"Giles?"
He looked up from the inventory form he'd been struggling to complete for the last hour, courtesy of Snyder's latest 'efficiency' mania. Buffy stood in the doorway to his office.
"What can I do for you, Buffy?" He laid his pen to one side, glad to be distracted from the form, even for a minute.
She bit her lip and glanced back over her shoulder. "It's him again." she finally said, enunciating the 'him' with the same distaste Willow might use when confronted with a pickled frog that needed dissecting.
Giles frowned. "Buffy --"
"I don't need to do laps -- do I need to do laps?" she said in indignation. "You never made me do laps."
He looked at her quizzically.
"Not as punishment, I mean. Besides I've been training all afternoon. All work and no play makes Buffy a really grumpy girl. And you know what I was doing last night instead of that round through the warehouse section that he told me to do -- the warehouse section where we've seen no vamps in months and months by the way? I was studying for a chem exam. I need a good grade on that test, and what's with this appointment to meet with him after my rounds? You never scheduled me for appointments."
Giles sighed and shoved the report to one side. "Mr. Wyndham-Price's approach to training is different from mine --"
"Boy, do you think, Giles?"
"That doesn't mean that his methods are totally without merit." He glanced at his watch. "Good Lord, I hadn't realized that it was so late."
"But laps?" Buffy persisted. "I'm not going to do them, Giles. I've patrolled all night every night this week. Tonight I'm going to have some fun. Is that unreasonable?"
"Not at all," he agreed, gathering his things together and putting them in his briefcase. He collected his jacket from the chair back.
She brightened. "It's okay with you if I ditch, then?"
Giles shrugged his jacket on. "Buffy, what you do or don't do tonight is up to you. You're an adult now, and I'm no longer in any position of even token authority over you. Except -- as Mr. Wyndham-Price was so kind to point out -- in matters of overdue library books. You might take into consideration though how angry he's likely to get if you blow him off now, but of course that will be entirely your problem."
Buffy stared at him. "Since when do you wear leather? And what's with the flowers?"
"I have a date tonight," he said with a quiet dignity, straightening the lines of the black leather jacket he'd dug out from the back of his closet the night before.
She looked stunned. "What? Who? No, I don't want to know. Leather?"
"Go have fun, if you wish," he said, and picked up the bouquet of daisies. "Although you might consider picking your Watcher a small conciliatory gift before you see him again."
"You're my Watcher," Buffy insisted. She trailed him out of the office and stared at him as he locked it up. "Why now?" she demanded.
Giles moved to the outer doors and waited there for her impatiently. "What?"
"You haven't seen anybody since -- well since last year. Willow said you told her that you'd given up on dating. But the minute you lose your job as my Watcher, you're living it up out on the town?"
"One dinner date hardly constitutes 'living it up'," he snapped. "And as far as the timing is concerned, will it help if I reassure you that I'm not arranging my social life around you?"
She had the decency to look abashed. "Okay, I deserve that. I guess. It's just . . . I am glad that you're getting out again," she said glumly.
"I'm so glad," Giles said, and stared at her.
"Oh." She hastened out the door and stood to one side, fidgeting, as he finished locking up. "So! I'll see you tomorrow morning?"
Giles consulted his watch. "Perhaps."
Buffy stared harder at him. "Giles, you're always here in the morning."
"But on Saturdays, I don't have to be." He smiled reassuringly at her and tucked the bouquet of daisies under one arm while he searched through his briefcase for his car keys. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, then."
"Right. Tomorrow afternoon." Buffy at least attempted to look cheerful -- but she failed miserably.
"Giles has a date tonight?" Willow echoed, as they trudged home from school.
Buffy was inexorably gnawing her way down a long rope of black licorice. "Yeah, great timing, huh?"
"I guess," Willow said thoughtfully. "He has more time for things like that, now that he --"
Buffy glared at her.
"Well, he should," Willow declared decisively. "He can't grieve forever. Although a year really isn't forever. . ."
"But what's he trying to tell me?" Buffy tied a knot in the end of the licorice. "That I've been a drag on him? A burden? Is that what you think I am to him, Willow? Two weeks with his pink slip, and bam he's out on the town."
"Buffy, you're his whole reason for existing," Willow tried. "Okay, you were." She thought about that for a moment. "That's pretty scary, now that I think about it. He probably should be dating. Who's he going out with?"
"I don't know."
Willow looked at Buffy in disbelief.
"I told him I didn't want to know."
"But -- aren't you curious?"
"No." Buffy halted in front of her house and stood, shifting from one foot to the other. "I mean, why should I care? He's an adult. He'll go out with whoever he wants. What difference does it makes anyway? I'm still stuck taking orders from the Imposter."
