!fanfic! BtVS Dawn/Giles fic: New Sun Rising for joss100 Part One

So I started writing the fics as drabbles, in order of prompt, and... well.... they became a story. The prompt table, became the story. Don't ask me how, but it's done. And it's Dawn/Giles. Please forgive me.

Title: New Sun Rising
Author: maddogs991
Rating: R for the most part, touching on NC-17 nearer the end so be warned. :)
Wanring: This fic is, well, pretty dirty on occasion.
Additional Warning: Disturbing underage themes at no extra cost.
Character(s): Rupert Giles/Dawn Summers (I know, I know...)
Prompt: The title of each part relates to its prompt. All 100 here, in order, with two writer's choice at the end. Except I swapped Christmas and Halloween around, for chronology's sake.
Notes: #83 Television - the film referred to is Lolita. You do the math ;P
Word Count: 10,000 *phew*

EDIT: Fic Table is complete. See it HERE.




#1 - Cemetery


They sat on a large tomb, side by side, as the sky around them lightened.

“I’m telling you Ripper,” Ethan mused, “it’ll happen one day.”

“No offence, Eth, but you’re full of shit.”

Ripper took a swig of his beer as the sun rose, bathing the sinister cemetery in a gloomy new light.

“You’re going to,” Ethan insisted, snatching the beer for a gulp.

“Rubbish,” his counterpart replied.

Dawn came and went as their argument continued.

“Rupert Giles, you will fall in love. And it’ll be messy, painful and wrong.”



Ethan was right, of course. The bastard was always right.




#2 - Blood


We were covered in blood, from some weird creature that Buffy had stuck a big sword through. Where she’d been hiding that sword, I have no idea, but it was pretty cool that she had it with her.

She said we were returning the sword to its owner before we went home, and that I wasn’t to tell Mom what had happened. I promised, and she took me to the library.

The sword’s owner was there.

I didn’t get his name – I didn’t even get introduced – but I knew he was English.

And kinda stuck-up.

And very, very cute.




#3 - Library


Not this – not when everything’s starting to work out for the best.

Not that girl walking into my library, not her.

Not a child, for Christ’s sake, no.

Not me – the sensible, responsible librarian, who has repented more than enough for the sins of his youth.

Not sudden, uncontrollable thoughts, thought I never imagined I, of all people, would have.

No. Not now. Please God, don’t do this to me.

Don’t give me these feelings.

Don’t make me into something I hate.

Don’t make me battle to rid my mind of sin, not again.

Anyone else, please.

Just not her.




#4 - First


“Who’s that Christmas card for, Dawnie?” Joyce asked her youngest daughter as she handed her the glitter.

Dawn paused, unsure if she should answer. She looked down at her handiwork, hoping the card wasn’t too big for the little Christmas stocking above the library desk.

“It’s for Mr. Giles, at Buffy’s school.”

“Oh,” Joyce mused thoughtfully. “Did he send us one?”

“I don’t think so,” Dawn replied, her cheeks colouring a little, “I just thought it might be nice to make him one.”

Her mother nodded importantly. “I see.”

Joyce looked away, with a warm, knowing smile.

Her first crush.




#5 - Dawn


In Rupert’s opinion, Dawn lived up to her name.

Though he didn’t see her often, when he did she was more spectacular than ever. Growing, changing, more bright and brilliant each passing year. Spellbinding, even, when he had the chance to really look.

She was perfect, unobtainable, and he liked it that way. He could just appreciate her beauty; admire her without any unseemly thoughts creeping into his mind.

And if they did creep into his mind, he knew better than to indulge them.

Rupert would never let anything happen. He couldn’t afford to lose control of his inescapable curse.




#6 - Alley


She hadn’t realised how dark it was for four in the afternoon. The whole day had been weird and misty – and it had totally ruined her hair.

But now it was kinda dark. And scary. And this was Sunnydale. And she was walking down an alley to get home. An alley. Not good.

Wide steps, Dawn, walk faster. Her nerves got the better of her and she started to half-run down the alley, looking behind her as she reached its end.

She ran into someone, who grabbed her arms stalwartly.

She looked up, terrified, into pale, green eyes.

Giles.




#7 - Water


The water in the air made them damp as he walked her home from the alley. With Buffy away at college Dawn, he now realised, would need more watchful eyes.

For his own sake, as much as for hers, he couldn’t be those eyes. No matter how much he’d crushed those feelings, stamped on them good and hard, he didn’t trust himself. And he certainly didn’t trust Dawn to know how to stop him.

