffy seemed to be fighting a smile of her own. Even the librarian's eyes were twinkling, although he looked more embarrassed than anything.

Mildly irritated, Hank drew himself up. "Did I say something funny?" he demanded, more than a little wounded that his heartfelt speech was clearly the cause of the hilarity.

Buffy cleared her throat, her lips twitching. "Um, no, Dad. It's just…listen, that was—that was maybe the nicest thing anyone's ever said. And we appreciate it, we do,…it's just—"

She glanced helplessly at the older man, who stepped in smoothly.

"I believe that what Buffy is trying to say," he offered, scooping the freshly-diapered little boy up into his arms, "is that these are not our children."

Hank blinked. "N-not yours?" he asked, relief flooding over him. "Oh, thank god. Then what—"

"We are…er, babysitting," Giles replied, glancing at Buffy as if for confirmation. "For—ahem—well, for some friends of ours."

This set both Buffy and Dawn off into gales of renewed laughter—even the librarian was clearly trying to suppress a grin—but Hank was too caught up in his relief to care what joke he'd missed. They weren't Buffy's children. Slowly, Hank's world was starting to right itself.

"And…you and Buffy?" He probably didn't want to know, not really, but he couldn't have stopped the question from popping out of his mouth to save his life.

In the doorway, Dawn straightened up, listening avidly.

Giles cleared his throat again, looking a little helpless. "W-we are..." He seemed to be looking for something to say. "We're just…very good friends," he finally offered weakly.

Well. That sounded like bullshit to Hank—

His eye fell on Buffy, standing behind the Englishman, and his breath caught in his throat. A fleeting expression flashed across her features—something stunned and shattered, and bewildered all at once. It was gone almost before he saw it, but even once it passed, her eyes were dark and wounded.

So. It was like that, was it?

Buffy loved the librarian. Apparently, the feeling wasn't mutual—Hank fought the sudden urge to bury his fist in this man's face. He gave himself a mental shake. Last night, he'd wanted to hit this man because he was sleeping with his daughter. Now, he wanted to hit him because he wasn't. What the hell was wrong with him?

Wait a minute—hadn't Dawn said…? She had—she'd said "their bed". And Buffy was wearing this guy's pajamas, so…had the man slept with his daughter, only to reject her?

Hank drew a breath. He was over-reacting, big-time. He didn't know a single thing about the situation, and he needed to remember that. Whatever was going on, here, it was between the two of them. Buffy wasn't Daddy's little girl anymore.

But maybe…maybe she needed a friend?

"Can I take you out to lunch?" he asked Buffy abruptly. "You and Dawn, both," he added. Whatever was going on, here, Dawn seemed to be aware of it—and he'd like to see both of his daughters, if he could. He was going to have to catch a plane later tonight, and this might be his last chance. At least for another month or so.

Buffy nodded slowly, then changed her mind and shook her head. "I can't—the kids," she explained. "You should take Dawn, though—"

Giles put his hand on Buffy's arm, lightly. "You should go," he said softly. "I can take care of things, here."

Dawn snorted at that, and even Buffy cracked a smile. "Uh…Giles," she said quietly, shaking her head, "I don't think that's a very good idea—they're a handful, and—"

"You don't think I can do it!" the librarian accused, a slightly playful expression entering his eyes.

Buffy's face lightened considerably at the sight, and she smiled so brightly it was almost blinding. "They'd eat you alive," she said plainly, relief etched on every feature.

Hank watched the exchange with interest. Maybe they'd only had a fight, he speculated. And now they were teasing, and making up—he sighed. He was giving up—he was never going to understand what was going on here, unless someone decided to tell him.

Giles huffed. "What was it you said?" he asked Buffy lightly. ""I think I can handle eight hours alone with a few small children?""

Buffy gaped at him, incredulous. "But I was wrong!" she pointed out.

"I'll only have to watch them for, what? An hour?" Giles touched Buffy's arm again, lightly. "Go—I'll be fine. Won't I, Dawn?"

He turned to the younger girl, obviously expecting her support, only to find her grinning widely at him. "Not a chance," she told him brightly. "Come on, Buff. Let's get dressed."