"Not that you take them very well." Willow reached over to pinch off the end of Buffy's licorice whip.
"I do so take orders well, when they're not stupid orders. Are you going to the Bronze tonight?"
The redhead frowned. "I guess. But if I go home now, I'll probably end up having to help Mom entertain some guests. She likes showing off that she has a family and stuff."
"Ick," Buffy said. "Have dinner with me and my mom then. Unless you think your mom will mind."
"As long as I don't show up, she won't miss me," Willow said. "Okay."
"Mom!" Buffy yelled as they pushed through the front door of the Summers house. "Is it okay if Willow stays for dinner?!" She dumped her book bag inside the front door. "Mom?"
Joyce stepped to the top of the stairs and yelled down. "Yes, Buffy, but you'll have to fend for yourselves. Maybe you can call out for a pizza?"
"Cool!" Buffy gave Willow a self-satisfied smirk, and together they collapsed on the living room sofa. Buffy pulled another licorice whip from her overall pocket.
"Where's your Mom going?" Willow asked.
The Slayer shrugged "I thought she was staying in tonight."
"Oh." Willow finished off her bit of licorice, chewing at it meditatively. "Friday night. Everybody's going out on a date but us."
"Oz is a musician. Musicians work on Friday nights," Buffy pointed out. "Got to go with the flow, Willow. Hey that rhymes! Badly, but . . ."
Joyce Summers came tripping down the stairs. She was dressed in an elegant floral silk dress and new sandals.
"Wow, Mom!" Buffy blinked at her. "I haven't seen that dress since --"
"Since the last reception at the gallery," her mother said with a wry grin. She fixed an earring in place. "How do I look tonight?"
"Terrific! So when's the reception getting out?"
"No reception tonight." Joyce looked hungrily at Buffy's licorice. Her daughter broke her off a short length and passed it over. "Just a dinner with a friend. Thanks."
Willow jostled Buffy in the ribs and whispered, "A date, Buffy."
"A date?!" Buffy exclaimed.
Joyce grinned at her. "You know. Man. Woman. Dinner. Maybe dancing and whatnot afterwards." She took Buffy's hand and placed a twenty dollar bill in her palm. "You and Willow have fun tonight. Don't wait up."
"But --!"
Joyce shot her a quick smile over one shoulder as she hurried out the front door.
"A date," Buffy repeated numbly.
"Your mom," Willow agreed. "So. What should we get on our pizza?"
"My mom's going on a date tonight, and you want to eat pizza?" Buffy jumped up and raced to the front window. She peered out the barely parted drapes. "Damn, she's taking the jeep. What kind of guy would make her drive herself?"
"Maybe he has a really pathetic car." Willow nudged her aside to peek out the window herself. "Com'on, Buffy. Your mom's an adult. She can take care of herself."
"Like with the last one. Ted. You're right. What could possibly be worse than my Mom dating a psycho-killer-robot?" A thought hit Buffy, and the curtains dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers. "Oh. My. God."
Willow met her eyes. "Buffy, no! He wouldn't. Would he? Not without your permission?"
"He'd get it when hell freezes over," the Slayer declared. Then remembered. "Way beyond when hell freezes over. Come on, Will. I'm going to nip this thing in the butt right now."
"What are you going to do?" Willow pleaded, but she stumbled along in Buffy's wake as the Slayer hauled her out the front door. "You don't even know where they're going."
"Where does everybody over the age of twenty-nine in Sunnydale go on a first date?" Buffy said. "La Casa Blanca, of course."
"Oh right! My parents had their first date there. Wait! Don't we need reservations? Buffy! Maybe it'll be okay -- if they just like each other, I mean?"
"He's my Watcher, not my Mom's. Besides they're just going to end up wigging each other out in the end." Buffy shuddered. "Not to mention me. This would've never happened if they hadn't gotten a hold of that Band Candy. You got to stop playing around with that black magic stuff, Will. It's bad news."
"Okay," Willow sighed, "But can we pick up a pizza on the way over? I'm hungry."
Giles sat in the restaurant bar, nervously nursing a margarita. He checked his watch for the fifth time. She was late. He wondered for the tenth time if this was such a good idea. He was still grieving over Jenny -- she'd taken a part of his heart with her that he would never get back. Just after Buffy's summertime AWOL, he'd come to some measure of peace, if not happiness, in his decision not to get personally involved again. That resolution had worn away somewhat during his months of loneliness, but he still had a strong sense that he didn't want to put anyone in the dangerous position of associating closely with him.