He’d confirmed his own suspicions by the time he got her home, when he realised he needed another kind of water.

Ice water, he concluded disgustedly.




#8 - Fire


She’s felt the fire before when she’s seen him. But it’s been a few years, and her crush now seems fairly lame, something she keeps quiet about.

Because now she can see that Giles is a man. An old, wise man who’s all British and stiff. And that’s stiff as in upper lip and nothing else. He’s all grown-up and romanced-out.

And the fire’s wrong.

The searing heat from the comforting pat on the back he gives her is wrong. The way she’d love to always feel that warm is wrong.

And she wants things right, for once.




#9 - School


I’ve always had the school to keep me busy. My chosen profession didn’t carry with it any taxing duties, but I still had work to do. Several months as a gentleman of leisure, and I’m either going to die of boredom or sin.

Boredom looks the better option. Staring blankly in a traditionally American fashion at the idiot box, or spending all day doing a crossword I could finish in an hour if I really wanted to.

Yes, boredom looks better, compared to letting my mind run free. There are certain thoughts I have to keep well-contained, after all.




#10 - Heart


Dawn has always insisted that Shakespeare doesn’t know the first thing about love. Her teacher, apparently, disagrees.

“So what Shakespeare’s really saying in this sonnet, is he can’t decide where his love is coming from.

Is it all in his head, purely a visual, physical attraction?

Or is it something deeper?

Is this love from the heart, something totally uncontrollable that he can’t understand?

What if it’s both?

Or neither?

What if it’s something else entirely?”

Dawn scoffs inwardly. Like that makes sense. Is it love if it’s uncontrollable?

Then, realising what she’s actually thinking about, Dawn doesn’t answer herself.




#11 - Yesterday


Yesterday he was broken, directionless. Now, as the clock strikes midnight, Rupert Giles turns over a new leaf. He’s a businessman now, an entrepreneur. A magic shop proprietor.

And not a dirty old man.

No, he certainly isn’t.

Because he’s got things to keep him busy now, not like yesterday, and all the yesterdays before it since Buffy’s graduation. Now his mind is full. Jam-packed with innovative ideas, business enterprises, learning how to take stock and operate the menacing new cash register.

She is out of his mind. Completely. Entirely.

His little obsession is merely a memory. Yesterday’s news.




#12 - Today


Today is a new day.

I do not have a crush on Giles. He is a nice, charming, good-looking man. And I don’t want him. Period.

I want Xander.

And maybe, in the near future, Xander might be have-able. If he wakes up and pushes Anya out of the picture. And if Buffy doesn’t kill me for wanting him.

Though, if she ever found out who I wanted before Xander, he wouldn’t seem so bad a choice. Or so scary a choice. Or so older-than-me a choice.

Or so handsome a choice.

Wait. Scratch that last part.




#13 - Tomorrow


Every day it gets better. Each good Today brings with it the prospect of a better Tomorrow. The feeling is by no means gone, not yet, but I am changing. I’m forgetting the thoughts that invade my mind; I no longer have to be totally disgusted with myself for thinking them.

Every tomorrow I’ll be better, more recovered, more able to trust myself.

I may even make a plausible babysitter, eventually.

I’m not the man I once was – the weak runaway, drowning his sorrows in drink and magic – I’ve faced up to my responsibilities.

And I can conquer my demons.




#14 - Sunlight


Dawn’s always noticed Giles’s hair, the way it changes colour depending on the atmosphere. Indoors it’s dark brown, until you shine a lamp on him. Then you see the age in his hair, the sprinkling of grey at the temples. Not that Dawn’s ever shined a lamp on him intentionally, she’s just noticed the effects.

She likes it best in sunlight, when you can’t tell what colour it is. When he moves around in real, pure sunlight and it’s brown, black, grey and blonde, all at the same time. If she chooses to notice him, it’s always in sunlight now.




#15 - Darkness


He’s never considered himself a dark man, not really.

But now, as he lies alone in his bed, he knows he is. He’d been thinking about her, got himself into a rather perverse state of mind. And body, for that matter. And he should have jumped in the shower, frozen his desire with cold, cold water.

Should being the operative word.

And now he can’t believe it, just can’t process the fact that he gave in. Again.

He thought he had control of those thoughts, those urges.

He thought he was recovering, getting rid of the darkness.

He was wrong.




#16 - Friend


She knew Giles didn’t love her, not in any way that mattered. But she had always considered him a friend.

