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remix_reduxTitle: What a Father Is (the DNA Remix)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beatrice_otter
Summary: "I realize you’ve a dearth of male role models in your life, but a father is more than just an older man who happens to be around or who just happened to supply half your DNA." What the monks didn't tell about Dawn.
Rating: G
Fandom: Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Spoilers: Post-Chosen
Original Story: Her Father's Daughter byjedibuttercup
Thanks toalixtii for the beta!
Giles walked through the halls of the new Watchers’ building, absently flipping through a report on Fyarl activity in southern Africa that he was supposed to read before the next meeting. As Travers and the rest of the Council’s bureaucrats had had the indecency to get themselves all killed by Bringers, Giles found himself stuck with boring meetings instead of hands-on research and training; it was the worst parts of being a shopkeeper and a high school librarian rolled into one, with none of the benefits.
Giles was the most experienced field watcher in almost two centuries, which made him (as Dawn had pointed out when he griped about it last week) about a thousand times too valuable to risk on field manoeuvres, at least until the entire structure of the Council of Watchers had been rebuilt to a standard of training, readiness, and flexibility that both he and Buffy considered adequate. Of course, by that time he’d be too old to go back into the field, but perhaps a position in the Research section of the library would be appropriate? There’d be less day-to-day contact with Slayers than he had now, but perhaps by that time Buffy would be done with her world tour and ready to settle down? She’d seemed weary of her travels when he picked her up from Heathrow the night before, and there was no earthly reason the Senior Slayer need be the one to inspect each region, nor be available for every minor crisis, once things were more settled. They might even be able to teach a class or two together. And if Dawn wasn’t assigned to the field, they’d be working together in Research.
He slowed as he approached Buffy’s office—perhaps she might be interested in a late lunch after his meeting? They saw too little of each other, and a meeting with the Senior Slayer would give him a perfect excuse to cut things short if Johnston-Smythe exercised his usual propensity for arse-kissing verbosity.
“…and loaded, since he found out about the Council’s funds.” That light-hearted voice was Dawn, and he had a sinking feeling she was talking about him. Going to Oxford on a Council scholarship had given her a rather exaggerated view of his personal fortune. “Think he’d give me a car, if I told him?”
“Told who what?” he enquired as he entered Buffy’s office.
There was a stack of paperwork to deal with, but unless Giles had the good fortune to have a mik’Nar demon nesting in his desk drawer, it would still be there tomorrow. The day’s news was, he felt, momentous enough to justify a bit of truancy. He’d gone to his meeting but had spent more time trying to adjust to the notion of new-found fatherhood than paying attention to the current state of the supernatural. Afterwards, he’d spent five minutes dithering in the gentlemen’s toilets before returning to Buffy’s office.
“Come in!” Dawn called at his knock.
Giles slipped in, closing the door behind him. Dawn was poring over her studies, books spread out across the desk. “I swear, you use your—Buffy’s office more than she does. Perhaps we should put your name on the door?” As he’d expected, Buffy herself was nowhere to be found.
“But then where would she keep her souvenirs?” Dawn replied, waving at the knick-knacks Buffy had acquired on her travels. “She was still wigging, last I saw her. I think she and Willow went out for some coffee and retail therapy.”
“I see,” Giles said. “I wonder if …” he took off his glasses and began to polish them “… I wonder if you might like to go out for a bite to eat? Perhaps talk about the new, ah, developments in our relationship?”
Dawn blinked, glancing at the clock. “I guess it is lunchtime, huh. Yeah, that sounds good. Not in the cafeteria, though.”
“I dare say I can afford a real restaurant this once,” Giles replied. Rumours were bound to fly once the news came out, but he didn’t want to give them a head-start. “I do have to be back for another meeting later this afternoon, but aside from that I’m all yours.”
“I’m not going to start calling you ‘Dad’ all of a sudden, just because we found out the monks took some of your, um, genetic material to combine with Buffy’s to make me.” Dawn broke the uncomfortable silence with her usual bluntness. “Although, I dunno, maybe someday. I’m never gonna call Buffy ‘Mom,’ though; that would just be too weird.”
“I see,” Giles said noncommittally, poking at his curry. “I’m … I’ve never really given much thought to having a family. Children. Particularly not under such circumstances. I’m afraid I’m not sure what exactly I’m supposed to do or how to act towards you.”
“You could give me a car,” Dawn suggested with an impish grin.
“Oh, certainly, how about a townhouse in Kensington while we’re at it,” he shot back. “Do be serious, Dawn.”
“If you insist,” she said with a shrug. “But you do realize I’ve never actually met Hank Summers? Not face-to-face, I mean; I have talked with him on the phone a couple of times, but aside from that everything I have of him the monks made up. You’re here, and you care, and that puts you miles ahead of him in my book.” Dawn jammed a fry in her ketchup.
“Yes, but that’s not saying much.”
Dawn snorted. “True.” She popped the fry in her mouth. “I guess, I dunno, haven’t you ever thought about being a parent before? Even an honorary one? I mean, the Scoobies—”
“Are hardly my children,” Giles said. “I’ve never been a father-figure to any of them. Friend, researcher, and butt of the occasional joke, yes; father, no. I realize you’ve a dearth of male role models in your life, but a father is more than just an older man who happens to be around or who just happened to supply half your DNA. A father—any parent, really—is a protector, an authority figure, an advisor, a disciplinarian when necessary.”
“Well, there you have it,” Dawn said. “You don’t need me to tell you what a parent does. Though I’d add comforter and ATM to the list.”
“I am not now and never shall be a bank machine,” Giles replied. “And you’re just a tad too old to be taken over my knee, even if you deserved it. Not to mention, when you’re done with your schooling and Watcher training, you’d tell me off for trying to protect you from field work. As to comforter, you may have noticed that I’m not exactly what you might call the ‘touchy-feely’ type. It’s not as if I was very successful at it after Buffy’s death.”
“I think the ‘protector’ thing is mostly for kids, anyway,” Dawn said.