It's dinner and conversation, he tried to convince himself. A bit of companionship for a weekend night. You're not looking for true love, not now. Just a small respite from the isolation, a little warmth and commiseration.
Besides, love wasn't likely to be in the books here. They didn't really have much in common. And she drank her tea with lemon.
"Hi, Rupert!"
Giles turned around on his stool, and drew back slightly, staring. "Um, hello yourself," he managed. Remembering now why he'd caved in and asked her out. "You look stunning."
"You think?" She twirled once so that her long turquoise and gold skirt floated about her. "It's new. I don't know -- does it make me look like an old woman?"
He smiled at her and stood up to offer her his stool, since there were no other empty stools currently available at the bar. "Debi, nothing could possibly make you look like an old woman."
Debi Marble smiled sweetly at him and hopped up on the stool. She'd tucked several sprays of bridal wreath in her blond hair. "Ooh, daisies! Are these mine?" She gathered the bouquet into her hands and pressed them to her face. "They're so white! And a margarita! Blue!"
"Somehow, I knew you'd like that." Giles stepped in next to her -- her hair smelled like apples.
"Sorry I'm late. Snyder was really on my case today." She settled the flowers in her lap and downed half her drink in a gulp. "Wish I knew what rammed a porcupine up his butt. He had me categorizing and alphabetizing all the maintenance memos from the last twenty years. I mean, what's the point? Something broke in 1963 and got fixed. Big fat hairy deal if we have to fix it again this year."
Giles grimaced in sympathy, reminded of his own burdensome day. "Did you get it all done?"
"Hell no," Debi said, crunching on an ice cube. "It would've taken until midnight. He can wait. My friend Minerva works at the Mayor's office. She says that Snyder's scheduled to be over there all Monday morning." She polished off the drink and waved wildly at the bartender. "Poor favor? So, how's things in your neck of the woods? Who's that cute dork who's been hanging around lately? Snyder thinks you guys are -- you know." She hooked her pinky fingers together.
Giles shuddered. "He's an imposition." He thought about what she'd said, and a small smile ticked the corner of his mouth. "Snyder thinks that, does he? Why hasn't he said anything to me?"
"Maybe he's hoping to catch the two of you in the utility closet?" Debi shrugged, then a smile slowly spread across her face as she pondered a bit more. "As long as you're not, well guess everything's copacetic." Suddenly she looked at him and blushed. "You're not, are you?"
Her blush inexplicably brought a bit of the Ripper to the surface in him. He leaned close to her and whispered into her ear, "What do you like to imagine?" He was immediately appalled by his own crassness, but Debi suddenly grinned at him, despite being still very red in the face. "Well --" she purred, reaching up to hook her fingers through his tie.
"Giles, party of two," the receptionist called out.
Debi got up and grabbed her drink. "Great! I'm about to start chowing down on the furniture. Could you go ahead and get our table? I've got to go pee." She started to hurry off, then turned for a quick-step back and a quick peck to his cheek. "Hey, they kiss to say 'hi' all the time in Hollywood, right? Get another drink for yourself, if I'm gonna get sloshed tonight, I want company."
Giles sat at the table, fiddling with a napkin and considering the options for the night. Whatever demented thing was clicking between the two of them, he was at a total loss to even begin to theorize what it might be -- even to the extent of being able to make plans for the rest of the night. This was the easy part. They both ate. Food. But after that, he was flummoxed. What was it that kept drawing him to women who were so different from him? Or did he and Debi have some unquantifiable shared interests -- besides work -- that he wasn't seeing?
"Mr. Giles?"
He looked up in surprise, to see Joyce Summers standing by the table. She looked extremely nervous, but had a determined spark in her eye. Giles felt a tremor of dread. She wanted to Talk. "Joyce. Glad to uhm --" he nodded at her and looked over towards the Ladies Restroom.
She bobbed her head nervously, then peered around the small restaurant. "You're here alone then? Do you mind if I join you for a few minutes?" She pulled out a chair and plunked herself down. Drew a deep breath. Looked him in the eye. Looked away again. "This is stupid. We can't keep avoiding each other all the time. We're adults. What happened --"
"Agreed," he said hastily, willing her to be satisfied and go away. Unfortunately his subliminal powers of persuasion -- marginally effective at the best of times -- seemed to have very little effect on the Summers women.
Joyce was looking around the restaurant again, fiddling through the menu, sipping at Debi's margarita -- focusing on everything but him. "For Buffy's sake -- we need to at least be able to talk to each other." She finally brazened herself enough to add "Don't you agree?"
"Of course." Giles stared hard into his drink, still trying to will her to go away. "Yes. It's nice -- uh -- talking to you."