But then Glory came along, and little Dawn Summers found out exactly where Rupert Giles’s priorities were. Oh yes, she suddenly discovered exactly how much he was willing to give up for his ‘cause’.

He’d rather have her dead than Buffy.

Buffy would rather die than have her dead.

Buffy never listened to him anyway.

So now she was dead.



And Giles is not her friend.

Friends don’t double cross each other.

He’s ruined whatever they had together for good.




#17 - Love


It’s not love. It’s not.

I know love. I’ve felt love. So it’s not love.

Love is reciprocal. For me to love her, she’d have to feel it back.

Which is ridiculous, because she hates me now.

After all that’s happened – after Joyce, after Buffy – she’s so distant now, from me most of all. I thought she might have come to me, that she might have wanted to talk after… everything.

But she didn’t. She doesn’t care if I care about her, and she doesn’t care about me.

I’m nothing more than Buffy’s watcher - the cause of her sister’s death.




#18 - Hate


Life would be so much easier if I could hate him. My mind wants his blood, wants to see him suffer like I have, like Buffy did. But my body – my heart – wants to forgive him.

I can barely look at him when he comes over to visit us, when he and Willow talk finance, legal guardianship, that sort of thing. He looks so full of grief, so pained. I want to help. But he doesn’t look at me either, so I’m pretty sure he thinks this is all my fault.



If I had died, Buffy would still be here.




#19 - Isolation


The summer after Buffy died was a revelation. Looking back, Giles can see the moment he knew he had to change things.

Dawn was sitting at the table, staring at the bowl of fruit upon it, doing nothing. Xander had approached her; Giles had even let Spike try to speak to her. But she would have none of it; she was willingly spiralling into isolation.

Giles wasn’t going to let that happen. It was alright for someone of his age to give up, but she was so young. So much in her future.

It couldn’t hurt to try and help.




#20 - Flower


She heard him coming in. Heard him come to the dining room. Heard him standing behind her.

He put two bunches of flowers down on the table, followed by a single pink rose. She reached out for the first bunch, lilies.

“Buffy’s,” he said softly.

Tears taking her by surprise, she looked to the orchids.

“Joyce.”

She took in a deep breath, reaching for the pink rose. He leaned down behind her, his breath warm on her neck.

“For you,” he said gently, planting a kiss on her cheek. “By way of apology.”

He left her sobbing at the table.




#21 - House


The Summers house was roasting hot, so he made his way upstairs to turn off the heating. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub after doing so, he sighed heavily. She came up the stairs so softly he didn’t hear her until she was sobbing at the door.

“Giles,” she whimpered. Eyes red. Face damp. Mascara running.

Control, Rupert. The girl’s traumatised. Act your age for once.

“Come here,” he said, standing up.

She obeyed, breaking down as soon as she was in his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, suddenly teary himself.

“Me too.”

For what, he couldn’t imagine.




#22 - Dream


“Dawn,” he whispered, hands either side of her.

She reached up, caressing strong arms, up around his neck to pull him down for a kiss. He obliged, kissing her briefly then pulling back. She looked up into his eyes, saturated in lust.

“Dawn,” he said again.

She got it then: he was asking permission. She lifted her hips a little, touching him as she toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I want it,” she whispered, “I do.”




She woke with a start as ‘it’ happened, sweating and unusually warm.

“I don’t,” she insisted aloud. “I don’t.”




#23 - Past


Rupert still looked back with repulsion at their first meeting. He’d never forget how he’d looked at her – how utterly filthy he’d felt – back in the library. But now he thought it slightly more reasonable to find her attractive.

It still wasn’t right.

He still shouldn’t feel it.

But he did, and he couldn’t fight it any more.

The young woman she was, the goddess she was going to become, he knew he couldn’t resist her. Heaven forbid she should ever want him – his resolve would crumble in a heartbeat. As long as she never approached him, they were safe.




#24 - Future


She can see it in her head, how perfect things could be. A year from now, she could be in England. House in the country. Trips to London for the musicals. Flowers. Trees. Rainy days spent indoors.

Even if they weren’t quite in the relationship she wanted, to just be anywhere with him would be something. Hell, she’d settle for father/daughter just to get away from Sunnydale. Away from the vampires, the demons, the darkness, the death. Just Giles and her, away from everything else.

It could be so perfect.

But a year from now’s a long way away.