“Yes, and you are hardly a child any longer,” Giles agreed. “It seems as if there’s little left for a father to do in your case; you’ve matured into a fine young woman.”
“Thanks,” she said, sounding out of sorts. He’d just complimented her; what on Earth was the matter? She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve never thought of Buffy as your daughter?”
“Good heavens, no,” Giles said with some annoyance. “She’s my Slayer. I refer you to the aforementioned role of the parent as a protector, which doesn’t exactly mix well with a Watcher’s duty to send his Slayer out against vampires, demons, and assorted apocalypses. And when was I ever an authority figure to her? Or a disciplinarian? Though I’m not sure she quite realizes there are relationships between men and women that don’t fall into either the father/daughter or lover categories.”
“Yeah.” Dawn shrugged. “But I think what’s freaking her out more than that is the thought of having a kid with someone Mom once slept with.”
Giles blinked and reached for his tea. “Good Lord, I hadn’t thought of it that way. Yes, that is rather, um …”
“Wig-worthy?” Dawn suggested.
“Indeed.”
They ate in silence for some minutes.
“You never expected to have kids?” Dawn asked.
“Not really, no,” Giles replied. “I’ve never given it much thought. I suppose I shall have to, now, shan’t I?” He checked his watch; they still had plenty of time before his afternoon meeting with the Prophecy Committee.
“You do that,” Dawn said, her voice hard. Giles looked up to see her shove the last few fries into her mouth. “I’ve got a lot of studying to do before Hilary Term starts, and I know you’re always complaining about how much paperwork you have.” She stood and grabbed her book bag, not looking at him. “I can take the tube back to HQ. See you later.”
She stalked out, leaving Giles alone with a half-finished plate of curry, wondering what had gone wrong.
Giles pondered his options on the drive back to the office. One thing that heading the Council had taught him was the delights of ‘consultants.’ One didn’t need to be proficient in all demonic languages if one could hire an expert who was fluent in the particular language needed, and while the inside of a young girl’s head wasn’t quite demonic in the iniquitous sense, it was at least as unfathomable as any demon language Giles had ever seen. Yes, better to get a good translation, first, before rushing once more unto the breech. He flicked on his turn signal and entered the parking garage, holding up his ID for the guards.
Xander was in Africa, and presumably hadn’t yet been informed of recent developments. While the young man had a rapport with Dawn that Giles lacked, he was hardly available for immediate consultation. Buffy was presumably still attempting to apply ‘retail therapy’ to recent developments, and Buffy had never seemed to have any more insight into Dawn’s mind than he’d ever had into Buffy’s. Besides, Dawn in pain triggered all her protective instincts, which was commendable but hardly useful to him. Under the circumstances, she was more likely to attack than explain. No, better to leave Buffy alone until after he’d sorted this whole mess out. That left Willow as the only available interpreter, he concluded as he pulled into his reserved parking spot.
“Has the younger Miss Summers returned from lunch yet?” Giles asked the receptionist as he signed back in.
“No, sir,” the young man replied respectfully. “Shall I direct her to your office when she arrives?”
“No, thank you. What about Miss Rosenberg and the elder Miss Summers?”
The receptionist—one of the new hires from outside the families; Giles supposed he should remember the man’s name—checked his computer. And wasn’t that a sign of how things had changed? Travers was certainly rolling in his grave, and not just from the introduction of modern technology; the London office building that was currently serving as the Council’s headquarters until something more suitable could be found was a far cry from the elegantly appointed compound in the country that had housed their previous incarnation.
“They’re out with one of the Council’s cars, no estimated return time given,” the secretary said presently. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you,” Giles said absently, heading off to his office. Once there he instructed his secretary to reschedule his meetings for the day and that he didn’t wish to be disturbed for anything short of an imminent minor apocalypse. Overriding her protests, he closed the door behind him, glancing about the rather utilitarian room as if the files and forms covering his desk and every available surface might have come to life while he was out. Though, given their propensity to multiply, he wouldn’t put spawning beneath them. Shaking off the momentary fancy, he typed in Willow’s number into his cell phone. She picked up after only a two rings.
“Hey, Giles, what’s up?” Willow asked. “Can wait? Buffy and I are kinda playing hooky today from the Council.”
“It’s not Council business,” Giles said, shoving up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “It’s Dawn; I’m afraid that our luncheon didn’t go as well as might be hoped. I have no idea what happened to upset her. We were discussing the recent discovery and she got up and left rather abruptly for no reason I could determine.”
“You must have said something, though,” Willow said. “She’s usually pretty level-headed these days.”
“Yes, I realize that,” Giles said. “But alas, I have no idea what’s the matter. I was actually hoping you could help me; you’re rather more in tune with the intricacies of the female mind in general and the Summers women in particular than I am. Any and all assistance you could provide would be greatly appreciated. Oh—and please don’t tell Buffy about this until after I’ve had a chance to smooth things over with Dawn.”
There was a pause and some rustling, and he thought he heard Buffy’s voice in the background. “I’ll take the tube back to HQ,” Willow said at last. “Buffy’s mostly calmed down. See you in about half an hour.”
“So,” Willow said after he finished repeating their conversation to her, “you said you don’t want kids, you don’t know how to be a father and don’t think she needs one.”
“That’s not what I said!” Giles protested.
“No, but it’s what you implied,” Willow said. “Whether you meant it or not, it’s what she probably heard. You know how Hank’s ignored her and Buffy; that’s the only father she’s ever known. You’re a smart guy, Giles; you shouldn’t need me to tell you to avoid sounding like him right out of the gates.” She sank into the comfortable chair across from his desk and crossed her legs.
“I’ve never met the man,” Giles said. “How should I know how he talks to Dawn, on the rare occasions he can be bothered to call?”
“Exactly,” Willow said, nodding. “‘On the rare occasions he can be bothered to call.’ That’s what she’s used to from her father. It’s kinda what she expects.”
“I would never abandon a child of mine like that arse did,” Giles replied heatedly.
