Chapter Six
It was Monday morning, and Rose stood outside the walls of Sunnydale High, staring at the cold, unyielding concrete. She had spent Sunday locked away in her room, replaying the events of Saturday over and over in her mind. The memories were all too clear—Giles, the magic, the heat between them. While the others seemed to have moved on, pretending as if the madness of Ethan's spell had never happened, Rose remembered everything. Maybe Giles didn't remember. The thought gnawed at her. If he did, how could he live with the guilt? How could she?
"Hey, Rose," Willow's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "How are you… umm… feeling today?"
Rose hesitated, torn between the truth and what was easier. "A little out of sorts. Saturday's kind of a blur, and I had the worst brain fog yesterday."
Willow's eyes widened with concern. "So you don't remember anything after Friday?"
"I remember talking to Mr. Giles about some books, then you, Buffy, and Xander brought us that chocolate, but after that…" She shrugged, feigning confusion.
"Are you heading to class?" Willow asked, though her tone suggested she wasn't sure if she should leave Rose alone.
"I was going to stop by the library first," Rose said, her voice tightening. The weight of what she needed to do pressed down on her chest.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Willow asked, too quickly.
"No, I'll be fine. I just need to grab a book." Rose offered a tight smile, sensing Willow's worry but brushing it aside. She needed to speak to Giles, and she needed to do it alone. "I'll meet you in English in like ten minutes, okay?"
Willow lingered for a moment before nodding. "Okay…"
Rose's stomach twisted as she approached the library. Her pulse quickened, each step pulling her closer to the confrontation she wasn't sure she was ready for. When she pushed open the library door, the familiar scent of old books and polished wood greeted her. Giles stood near the shelves, his back to her as he slid a book into its place.
He turned at the sound of her entrance, his face shifting from mild curiosity to a rigid mask as his gaze landed on her. "Good morning, Mr. Giles," Rose greeted, her voice unsteady.
"Mr. Giles," he muttered, almost to himself, like the title was a bitter joke.
"Could we talk for a moment?" Rose's heart raced as memories of Saturday flooded her mind—Giles's touch, their kiss, him on top of her, and their magical connection.
"Of… of course. What can I help you with today?" His voice was composed, but his movements were stiff. He stayed rooted in place, his hands buried deep in his pockets, as if afraid to move closer.
"I remember everything," Rose said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Giles's eyes hardened. "Remember what?"
Rose stepped forward. "Are we really going to do this, Rupert?"
At the mention of his name, Giles flinched. He stepped back, retreating as if her words burned. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ms. Murphy. And I'd prefer if you referred to me as Mr. Giles."
Rose's shoulders sagged, her heart sinking at his cold tone. "Is this how it's going to be now? We weren't in control. It wasn't—"
"Again, Ms. Murphy, I don't know what you're talking about," Giles interrupted, his voice sharper now, a strained edge cutting through his usual calm. His gaze locked on hers, but there was something behind it—a flicker of pain, of self-loathing that he was trying so hard to hide.
Rose felt her pulse throb in her throat. "We need to talk about what happened."
Giles's face twisted, and he took two steps forward, his shoes hitting the floor with a hard, deliberate thud. The sound echoed through the library like a gavel coming down. "I am your elder! I took advantage of you!" His voice rose, the rawness in his tone betraying the facade of composure he was struggling to maintain. "What happened between us was a mistake—a violation of everything I stand for. And we will never speak of it again. Do you understand?"
Rose stood frozen, her breath caught in her chest. The pain in his voice was undeniable, but so was the anger, the regret. He was consumed by it, suffocating under the weight of his guilt, and it was tearing him apart.
She took a hesitant step forward. "Please, I just—"
"I am a mentor at this school. You are its student. There is nothing more to say." His voice cracked slightly, betraying him for a brief second before the cold mask returned. "If you don't need academic assistance, I suggest you leave."
Rose's hands balled into fists at her sides. "Fine," she said, her voice trembling with frustration. "If you can't be an adult and talk about this, then I'll leave. But we can't pretend it didn't happen, because it did."
Giles's jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rose thought he might break. But instead, he turned away, his shoulders stiff. "There is nothing to discuss. Now please… leave before you're late for class."
Turning on her heel, Rose left the library, her mind reeling. She could feel the pressure in her chest building, the lump in her throat making it hard to swallow. She was never one to get emotional, but it was taking everything in her not to cry as she walked down the long, dimly lit halls toward her class. The walls seemed to close in around her, and the sounds of students' distant chatter barely reached her ears. All she could hear was the echo of Giles's harsh words, the cold dismissal ringing louder than any bell.
When she finally reached her classroom, Rose was relieved to find that Willow was nowhere to be seen. She needed a moment to collect herself, to get her emotions in check before facing anyone else. Sitting in her usual seat, Rose let her shoulders slump, her body sagging with the weight of exhaustion and frustration. She retrieved her books from her bag, but they felt like dead weight in her hands.