#25 - Alcohol


A week after the flowers and hugs and he thought things were looking up. But he comes in after an evening’s patrol, whilst Willow and Tara are over at Xander’s, to find her drinking.

Six years underage and she’s got her hands on – he inspects the bottle clasped in her young hand – well, at least it’s light beer.

As he takes the bottle from her, her eyes open. She looks up at him from the sofa, all weak and smiling and-

No, Rupert. No.

“Giles!” She gets up, apparently pretending to be sober. “Um… hi there!” She wobbles towards him.




#26 - Clouds


My vision’s kinda cloudy, but I know it’s Giles. If anything, he’s too tall to be Xander, too dark to Spike and too… male… to be anyone else.

Actually, come to think of it, my brain’s kinda cloudy too. ‘Cause Giles looks mad at me, which is silly because I haven’t done anything wrong. Or maybe I have, and I need to apologise.

And the best way to apologise to Giles might be to amble up to him and lean upwards, lips ready and waiting for a kiss.

He steps back, looking even more mad, sending me to my room.




#27 - Box


I need a packing crate, something large that I might once have kept weapons in. I’ll line it with something waterproof; drill a few air holes in the lid.

And crawl into it and refuse to ever emerge again. Ever.



She tried to kiss me. I’d have passed it off as a fluke, as her thinking it was someone else, if she hadn’t said my name. She knew it was me and she still tried to do it.

And I was able to stop her, to send her away.



I’m proud of that, but I still want a packing crate.




#28 - Round


She’s freaking out completely, letting it go round in her head. The morning after the night before. Oh my God what was she thinking?

Did she honestly think that Giles would ever want that? She’s probably ruined things between them again, after they’d just made up over Buffy’s death. And all because of her stupid feelings that won’t leave her alone.

How could she think he’d want that? Want her, in that way?

Round and round in her head, thoughts driving her crazy.

No drink, never again, she promises herself. No more Giles-y thoughts.

But the damage is already done.




#29 - Toys


He enters her room the next afternoon, finds her lying on her bed. She stares at the ceiling for a moment, then shuts her eyes without moving. He looks around the lilac room, looks at the various objects lying on her desk, the posters on her walls. Everything is ‘in fashion’. He’s out of place. But he’s not the only one.

A stuffed pig sitting on her bed. He sits down beside it, picking it up. Dawn winces as she feels the bed sink a little. He smiles at the toy, placing it atop Dawn’s folded hands on her stomach.




#30 - Train


“I am so sorry.”

“What for?”

“You can’t have forgotten.”

“I… I meant are you sorry for drinking, or the other occurrence?”

“Both. Not as much for the drinking.”

“Why do it, Dawn? You’re far too young to be drowning your sorrows.”



She sits up on the bed, holding Mr. Gordo and finally able to look him in the eye.



“Our life at the moment – it’s like a train. It’s all speedy and out of control. I just wanted to… slow down a little.”

“I suppose that’s understandable. Did it work?”

She has to look away.

“What do you think?”




#31 - Fountain


A trip to the Mall seemed like a good idea, to cheer up Dawn and get them all out of their individual crises. Except one of Rupert’s crises didn’t quite go away, particularly when he was appointed as Dawn’s pack horse for her shopping.

They were by an extremely ornate fountain when he finally snapped and begged to rest. Groaning, she allowed him ten minutes sitting by the water’s edge.

“We won’t be getting anything for your birthday, you know,” he teased.

“What?” She cried in outrage. “Why not?”

Giles, smiling, inspected the various bags.

“You’ve bought the entire Mall.”




#32 - Elevator


“You are so getting me birthday presents,” she insisted, watching the Mall’s glass elevator carrying children to the upper levels.

It made her think of Willy Wonka, and how she’d had a crush on Gene Wilder for months after that movie. She chanced a look at Giles. The age gap must be similar.

“As my credit card statement is soon to attest, I’ll have no money by your birthday.”

“I have not spent that much, have I?” Dawn frowned. Giles’s bank balance had never really concerned her before.

They exchanged a look, which seemed to last a little too long.




#33 - Marble


Dawn had wanted marble for Buffy’s headstone, but she eventually had to settle for something more diffident.

But now that Rupert was flying back to England, he wondered if he should have obeyed her request before he deserted her. When Willow had approached him about a joint guardianship of Dawn, all his resolve had gone to Hell. And he’d had to leave. And perhaps he’d never go back.

He hadn’t told Dawn that, of course.

He’d said she could phone, not to worry, he’d be fine, they all would.

He should have sought out the marble – as her last request.