“Maybe not,” Willow shot back, “but you did leave Buffy and Dawn and the rest of us after Buffy came back, and we all needed you. Buffy and Dawn especially—that year was hell.”
“The situations are hardly comparable,” Giles said, shoving his hands in his pockets. That year (and the events leading up to it) had been hell, for everyone; him included. They had all been soul-sick, then, and Giles had thought there was nothing he could do for anyone until he could fix himself. It had taken a long time, and many retreats with the Devon coven, to restore him to anything like himself. “And if I’d known then what I know now, I would have acted quite differently.”
“We all would, Giles,” Willow said with a sad smile. “But that doesn’t change anything now. And you can’t just ignore it.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant to the situation,” Giles said. “Though,” he added with some chagrin, “I do see your point. But I was expecting a civilized conversation, not a counselling session. Dawn is a mature young woman who always seems to be relatively self-sufficient.”
“There’s a difference between being self-sufficient because you want to be and self-sufficient because you don’t have anyone to support you when you need it,” Willow pointed out. “You and Dawn are a lot closer than she ever was with Hank. You mean a lot to her. You gotta let her know that she means a lot to you, too, and that you’re gonna be there for her. However you two decide to work out your relationship.”
“And just how does one go about doing that?” Giles asked.
Willow shrugged. “I think me telling you what to do here would be pretty counterproductive—she’s not going to accept it if she thinks it’s staged or coached. It has to be natural. Sincere. From the heart. And it has to be convincing.”
Giles took off his glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief. “Willow, I don’t know if you’ve figured this out in all our years of working together,” he said. “But I’m not very good at what one might call the ‘touchy-feely’ stuff.”
“No, really?” Willow’s eyes widened in mock-surprise. “And here I thought you were all into warm fuzzies.”
“Do be serious,” Giles said with an exasperated glance, sitting down on the edge of his desk.
Willow shrugged. “Dawn knows you, Giles. She’s not going to expect you to suddenly turn into Mister Touchy-Feely. That’s not what this is about. It’s about you being there when she needs you. Though, in order to convince her she can count on you, you are going to have to open up a bit more than you’re used to.”
“Yes, but do you have any specific suggestions as to how that might be accomplished?” Giles shook his head. “I can’t just go up to her and blurt out my undying love.”
Willow tilted her head and stared off into space. “It would help if I knew what specifically set her off,” she said at last.
“I’ve already repeated the conversation for you,” Giles replied.
“What about body language?” Willow asked. “Was there anything significant there?”
Giles ran the luncheon through his mind, studying the actions instead of the words this time. A Watcher’s trained memory came in handy in all sorts of situations besides those it was intended for. Dawn had seemed rather absorbed in her food for the most part, sneaking glances at him, while he— “Oh, dear Lord.”
Giles shifted nervously in the hallway, taking deep breaths. Somehow, this was more nerve-wracking than facing the average apocalypse. Then, at least, he usually had at least half an idea what to expect. He smoothed out the ribbon on the package before tucking it under one arm; Willow had suggested bringing a gift, not jewellery or flowers but something more personal, something that required thought, and something unconnected with work or school. He raised his hand to knock on the door.
It opened unexpectedly, startling him.
“Oh!” Dawn said in surprise, looking cornered. “Giles. I, um, wasn’t expecting you. I was just about to go … somewhere. Did you, uh, want to talk?”
“Yes, actually,” Giles said. “I would, um, like that very much. I’m a-afraid our conversation earlier didn’t go well, and I’d like to apologise. And see if we can’t make another go of it.”
“… all right.” Dawn stood aside and let him enter the tiny bedsit. He didn’t think he’d been in her flat before, but it was generically similar to the others of its type in the building, which was owned by the Council. There were posters on the walls, and books piled on the floor; the bed was unmade. “Sorry about the mess,” Dawn muttered. “I could make tea, if you want.”
“No, I’m fine,” Giles said. “And truth to tell, it’s much neater and in better shape than just about anywhere I lived when I was your age.”
“Oh, right,” Dawn said. “Your ‘Ripper’ stage.” She gestured at the chair by the desk, the only one in the room. “Have a seat.” She plopped down on her bed and grabbed a pillow.
Like … her mother, she had an abundance of pillows. What did one person need with so many, Giles wondered? He shook himself and held out the package. “I brought you something.”
“You didn’t have to,” Dawn said, hesitating.
“I know,” Giles replied. “I wanted to.”
He held it out until she took it from him. She turned it over in her hands before unwrapping it carefully. She freed the book from the last of the paper and ran her fingers over the old, well-cared-for cover. “Howards End,” she said. “What’s it about?”
“It’s about a terribly stuffy family in Edwardian England,” Giles said. “It’s about them learning to connect. With themselves, with each other, with the world around them.”
“No symbolism there, huh?” Dawn said wryly.
Giles raised an eyebrow. “No, none at all.”
She opened the cover, careful of the delicate paper, and, seeing the inscription, read it aloud. “To Rupert, Christmas 1976. May this book give you ease and entertainment when the world seems too dark, and be a reminder of hearth and home when you need it. From your father, Allard Giles.” She blinked rapidly a few times, keeping her head bent over the book. “Giles, I can’t take this.”
“Why not?” he asked after a moment, keeping his voice steady.
“It’s from your father,” she said. “And it’s old, and probably valuable. It’s too much, really.”
“And I want you to have it,” Giles said quietly. “I don’t really need it myself; I’ve read it so often I have practically all my favourite passages committed to memory. I think you might enjoy it.”
“It obviously means a lot to you,” Dawn said, brushing a finger over the inscription. “Why do you want me to have it?”
Giles paused, meditating on possible answers to the question. He could think of several off hand, all perfectly true, but perhaps under the circumstances it was best to keep things simple. “Because you are my daughter.”
Dawns fingers clenched so hard on the book that for a second he was afraid she might damage it. She carefully loosened her grip, smoothing out the pages and closing the cover. “Thanks,” she said, clutching it to her. She raised her head at last, eyes glistening. “So, Allard, huh?” She scooted over and patted the bed beside her.