Minutes passed. Still, no Willow. Rose tapped her fingers absently on the desk, her eyes drifting to the clock. Just as the bell rang, Willow slipped in through the doorway, rushing over to sit across from Rose, slightly breathless.
"Willow, where have you been?" Rose asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
"Sorry, Buffy needed something," Willow replied quickly, her words tumbling out as if she'd rehearsed them in her head on the way. She glanced nervously at Rose, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "So, umm… did you find the book you were looking for?"
The question felt off, like Willow was trying too hard, still probing for something Rose wasn't ready to talk about. It hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken questions.
"No," Rose said, her tone flat. "The library didn't have what I was looking for."
Willow's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, searching for any sign of what Rose might be hiding. But Rose kept her expression neutral, unwilling to let anyone in—not even Willow. The rest of the class passed in a blur, but Rose couldn't shake the sense that Willow was still watching her, trying to figure her out.
As the morning crawled by, Rose couldn't help but notice that Willow stayed unusually close, sticking by her side through their classes and even while walking the halls. It was as if she was keeping an eye on her, making sure Rose didn't slip away, both physically and emotionally.
Now, standing in line for lunch, Willow cleared her throat, her voice tentative. "So, the gang was going to go to the Bronze tonight, and I wondered if you wanted to come with?"
Rose hesitated, the thought of being around everyone made her stomach tighten. "I don't know. I was kind of just planning on catching up on some sleep after studying tonight."
"Please come," Willow pressed, her voice hopeful. "We could even study together after classes today before we go."
Rose sighed, glancing at her friend. Willow's eyes were wide, pleading, and it was hard to say no when she looked like that. "Fine, but I don't want to stay out too late."
"Scout's honor, we'll leave before nine," Willow replied with a bright smile, raising her palm in a mock salute.
"You weren't in Scouts, were you?" Rose asked, a small, reluctant laugh escaping her lips.
"Nope," Willow said, her grin widening.
Rose blinked, trying to suppress the laughter that was bubbling up against her will. She didn't want to feel better. She wanted to be angry, to wallow in her own self-pity. But, as always, Willow was making that impossible.
As they moved through the cafeteria line, Willow continued chatting, her voice light and filled with that familiar, rambling quality Rose had come to rely on.
"So, did you figure out that math problem yet?" Willow asked, grabbing a tray and loading it with food, her movements quick and practiced.
Rose sighed. "Barely. Why does Mr. Hopkins insist on making everything feel like quantum physics? It's geometry, not rocket science."
Willow giggled. "He does like to make everything sound ten times more complicated than it is. I spent an hour on that stupid triangle problem before I realized I'd read the question wrong."
Xander appeared next to them, tray in hand. "Math talk? Really? I thought we had a sacred, unspoken rule: no math during lunch. Or, you know, ever."
Rose gave him a tight smile. "Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities, Xander."
"Look, I'm just saying," he replied, mock-serious. "Math is like... the broccoli of school subjects. Nobody really wants it, but they tell you it's good for you."
Buffy joined them as they reached the end of the line, sliding into the conversation easily. "Yeah, but you can smother broccoli in cheese. Can't really do that with math."
Xander grinned. "True, true. Cheese does make everything better."
Willow laughed as they headed toward their usual table. "Maybe we could start a petition to replace math with cheese appreciation. You'd actually ace that class, Xander."
"Finally, a subject I can excel in!" he said with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
Buffy rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched in amusement. "You'd probably get extra credit for knowing all the different kinds."
Rose stayed quiet as they sat down, her tray feeling heavier than it should have. The conversation buzzed around her, but her mind kept drifting back to the morning, to Giles's sharp voice and icy demeanor. She forced herself to focus on the here and now, trying to ground herself in the normalcy of lunchtime with her friends.
The rest of the conversation was light, the usual banter flying around the table, but beneath it, Rose could feel the tension. It was subtle, but there—like an undercurrent no one wanted to acknowledge. She could feel Xander's eyes on her, his glances lingering too long, and she knew exactly what he was thinking about. The memory of her—half-naked, vulnerable—flickered in his mind just as it did in hers.
She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, the familiar shame washing over her like a wave. But she reminded herself again and again—it wasn't her. It wasn't her choice. What she did wasn't the real her.
At least, not the her she wanted to be.
When lunch ended, the group began to scatter, heading off to their respective classes. Willow, whom Rose wouldn't see again until the end of the day, was walking backward, her usual awkward enthusiasm lighting up her face.
"So, meet you at the library at three!" she called out, her voice bright as she spun around and sprinted down the hall before Rose could even respond.
Rose watched her disappear, a groan escaping her lips as she muttered under her breath, "Dammit."