"We can't leave him here alone with them," Buffy objected. "We only have so much insurance on the house—" She broke off, laughing, when he smacked her lightly on the arm.

"You will go," the older man told her firmly. "And when you return, and see how well I have managed, I will expect a full apology. And perhaps…a cookie."

Buffy giggled at what was obviously an inside joke. "I'll do better than a cookie," she promised. "When we get back, if you have lasted an hour—one hour—with those little beasts, and no one is dead, or seriously injured, I won't make you eat my cooking the rest of the time you're here."

"A powerful incentive, to be sure," the Englishman muttered, and it was his turn for a smack on the arm. He smiled. "Now, go."

Buffy stared aimlessly out the window, as her father drove them home. Lunch had been surprisingly nice. Her father had clearly been prodding for information about herself and Giles several times, but Buffy had blown him off. For some reason, Giles hadn't been ready to tell her father about them, yet, and that was fine with her.

She'd been so scared. First, he'd barely been able to look at her all morning, and then to hear him say so bluntly that they were 'just good friends'…she hadn't known what to think. She had been terrified…was he having second thoughts?

It wasn't until he'd been so light and flirty that she'd realized she was over-reacting. Of course, Giles just didn't want to make any big announcements yet. After all, they hadn't even had a chance to talk to each other yet this morning. Every time she'd hoped to get him alone, to talk about this morning, some child-related distraction had gotten in the way. Buffy couldn't wait for the Scoobies to return to full size.

Anyway, it didn't matter. Giles hadn't been rejecting her, only ditching questions from a nosy father. Not that Buffy could blame him. Her relief was so intense that she'd barely paid attention through lunch. She couldn't stop thinking about the morning…about that kiss.

Remembering it now, she sighed happily. It was incredible—he was incredible—and for the first time, she knew without a doubt, something in her screwed-up life was finally going to be perfect.

Because Giles was perfect.

And, she thought tenderly, remembering his 'bedtime story', she couldn't settle for less than the best.

A movement in the bushes outside the car window caught her eye. "Slow down!" she hissed at her father, who obeyed without thinking.

A blonde boy, dressed all in black, was creeping slowly through the bushes toward a house not far from her own. While she watched in bemusement, he turned his head, looking every which way, before opening an old-fashioned storm-cellar door.

Who ever heard of storm cellars in California, anyway?

She gasped when the guy looked in their direction. That was—what's-his-name—Trevor's brother! One of the Nerd Herd! She nudged Dawn, pointing, and watched the light click on. This was the hideout!

Clearly, Trevor's brother wasn't very good at being Stealth Guy. He looked right at the rental car, but, unable to see in through the tinted windows, it had apparently not occurred to him to care. He slipped down into the storm cellar, closing the door behind him, and Buffy shook her head. Idiot. She memorized the house number, wishing she could go down there and haul them out by their hair. Not in front of Dad, she told herself firmly. This would all be over soon enough.

She almost laughed, she was so happy, until she noticed her father looking at her oddly. "Sorry," she said lamely. "Thought I saw someone I knew."

He didn't look like he believed her, but with a weary expression, he nodded and kept driving. Her poor father. He'd been handed a lot of flimsy excuses over the years. It was a shame he seemed to be finally catching on that they were so flimsy. That was going to make things harder.

Oh, well. He was leaving tonight. She was bummed to see him go—more so than she would have expected, actually—but it would certainly make her life easier.

She kissed him lightly on the cheek, promising to call him in a week, and she and Dawn tumbled eagerly from the car. She needed to go inside and let Giles know what she'd found. The sooner they returned their friends to normal, the sooner she and Giles could commence with the repeat performance of this morning's smooch-fest. And that was simply not something she was willing to wait for.

They burst through the door, only to stop dead in their tracks.

"Oh, my god," murmured Dawn, staring around her with fascinated dismay.

The living room was a shambles. The package of Pull-Ups had been raided, and diapers littered the room. The hall table had been knocked over. The basket of newspapers in the corner had been…well, it looked like they'd been shredded. Buffy went on Full Demon Alert.

"Stay back," she whispered to Dawn, cold fear settling in her stomach.