“It’s an old English name,” Giles said, sitting down next to her. “It means ‘noble and brave.’”
“Uh-huh,” Dawn said with a slight smile. “You know, if that’s the kind of names your family comes up with, I think I’m kind of glad you didn’t name me. It’s worse than ‘Buffy’.”
Giles tsked. “Rupert and Allard are both perfectly fine names, with ancient and honourable lineage and symbolism. Buffy, on the other hand, was made up in the late twentieth century to sound cutesy. In your … mother’s case, it doesn’t even have the excuse of being a derivative of a decent name such as Elizabeth.”
“‘Mother,’” Dawn shook her head. “God, that sounds too weird.”
“Yes,” Giles said. “I assure you, it is no less strange to her or me. We are all of us floundering, somewhat, trying to catch our bearings. I’m afraid that in my confusion, I expressed myself rather—badly, this afternoon, for which I apologise.” He paused. “When I checked my watch, I wasn’t trying to find an excuse to get out of the conversation or to avoid you or put you off; I was checking to see if I needed to reschedule my next meeting.”
“Oh,” Dawn said quietly. She shifted restlessly. “Sorry for storming out like that, I just …”
“It’s quite all right,” Giles said. “Under the circumstances, and given your history with … with Hank, I understand. I would appreciate it if you would give me the benefit of the doubt in the future, or at least time to explain myself.”
Dawn bobbed her head. “I know, I was being too sensitive, and I shouldn’t have taken it that way.”
“Well, perhaps, but given your experience with Hank it was quite an understandable reaction and I should have been more sensitive to your … to your needs.”
Dawn cocked her head at him. “You know, we could be here all night with this. Let’s just … move on, okay?”
“Very well,” Giles said. “Where do you want to move on to?”
“Um,” Dawn took a deep breath, “why don’t you want kids?” She was staring fixedly at the wall across from them.
“It isn’t a matter of not wanting children,” Giles said somewhat sharper than he’d intended. He paused to take hold of himself and think out what he wanted to say very carefully. “As a youth, I expected my life to take the usual path of career with the Council, marriage, and children, but nothing specific, really. In my rebellious phase children were the furthest thing from my mind, and afterwards I’d acquired quite the reputation among the Council families.”
“Didn’t want their daughters going out with a guy who used to raise demons, huh?” Dawn gave him half a smile.
“Not especially, no,” Giles said, grimacing, though he was pleased to see she’d relaxed a little.
“Their loss,” Dawn said with a shrug. “And you couldn’t look outside the Council because?”
“Casual relationships are one thing,” Giles replied. “Settling down and raising a family with a woman ignorant of the dangers involved in my line of work was simply … out of the question. And by the time I’d paid my dues in Council circles for my youthful follies, I was on the short list to be an active Watcher. And if one doesn’t already have a family by that point, well, one generally doesn’t have a family.”
“Don’t want to put children—besides Slayers, of course—on the front lines, huh?”
“It’s generally frowned upon.” Giles scratched his head meditatively. “I also think it has something to do with the fact that one’s duty to one’s Slayer must take precedence to one’s family obligations, and most women have a hard time playing second fiddle to a teenage girl.”
“I can see that,” Dawn said. She paused, tilting her head, looking serious. “Did you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“A family life with a wife, kids, the whole nine yards. Did you miss it?”
Giles stifled his first reaction and gave the question some thought. “Watchers don’t often get fairy-tale endings,” he said slowly. “Few people associated with the Council do; we each have our destiny to fulfil, and the needs of the many outweigh the desires of the individual. One does one’s duty. If one is lucky, it is … not incompatible with one’s wishes. If not.…” He shrugged. “You can’t live your life on dreams and wishes. You learn to put them aside, to ignore them, and focus on your responsibilities. When you’re trying to find a way to prevent the end of the world, such things seem … trivial. Naïve. Fortunately, there’s no shortage of work to keep one occupied.”
“Yeah, but did you miss it?” Dawn was, as usual, quite persistent.
Giles pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t trade my time as Buffy’s Watcher for anything; even with the horrors we faced, it is … good to fulfil one’s purpose in life.”
“You’re not answering the question,” Dawn said, crossing her arms and giving him an exasperated stare.
“I don’t— I can’t—” Giles paused to collect his thoughts. “I’m not sure how to answer. It’s not really a question I’ve ever allowed myself to consider.”
“And now that it’s, um, not academic?”
Giles looked at his … his daughter, sitting next to him, who had already been abandoned by one father. “Now?” He smiled gently. “Now I’m nervous, and still slightly in shock; it will likely take quite some time to get used to. But I’m glad it’s you. And I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world, either, Dawn.”
Dawn blinked. “Really?”
Giles nudged her with his shoulder. “Really.”
She grinned.
Author:
beatrice_otter Summary: "I realize you’ve a dearth of male role models in your life, but a father is more than just an older man who happens to be around or who just happened to supply half your DNA." What the monks didn't tell about Dawn.
Rating: G
Fandom: Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Spoilers: Post-Chosen
Original Story: Her Father's Daughter by
jedibuttercupThanks to
alixtii for the beta!Giles walked through the halls of the new Watchers’ building, absently flipping through a report on Fyarl activity in southern Africa that he was supposed to read before the next meeting. As Travers and the rest of the Council’s bureaucrats had had the indecency to get themselves all killed by Bringers, Giles found himself stuck with boring meetings instead of hands-on research and training; it was the worst parts of being a shopkeeper and a high school librarian rolled into one, with none of the benefits.
Giles was the most experienced field watcher in almost two centuries, which made him (as Dawn had pointed out when he griped about it last week) about a thousand times too valuable to risk on field manoeuvres, at least until the entire structure of the Council of Watchers had been rebuilt to a standard of training, readiness, and flexibility that both he and Buffy considered adequate. Of course, by that time he’d be too old to go back into the field, but perhaps a position in the Research section of the library would be appropriate? There’d be less day-to-day contact with Slayers than he had now, but perhaps by that time Buffy would be done with her world tour and ready to settle down? She’d seemed weary of her travels when he picked her up from Heathrow the night before, and there was no earthly reason the Senior Slayer need be the one to inspect each region, nor be available for every minor crisis, once things were more settled. They might even be able to teach a class or two together. And if Dawn wasn’t assigned to the field, they’d be working together in Research.
