It's a misconception that Jenny can't bring herself to correct.
Rupert thinks she's healing. Rupert thinks she can't look at him because she can't forgive him for what he put her through. Rupert thinks she blames him, and she does, but that isn't the reason why she doesn't want to be around him.
Jenny is scared at night. She dreams that Eyghon is back in her body and that she's doing horrible things and that she can feel herself burning up from the inside out, and she wakes up stifling screams. And every single time, her first coherent thought is that she needs Rupert.
Not wants. Needs. She needs to curl into him, breathe in the musty library smell he always seems to have, feel his arms encircle her, hear him tenderly assure her that it'll be all right. Jenny has never needed anyone like that before, never known exactly where she needed to be in order to heal and be comforted.
Because she knows, with terrifying clarity, that she'll find solace in Rupert's arms. That she'll feel safe there, and that within a few days, she'll be somewhat better again. Not entirely better—that's going to take a while—but somewhat better. More so than now, when she jumps at every shadow in her classroom and tries to avoid Willow's worried brown eyes.
It's after the third time she awakens from a bloodcurdling dream with a narrowly swallowed cry that she realizes how deeply and truly she loves Rupert. How although she was hurt by what he hadn't told her about his past, she recognizes the hypocrisy of her being upset about his omissions. There are things in her past, about her family, that she still hasn't told him. Big things. Things that can make her lose even the slightest chance of a future with her wonderful, caring, genuinely precious boyfriend.
Although, what with her responsibilities, a future with Rupert was always out of the question. She'd known that going in. She'd expected a brief fling, something silly and sweet to distract her from her duties, something that would eventually burn out. She'd thought that a future with a snobby British guy who she had nothing in common with wasn't something she really wanted.
She hadn't known that Rupert is the kind of guy who sneaks up stealthily behind her and wraps his arms around her in a hug, kissing the top of her head and eliciting a warm tingle that runs through her body. She hadn't known that Rupert likes criticizing the plots of rom-coms (just like her) and carving jack o' lanterns with intricate designs (the ones she always loves to look at) and kissing her on the tip of her nose just so that he could hear her giggle.
She didn't know that Rupert's the kind of guy who likes to hear her giggle.
But when he's not there, a thousand fears and neuroses fill her head, thoughts of what might go wrong, thoughts of what she already can't change.
Don't get attached to these people, Janna, her uncle had told her. He'd used more words than that, along with a lengthy rant about vengeance, but she had gotten the gist. Making connections had never been what she was here for.
But then…then she had met Rupert. And Willow, and Xander, and Buffy, and she was starting to understand what a family was. Maybe she wasn't exactly part of this one, but even as a casual observer, she could see how close the Scoobies were. Rupert would glance over at Buffy or Willow or (on rare occasions) Xander with fatherly pride, or Xander would come in with a pilfered donut and give it to Willow, or Buffy would sneak up behind Rupert and try to scare him while he was filing (which almost never worked, according to Rupert, but Jenny had seen him jump and drop everything he was holding more than once), and Jenny would recognize that the bonds forged by the Scooby Gang in a little over a year were significantly stronger than what she felt for a family she only halfway knew.
She'd heard, many times, that blood was thicker than water, but she was starting to think that the saying was more than a little bit stupid.
She wants to be part of that family. She wants Xander to care enough about her to give her stolen donuts and she wants Buffy to care enough about her to sneak up and scare her from behind and she wants to get to look over at the kids and feel like she can be proud of them, like she's somehow contributed to the development of the three amazing teens who routinely save Sunnydale. But she can never be a part of anything but her clan, no matter how badly she wishes otherwise.
Jenny lies in her bed and promises herself that everything will be all right. It doesn't seem as convincing as when Rupert had reassured her back in the library, with as much conviction and belief as when he reads her facts out of his archaic volumes.
She gets up and dials his number before mental clarity returns to her. Frightened by her desperation to talk to the man she loves (and god, she wishes she didn't love him so much, because that would make everything so much simpler, wouldn't it), Jenny drops her phone, leaving it off the hook as a reminder to herself to avoid Rupert Giles.
She can do this. She can stop herself from loving him.
She can.