#34 - Breath


It’s not supposed to feel like this, shouldn’t hurt so much.

How can his leaving make her short of breath, leave her gasping for air between sobs?



“Oh Dawnie…”

Tara coming to comfort her, holding her without knowing quite what’s wrong.

“Sweetie, i-it’ll be okay…”

She sobs a little more, because that’s a lie. Any sort of contact with Giles – confusing and disturbing or not – is better than him being gone.

“Will and I have to go… out, honey. Spike’s babysitting.”

“…Okay.”



So she plays cards with Spike.

She gets her breath back; unaware she’s not alone in doing so.




#35 - Fog


I’ve missed many things about England, but fog isn’t one of them.

I’d planned to enjoy the crisp, cool English autumn, but a mist has settled over Bath, and I’m stuck in the house.

But just because I’m stuck indoors, doesn’t mean I’m thinking about Sunnydale, or Dawn, or the others, or Dawn, or anything else.

The phone rings, and I’m glad for a distraction from the thoughts about to overtake me.

“Giles.”

“Willow? Nice to hear from you so soon.”

“I don’t know how much to tell you, exactly, but Buffy’s back.”

“Back?”

“Back to life, as in resurrection.”




#36 - Fantasy


It makes sense to keep fantasising, since her life is so messed-up anyway.

“I should never have left, love, not when you needed me so much.”

Realistically speaking, her version of his return could actually pan out this way.

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Just start making it up to me.”

It’s not so farfetched, surely.

“Anything, Dawn, just tell me what to do.”

It could happen when he gets back.

“Hold me.”



She can almost see it, the way he’d enter and approach her, full of apologies and promises.



But it’s not her arms he runs into – it’s Buffy’s.




#37 - Field


Magic may not be his field any more, but he knows enough to know that Willow has a problem. He knows enough to shout the odds at her, to take her threat and threaten back. He knows she’s wrong, knows it’s right to storm off, head for the door.

“Don’t leave,” Dawn says.

He swivels, find her sitting on the stairs. She looks distressed, like she heard everything he just said. Like she knows what he just said about her sister, about Willow.

“It’s dark,” she reasons. “Go back to the couch.”

She still cares that he wants to leave?




#38 - Rain


Buffy just stands at the kitchen window now, staring out at the weather when nobody’s watching her. Nobody being me. Nobody because she doesn’t notice me looking at her, then out of the window.

It’s raining. That’s mildly interesting, I suppose.

Maybe I should be more concerned about her, but I have a huge load of problems of my own that need dealing with first. I can’t just put them aside, like everyone else.

I was going to ask Buffy about them, now she’s back.

But I guess that’s not an option: I’ll just have to keep them to myself.




#39 - Letter


It seemed bizarre at the time: that in the aftermath of Buffy’s resurrection Dawn wanted to know about England. But she had asked, so Rupert had obliged, sitting with her at Willow’s computer and pointing out the best locations to search for images of.

They explored images of Piccadilly Circus, Scottish Highlands, and Shakespeare’s Globe, which was apparently putting on a reading of the sonnets. The title of the article caught his eye.

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth

He saw the letters, trying to deny how much sense they made to him.



“Try the Lake District next.”




#40 - Lake


“The Lake District?” She asked, typing it into Google UK. “And that would be what, a district full of Lakes?”

“Essentially, yes.”

She brought up some photos, stopping at some winter snaps to stare.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Giles said from beside her. He leaned in to get a better look at the images, and she looked back to them.

“I’d love to go there.”

“I’ll take you, someday, if you like.”

Dawn looked to him, surprised, and he kept looking at the screen. He looked like he hadn’t meant to make the offer.

“Well that’s settled then,” she resolutely replied.




#41 - Stain


“Giles! Crisis!” Dawn said, galloping down the stairs.

“Oh God, what now?” He asked, meeting her in the doorway to the living room.

She held up a pink T-shirt that he recognised, though it had dirt marks and saw dust on the back of it.

“Your Slayer borrowed my top for training with you and look at it now.”

“A thousand apologies,” he mocked with a nod of his head. “I’ll chuck it in the wash this very moment.”

Dawn grinned widely, and he was pleased to see her happy again.

“I’m so the boss of you.”

“You certainly are.”




#42 - Bound


He can’t go anywhere. Giles can’t leave again, now that Buffy and me have shown how much we need him. Sure, he’s being rushed off his feet occasionally, but he can’t run off with so much responsibility.