He slowed as he approached Buffy’s office—perhaps she might be interested in a late lunch after his meeting? They saw too little of each other, and a meeting with the Senior Slayer would give him a perfect excuse to cut things short if Johnston-Smythe exercised his usual propensity for arse-kissing verbosity.
“…and loaded, since he found out about the Council’s funds.” That light-hearted voice was Dawn, and he had a sinking feeling she was talking about him. Going to Oxford on a Council scholarship had given her a rather exaggerated view of his personal fortune. “Think he’d give me a car, if I told him?”
“Told who what?” he enquired as he entered Buffy’s office.
There was a stack of paperwork to deal with, but unless Giles had the good fortune to have a mik’Nar demon nesting in his desk drawer, it would still be there tomorrow. The day’s news was, he felt, momentous enough to justify a bit of truancy. He’d gone to his meeting but had spent more time trying to adjust to the notion of new-found fatherhood than paying attention to the current state of the supernatural. Afterwards, he’d spent five minutes dithering in the gentlemen’s toilets before returning to Buffy’s office.
“Come in!” Dawn called at his knock.
Giles slipped in, closing the door behind him. Dawn was poring over her studies, books spread out across the desk. “I swear, you use your—Buffy’s office more than she does. Perhaps we should put your name on the door?” As he’d expected, Buffy herself was nowhere to be found.
“But then where would she keep her souvenirs?” Dawn replied, waving at the knick-knacks Buffy had acquired on her travels. “She was still wigging, last I saw her. I think she and Willow went out for some coffee and retail therapy.”
“I see,” Giles said. “I wonder if …” he took off his glasses and began to polish them “… I wonder if you might like to go out for a bite to eat? Perhaps talk about the new, ah, developments in our relationship?”
Dawn blinked, glancing at the clock. “I guess it is lunchtime, huh. Yeah, that sounds good. Not in the cafeteria, though.”
“I dare say I can afford a real restaurant this once,” Giles replied. Rumours were bound to fly once the news came out, but he didn’t want to give them a head-start. “I do have to be back for another meeting later this afternoon, but aside from that I’m all yours.”
“I’m not going to start calling you ‘Dad’ all of a sudden, just because we found out the monks took some of your, um, genetic material to combine with Buffy’s to make me.” Dawn broke the uncomfortable silence with her usual bluntness. “Although, I dunno, maybe someday. I’m never gonna call Buffy ‘Mom,’ though; that would just be too weird.”
“I see,” Giles said noncommittally, poking at his curry. “I’m … I’ve never really given much thought to having a family. Children. Particularly not under such circumstances. I’m afraid I’m not sure what exactly I’m supposed to do or how to act towards you.”
“You could give me a car,” Dawn suggested with an impish grin.
“Oh, certainly, how about a townhouse in Kensington while we’re at it,” he shot back. “Do be serious, Dawn.”
“If you insist,” she said with a shrug. “But you do realize I’ve never actually met Hank Summers? Not face-to-face, I mean; I have talked with him on the phone a couple of times, but aside from that everything I have of him the monks made up. You’re here, and you care, and that puts you miles ahead of him in my book.” Dawn jammed a fry in her ketchup.
“Yes, but that’s not saying much.”
Dawn snorted. “True.” She popped the fry in her mouth. “I guess, I dunno, haven’t you ever thought about being a parent before? Even an honorary one? I mean, the Scoobies—”
“Are hardly my children,” Giles said. “I’ve never been a father-figure to any of them. Friend, researcher, and butt of the occasional joke, yes; father, no. I realize you’ve a dearth of male role models in your life, but a father is more than just an older man who happens to be around or who just happened to supply half your DNA. A father—any parent, really—is a protector, an authority figure, an advisor, a disciplinarian when necessary.”
“Well, there you have it,” Dawn said. “You don’t need me to tell you what a parent does. Though I’d add comforter and ATM to the list.”
“I am not now and never shall be a bank machine,” Giles replied. “And you’re just a tad too old to be taken over my knee, even if you deserved it. Not to mention, when you’re done with your schooling and Watcher training, you’d tell me off for trying to protect you from field work. As to comforter, you may have noticed that I’m not exactly what you might call the ‘touchy-feely’ type. It’s not as if I was very successful at it after Buffy’s death.”
“I think the ‘protector’ thing is mostly for kids, anyway,” Dawn said.
“Yes, and you are hardly a child any longer,” Giles agreed. “It seems as if there’s little left for a father to do in your case; you’ve matured into a fine young woman.”
“Thanks,” she said, sounding out of sorts. He’d just complimented her; what on Earth was the matter? She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve never thought of Buffy as your daughter?”
“Good heavens, no,” Giles said with some annoyance. “She’s my Slayer. I refer you to the aforementioned role of the parent as a protector, which doesn’t exactly mix well with a Watcher’s duty to send his Slayer out against vampires, demons, and assorted apocalypses. And when was I ever an authority figure to her? Or a disciplinarian? Though I’m not sure she quite realizes there are relationships between men and women that don’t fall into either the father/daughter or lover categories.”
“Yeah.” Dawn shrugged. “But I think what’s freaking her out more than that is the thought of having a kid with someone Mom once slept with.”
Giles blinked and reached for his tea. “Good Lord, I hadn’t thought of it that way. Yes, that is rather, um …”
“Wig-worthy?” Dawn suggested.
“Indeed.”
They ate in silence for some minutes.
“You never expected to have kids?” Dawn asked.
“Not really, no,” Giles replied. “I’ve never given it much thought. I suppose I shall have to, now, shan’t I?” He checked his watch; they still had plenty of time before his afternoon meeting with the Prophecy Committee.