A sound from the kitchen made her freeze. Moving as quickly and silently as she could, she headed for the doorway, casting about for a weapon as she went.

"Xander, no!"

The harried British voice washed over her in a rush of relief. Amusement came hot on its heels. So, the Watcher hadn't fared so well after all, had he? If the living room was anything to go by, he may actually require hospitalization. Well, she'd warned him.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead. A half a step behind her, Dawn started cracking up. Buffy did a better job of fighting it, but not for long.

Giles had clearly been trying to feed the children lunch. All four children were wearing more than they were eating, but none more so than Xander, who was actually wearing his bowl of Spaghetti-O's on his head like a hat. Sauce and noodles were sliding down his cheeks and neck—and the little terror was enjoying every moment of it. A bright smile on his face, he was cheerfully beating the table-top like a drum with a pair of spoons.

One of the spoons was, apparently, Anya's—and she wasn't taking it well. Giles—wearing a healthy serving of Spaghetti-O's, himself—was holding her, presumably to keep her from killing Xander, and the little girl was writhing in his arms, snatching at the spoon every time Xander had it on the up-swing. When she failed to grab it, she'd take a swing at the boy himself. Despite her confinement, some of them were coming close to connecting.

Tara was watching the scene wide-eyed, eating her food mechanically and often, in her distraction, missing her mouth entirely. In the midst of all this chaos sat Willow, the lone, angelic child, calmly eating her meal and very carefully paying no attention to the disruption.

Which, Buffy had now been around them long enough to know, meant that somehow—she didn't know how—the little witch had probably instigated the whole thing. Willow's trademark Innocent-Orphan-Eyes had been revealed for the sham they were; the tiny redhead, at three years old, was already using them well and wisely. She'd start trouble, and then stand back and let the damage fly, gazing innocently at the adults as if to say, 'What? I'm just sitting here, don't mind me.'

The laughter welled up until Buffy couldn't fight it anymore, and she laughed until she had to lean against the wall for support.

Giles looked up from the altercation, genuine panic written all over his face. "You have to help me!' he cried, barely avoiding getting one of Anya's swinging fists directly in the eye. "I can't—they're too…you have to help!"

It took a few minutes to catch her breath, but when she did, she stood to help, still giggling. "Ohhh…Giles." She wiped her eyes, walking over to the table. "You are so…stupid."

His offended look only made her laugh harder.

"Why—why­—would you try to feed them without help?" she managed.

"Well, you did it," he retorted huffily, sounding so much like a three-year-old, himself, that Buffy snorted out loud, startling Xander mid-drum-beat. Shaking her head, Buffy managed to get herself under control. She scooped up Xander, carrying him—bowl and all—to the kitchen sink.

"Did it ever occur to you," she asked mildly, pulling out a towel, "that I may have had some babysitting experience?" She was grinning so hard her face hurt. "I've never taken care of four of them at once, but I have had at least some experience with babies before, Giles. And even so, you saw how well my days went." She carefully removed the bowl, holding Xander's head over the sink. Using the towel to wipe away the worst of the mess, she gave her Watcher a fond glance over her shoulder. "Have you ever taken care of even one child by yourself?"

His dark glower was answer enough. She chuckled again, shaking her head. "For future reference," she told him, undressing the little boy until only his diaper remained, and dumping the sauce-covered clothes in the sink, "don't try anything ambitious. It'll only get you in trouble."

He glared, stomping into the kitchen and holding Anya in his outstretched arms, clearly waiting for Buffy to take the little girl and clean her up.

Glancing around for Dawn, Buffy discovered that her traitorous sister had deserted the scene. With nothing for it, she handed Xander to her Watcher, smirking as she took Anya from him. "You'll need to go run a bath," she advised him. "I can take care of things down here."

Clearly happy to be going anywhere that was "else," Giles nodded and made for the stairs, Xander dangling under his arm like a sack of potatoes. The little boy was giggling madly.

Buffy smiled as she turned back to the sink. She couldn't wait to have kids with Giles. He was so adorably inept. She flipped on the faucet, preparing to wipe away the worst of Anya's mess.

Life on the Hellmouth, she mused, still grinning. It was never boring.