Playing the sensible teacher to Buffy. Playing the snide business partner to Anya. Playing the wise sensei to Willow.

And playing… whatever the hell he’s playing to me.

I don’t really get it, his new behaviour around me, but whatever it is I think it’s for the best. Especially since it’s keeping him here, binding him to California.

I like it a lot.




#43 - Strain


It’s a trial, keeping up the fatherly pretence, especially when these little incidents keep happening to him. Like right now, after he’s been sitting at the table (letting his mind wander in that direction) and suddenly there’s a crisis.

And he stands up, feels the strain on the crotch of his jeans. Takes a casual glance down and-

Oh dear. Oh very bloody dear.

As long as he doesn’t have to move from behind the table ever, he should be fine. As long as no-one comes around the table.

No-one like Dawn, who looks like she’s about to do so.




#44 - Hard


“So there’s big monster danger – that’s a shocker.”

Buffy gives Dawn a look across the table.

“If you’re not helping, go upstairs.”

Dawn sits down sulkily, next to where Giles is standing. She wants to hear the monster news, but the Scoobies are talking corpses, so she’ll just have to wait. And glance around, bored, noticing-



Giles is… hard.

And she can't not look, because she's never seen this before. Not so right there in front of her. Not so visible, so 3D, so actually outlined.

She looks up at Giles, biting his lip, and the feelings come rocketing back.




#45 - Cold


Cold shower, cold shower, cold shower.

He strips off, jumping into the hotel shower, which is hot. He growls to himself.

Cold shower.

He fiddles with the taps. The water gets hotter. He grumbles again and just throws his head back under the showerhead, totally fed up.

She was right next to you, she must have seen.

Maybe if he stays like this long enough, he’ll just drown.

She couldn’t have known what you were thinking. Who you were thinking of.

He leans fowards, one hand going down.

You are a sick, sick man.

And suddenly the water runs cold.




#46 - Soft


Her bed is soft and comfy that night. Especially when she gets back into it after a trip to the bathroom, tingling slightly, able to feel the blood pump in her veins. She settles herself down in the fluffy pillows, snuggling under the duvet.

Temporarily satisfied.

And is there anything wrong with that, considering exactly what made her crave the satisfaction?

No there is not, she answers herself simply, but a million complicated thoughts try to contradict her.

You have to stop thinking about him.

He’s old.

Not allowed.

She shuts those thoughts off, slumbering in her soft, warm bed.




#47 - Feathers


Minding Dawn after school at the Magic Box wasn’t so bad – he had Anya there to distract him from losing it completely.

“Dawn, fetch me the crow feathers since you’re not doing anything,” he asked the teen, who kept looking up at him from the table as if she was bored.

“Am I getting paid for this?”

He gave her a look.

“Fine,” she moaned, doing as she was told.

She brought the feathers round the counter, accidentally dropping the topmost bag. They both went down instinctively, almost nose to nose behind the counter.

“Problem Giles?” Anya called from upstairs.




#48 - Fly


It was like flying, the way the blood rushed to her head as she got to her feet. She felt unsteady, transported by magic to a new state of mind, as Giles stood before her.

Anya came down some stairs to see if they were okay.

“I heard movement, what did you break?”

Dawn couldn’t tell who she was mothering more with that tone.

“Nothing,” Giles replied.

Except the Law of Personal Space, Dawn added mentally.

Anya retreated, and she met Giles’s gaze. She expected indignation, but found… bashfulness?

Flying – she had to be. Her feet weren’t on the ground.




#49 - High


Occasionally he lets himself ponder how things might have been. How there might be another world.

In which Dawn calls him Father.

In which she doesn’t give him that wistful look that makes him feel strange.

In which he doesn’t return that look, condemning himself to a deeper circle of Hell each time he does.

In which he’s on a high. Content. Happy. No longer plagued by imagination, betrayed by his own body.

He only ponders this occasionally, afraid that one day he’ll be so close to the edge, that he’ll enter that world in his mind and never return.




#50 - Low


It’s weird, the way he looks so low these days. Not that everything with Buffy isn’t taking its toll on him, but I think the few little ‘incidents’ we’ve had are getting to him too.

Maybe I’m freaking him out – he’s caught me looking at him that way more than once now. That could be why he’s low, I guess, ignoring most of us these days. Especially me.

And if it is me, then he won’t have to worry. I’ve decided to grow up a little, get out of silly-little-swooning-schoolgirl mode. Starting with a date on Halloween.



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