“You do that,” Dawn said, her voice hard. Giles looked up to see her shove the last few fries into her mouth. “I’ve got a lot of studying to do before Hilary Term starts, and I know you’re always complaining about how much paperwork you have.” She stood and grabbed her book bag, not looking at him. “I can take the tube back to HQ. See you later.”
She stalked out, leaving Giles alone with a half-finished plate of curry, wondering what had gone wrong.
Giles pondered his options on the drive back to the office. One thing that heading the Council had taught him was the delights of ‘consultants.’ One didn’t need to be proficient in all demonic languages if one could hire an expert who was fluent in the particular language needed, and while the inside of a young girl’s head wasn’t quite demonic in the iniquitous sense, it was at least as unfathomable as any demon language Giles had ever seen. Yes, better to get a good translation, first, before rushing once more unto the breech. He flicked on his turn signal and entered the parking garage, holding up his ID for the guards.
Xander was in Africa, and presumably hadn’t yet been informed of recent developments. While the young man had a rapport with Dawn that Giles lacked, he was hardly available for immediate consultation. Buffy was presumably still attempting to apply ‘retail therapy’ to recent developments, and Buffy had never seemed to have any more insight into Dawn’s mind than he’d ever had into Buffy’s. Besides, Dawn in pain triggered all her protective instincts, which was commendable but hardly useful to him. Under the circumstances, she was more likely to attack than explain. No, better to leave Buffy alone until after he’d sorted this whole mess out. That left Willow as the only available interpreter, he concluded as he pulled into his reserved parking spot.
“Has the younger Miss Summers returned from lunch yet?” Giles asked the receptionist as he signed back in.
“No, sir,” the young man replied respectfully. “Shall I direct her to your office when she arrives?”
“No, thank you. What about Miss Rosenberg and the elder Miss Summers?”
The receptionist—one of the new hires from outside the families; Giles supposed he should remember the man’s name—checked his computer. And wasn’t that a sign of how things had changed? Travers was certainly rolling in his grave, and not just from the introduction of modern technology; the London office building that was currently serving as the Council’s headquarters until something more suitable could be found was a far cry from the elegantly appointed compound in the country that had housed their previous incarnation.
“They’re out with one of the Council’s cars, no estimated return time given,” the secretary said presently. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you,” Giles said absently, heading off to his office. Once there he instructed his secretary to reschedule his meetings for the day and that he didn’t wish to be disturbed for anything short of an imminent minor apocalypse. Overriding her protests, he closed the door behind him, glancing about the rather utilitarian room as if the files and forms covering his desk and every available surface might have come to life while he was out. Though, given their propensity to multiply, he wouldn’t put spawning beneath them. Shaking off the momentary fancy, he typed in Willow’s number into his cell phone. She picked up after only a two rings.
“Hey, Giles, what’s up?” Willow asked. “Can wait? Buffy and I are kinda playing hooky today from the Council.”
“It’s not Council business,” Giles said, shoving up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “It’s Dawn; I’m afraid that our luncheon didn’t go as well as might be hoped. I have no idea what happened to upset her. We were discussing the recent discovery and she got up and left rather abruptly for no reason I could determine.”
“You must have said something, though,” Willow said. “She’s usually pretty level-headed these days.”
“Yes, I realize that,” Giles said. “But alas, I have no idea what’s the matter. I was actually hoping you could help me; you’re rather more in tune with the intricacies of the female mind in general and the Summers women in particular than I am. Any and all assistance you could provide would be greatly appreciated. Oh—and please don’t tell Buffy about this until after I’ve had a chance to smooth things over with Dawn.”
There was a pause and some rustling, and he thought he heard Buffy’s voice in the background. “I’ll take the tube back to HQ,” Willow said at last. “Buffy’s mostly calmed down. See you in about half an hour.”
“So,” Willow said after he finished repeating their conversation to her, “you said you don’t want kids, you don’t know how to be a father and don’t think she needs one.”
“That’s not what I said!” Giles protested.
“No, but it’s what you implied,” Willow said. “Whether you meant it or not, it’s what she probably heard. You know how Hank’s ignored her and Buffy; that’s the only father she’s ever known. You’re a smart guy, Giles; you shouldn’t need me to tell you to avoid sounding like him right out of the gates.” She sank into the comfortable chair across from his desk and crossed her legs.
“I’ve never met the man,” Giles said. “How should I know how he talks to Dawn, on the rare occasions he can be bothered to call?”
“Exactly,” Willow said, nodding. “‘On the rare occasions he can be bothered to call.’ That’s what she’s used to from her father. It’s kinda what she expects.”
“I would never abandon a child of mine like that arse did,” Giles replied heatedly.
“Maybe not,” Willow shot back, “but you did leave Buffy and Dawn and the rest of us after Buffy came back, and we all needed you. Buffy and Dawn especially—that year was hell.”
“The situations are hardly comparable,” Giles said, shoving his hands in his pockets. That year (and the events leading up to it) had been hell, for everyone; him included. They had all been soul-sick, then, and Giles had thought there was nothing he could do for anyone until he could fix himself. It had taken a long time, and many retreats with the Devon coven, to restore him to anything like himself. “And if I’d known then what I know now, I would have acted quite differently.”
“We all would, Giles,” Willow said with a sad smile. “But that doesn’t change anything now. And you can’t just ignore it.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant to the situation,” Giles said. “Though,” he added with some chagrin, “I do see your point. But I was expecting a civilized conversation, not a counselling session. Dawn is a mature young woman who always seems to be relatively self-sufficient.”
“There’s a difference between being self-sufficient because you want to be and self-sufficient because you don’t have anyone to support you when you need it,” Willow pointed out. “You and Dawn are a lot closer than she ever was with Hank. You mean a lot to her. You gotta let her know that she means a lot to you, too, and that you’re gonna be there for her. However you two decide to work out your relationship.”
“And just how does one go about doing that?” Giles asked.
Willow shrugged. “I think me telling you what to do here would be pretty counterproductive—she’s not going to accept it if she thinks it’s staged or coached. It has to be natural. Sincere. From the heart. And it has to be convincing.”
Giles took off his glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief. “Willow, I don’t know if you’ve figured this out in all our years of working together,” he said. “But I’m not very good at what one might call the ‘touchy-feely’ stuff.”
“No, really?” Willow’s eyes widened in mock-surprise. “And here I thought you were all into warm fuzzies.”
“Do be serious,” Giles said with an exasperated glance, sitting down on the edge of his desk.
Willow shrugged. “Dawn knows you, Giles. She’s not going to expect you to suddenly turn into Mister Touchy-Feely. That’s not what this is about. It’s about you being there when she needs you. Though, in order to convince her she can count on you, you are going to have to open up a bit more than you’re used to.”
“Yes, but do you have any specific suggestions as to how that might be accomplished?” Giles shook his head. “I can’t just go up to her and blurt out my undying love.”
Willow tilted her head and stared off into space. “It would help if I knew what specifically set her off,” she said at last.
“I’ve already repeated the conversation for you,” Giles replied.
“What about body language?” Willow asked. “Was there anything significant there?”
Giles ran the luncheon through his mind, studying the actions instead of the words this time. A Watcher’s trained memory came in handy in all sorts of situations besides those it was intended for. Dawn had seemed rather absorbed in her food for the most part, sneaking glances at him, while he— “Oh, dear Lord.”
Giles shifted nervously in the hallway, taking deep breaths. Somehow, this was more nerve-wracking than facing the average apocalypse. Then, at least, he usually had at least half an idea what to expect. He smoothed out the ribbon on the package before tucking it under one arm; Willow had suggested bringing a gift, not jewellery or flowers but something more personal, something that required thought, and something unconnected with work or school. He raised his hand to knock on the door.
It opened unexpectedly, startling him.
“Oh!” Dawn said in surprise, looking cornered. “Giles. I, um, wasn’t expecting you. I was just about to go … somewhere. Did you, uh, want to talk?”
“Yes, actually,” Giles said. “I would, um, like that very much. I’m a-afraid our conversation earlier didn’t go well, and I’d like to apologise. And see if we can’t make another go of it.”
“… all right.” Dawn stood aside and let him enter the tiny bedsit. He didn’t think he’d been in her flat before, but it was generically similar to the others of its type in the building, which was owned by the Council. There were posters on the walls, and books piled on the floor; the bed was unmade. “Sorry about the mess,” Dawn muttered. “I could make tea, if you want.”
“No, I’m fine,” Giles said. “And truth to tell, it’s much neater and in better shape than just about anywhere I lived when I was your age.”
“Oh, right,” Dawn said. “Your ‘Ripper’ stage.” She gestured at the chair by the desk, the only one in the room. “Have a seat.” She plopped down on her bed and grabbed a pillow.
Like … her mother, she had an abundance of pillows. What did one person need with so many, Giles wondered? He shook himself and held out the package. “I brought you something.”
“You didn’t have to,” Dawn said, hesitating.
“I know,” Giles replied. “I wanted to.”
He held it out until she took it from him. She turned it over in her hands before unwrapping it carefully. She freed the book from the last of the paper and ran her fingers over the old, well-cared-for cover. “Howards End,” she said. “What’s it about?”
“It’s about a terribly stuffy family in Edwardian England,” Giles said. “It’s about them learning to connect. With themselves, with each other, with the world around them.”
“No symbolism there, huh?” Dawn said wryly.
Giles raised an eyebrow. “No, none at all.”
She opened the cover, careful of the delicate paper, and, seeing the inscription, read it aloud. “To Rupert, Christmas 1976. May this book give you ease and entertainment when the world seems too dark, and be a reminder of hearth and home when you need it. From your father, Allard Giles.” She blinked rapidly a few times, keeping her head bent over the book. “Giles, I can’t take this.”
“Why not?” he asked after a moment, keeping his voice steady.
“It’s from your father,” she said. “And it’s old, and probably valuable. It’s too much, really.”
“And I want you to have it,” Giles said quietly. “I don’t really need it myself; I’ve read it so often I have practically all my favourite passages committed to memory. I think you might enjoy it.”
“It obviously means a lot to you,” Dawn said, brushing a finger over the inscription. “Why do you want me to have it?”
Giles paused, meditating on possible answers to the question. He could think of several off hand, all perfectly true, but perhaps under the circumstances it was best to keep things simple. “Because you are my daughter.”
Dawns fingers clenched so hard on the book that for a second he was afraid she might damage it. She carefully loosened her grip, smoothing out the pages and closing the cover. “Thanks,” she said, clutching it to her. She raised her head at last, eyes glistening. “So, Allard, huh?” She scooted over and patted the bed beside her.
“It’s an old English name,” Giles said, sitting down next to her. “It means ‘noble and brave.’”
“Uh-huh,” Dawn said with a slight smile. “You know, if that’s the kind of names your family comes up with, I think I’m kind of glad you didn’t name me. It’s worse than ‘Buffy’.”
Giles tsked. “Rupert and Allard are both perfectly fine names, with ancient and honourable lineage and symbolism. Buffy, on the other hand, was made up in the late twentieth century to sound cutesy. In your … mother’s case, it doesn’t even have the excuse of being a derivative of a decent name such as Elizabeth.”
“‘Mother,’” Dawn shook her head. “God, that sounds too weird.”
“Yes,” Giles said. “I assure you, it is no less strange to her or me. We are all of us floundering, somewhat, trying to catch our bearings. I’m afraid that in my confusion, I expressed myself rather—badly, this afternoon, for which I apologise.” He paused. “When I checked my watch, I wasn’t trying to find an excuse to get out of the conversation or to avoid you or put you off; I was checking to see if I needed to reschedule my next meeting.”
“Oh,” Dawn said quietly. She shifted restlessly. “Sorry for storming out like that, I just …”
“It’s quite all right,” Giles said. “Under the circumstances, and given your history with … with Hank, I understand. I would appreciate it if you would give me the benefit of the doubt in the future, or at least time to explain myself.”
Dawn bobbed her head. “I know, I was being too sensitive, and I shouldn’t have taken it that way.”
“Well, perhaps, but given your experience with Hank it was quite an understandable reaction and I should have been more sensitive to your … to your needs.”
Dawn cocked her head at him. “You know, we could be here all night with this. Let’s just … move on, okay?”
“Very well,” Giles said. “Where do you want to move on to?”
“Um,” Dawn took a deep breath, “why don’t you want kids?” She was staring fixedly at the wall across from them.
“It isn’t a matter of not wanting children,” Giles said somewhat sharper than he’d intended. He paused to take hold of himself and think out what he wanted to say very carefully. “As a youth, I expected my life to take the usual path of career with the Council, marriage, and children, but nothing specific, really. In my rebellious phase children were the furthest thing from my mind, and afterwards I’d acquired quite the reputation among the Council families.”
“Didn’t want their daughters going out with a guy who used to raise demons, huh?” Dawn gave him half a smile.
“Not especially, no,” Giles said, grimacing, though he was pleased to see she’d relaxed a little.
“Their loss,” Dawn said with a shrug. “And you couldn’t look outside the Council because?”
“Casual relationships are one thing,” Giles replied. “Settling down and raising a family with a woman ignorant of the dangers involved in my line of work was simply … out of the question. And by the time I’d paid my dues in Council circles for my youthful follies, I was on the short list to be an active Watcher. And if one doesn’t already have a family by that point, well, one generally doesn’t have a family.”
“Don’t want to put children—besides Slayers, of course—on the front lines, huh?”
“It’s generally frowned upon.” Giles scratched his head meditatively. “I also think it has something to do with the fact that one’s duty to one’s Slayer must take precedence to one’s family obligations, and most women have a hard time playing second fiddle to a teenage girl.”
“I can see that,” Dawn said. She paused, tilting her head, looking serious. “Did you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“A family life with a wife, kids, the whole nine yards. Did you miss it?”
Giles stifled his first reaction and gave the question some thought. “Watchers don’t often get fairy-tale endings,” he said slowly. “Few people associated with the Council do; we each have our destiny to fulfil, and the needs of the many outweigh the desires of the individual. One does one’s duty. If one is lucky, it is … not incompatible with one’s wishes. If not.…” He shrugged. “You can’t live your life on dreams and wishes. You learn to put them aside, to ignore them, and focus on your responsibilities. When you’re trying to find a way to prevent the end of the world, such things seem … trivial. Naïve. Fortunately, there’s no shortage of work to keep one occupied.”
“Yeah, but did you miss it?” Dawn was, as usual, quite persistent.
Giles pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t trade my time as Buffy’s Watcher for anything; even with the horrors we faced, it is … good to fulfil one’s purpose in life.”
“You’re not answering the question,” Dawn said, crossing her arms and giving him an exasperated stare.
“I don’t— I can’t—” Giles paused to collect his thoughts. “I’m not sure how to answer. It’s not really a question I’ve ever allowed myself to consider.”
“And now that it’s, um, not academic?”
Giles looked at his … his daughter, sitting next to him, who had already been abandoned by one father. “Now?” He smiled gently. “Now I’m nervous, and still slightly in shock; it will likely take quite some time to get used to. But I’m glad it’s you. And I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world, either, Dawn.”
Dawn blinked. “Really?”
Giles nudged her with his shoulder. “Really.”
She grinned.
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-24 02:14 am (UTC)--this is what I always knew should happen after my little quickfic, but couldn't ever manage to write myself. It's still got the light-hearted elements to it, with the picking up right where my quad-drabble left off and the retail therapy and the name-weirdness and everything-- but it's got a lot more depth to it too.
I loved that Giles wasn't the only awkward one here; you showed the wounded Dawn under the light-hearted surface, too. And the resolution wasn't sap and shopping sprees and et cetera; they felt so much like real people, forced to re-evaluate each other and their connection to one another.
And the tiny pillows. And the wise!Willow. And an actual expectation for Giles' AWOL-ness that one year. And an inclusion of "Howard's End", which I actually own and enjoy. And I even loved the title! SO. MUCH. LOVE. all around. ♥ ♥ ♥
Thank you. I adore this.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-24 02:37 am (UTC)I've never actually read anything by Forster; that comes from the comment Jenny made about him lending her a 1st-edition Forster that had belonged to his father in (iirc) The Dark Age. The title--I am so bad at titles, normally, so when I actually came up with something cool, I was shocked.
It didn't go where I expected it to go. I am a Buffy/Giles shipper at heart; I was expecting it to be mostly about Giles and Buffy working through things. Except Giles didn't cooperate, and neither did Dawn, and it turned out to be about the two of them instead.
My beta improved it about 100% by making me go back and fix the things that were broken in the first draft. I think that once names are revealed I'm going to post the first draft, her comments, and the final draft in my LJ to give an example of what a good beta does for a story--there have been a lot of writing-meta pieces floating around lately.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-24 03:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 07:15 pm (UTC)And I even loved the title!
Yeah. Normally, I'm pretty horrible with titles, so I was really pleased to come up with this one, which is kind of cool, y'know? And for remixes you need two titles--eep!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 10:33 pm (UTC)See, I have this sneaky site meter on my webpage? And it recorded that someone whose Intenet connection was registered a certain educational institution had spent quite awhile paging through my stories? And when I went to the schools selector on LJ, a certain name came up? =)
Despite knowing already, though, I was quite eagerly anticipating what you'd come up with, and I'm very pleased with the results. Thank you, again!
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Date: 2007-04-24 07:11 pm (UTC)Oh Giles…He really does do dry funny well when he tries.
“No symbolism there, huh?” Dawn said wryly.
No, no – not a bit. :D
Lovely start to finish. Thank you for this! :D
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-24 07:35 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked it.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-24 07:38 pm (UTC)But yes - Scoobies and snark go together like...oh, I don't know. :D
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Date: 2010-12-20 05:50 am (UTC)Thanks for sharing this.
Regards,
Jillian
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-20 03:32 pm (UTC)