A/N: I admit, I love the Buffy/Giles relationship. Not anything romantic, but the sweet father/daughter bond they have. I've wanted to write something for them for awhile, then I heard this song when I was watching clips of Angel . This is going to be a series of oneshots, not sure how far I'll extend it. Little factoid: did you know every time someone reviews, a vampire combusts on the spot? Totally factual. Really. Help keep the population of vampires low, and R&R. Thanks!
Well, it's not hard to see
Anyone who looks at me
Knows I am just a rolling stone
Never landing anyplace to call my own
To call my own
I must admit, the first time I met the girl who was to be my charge, I had my doubts. She walked casually into the library, all fancy clothes and unintelligible language. To be perfectly honest, she seemed like just another one of the shallow teenage girls I found so frequently among Sunnydale High.
She didn't take to my trying to teach her well. She interrupted with sarcastic retorts every time I tried to teach her the ways of a slayer. She fought back against her destiny. I was hard pressed to get through to her. I will admit, I debated requesting reassignment, but the prestige among the Watcher's community that came from training, conditioning, mentoring a slayer, it was not to be rivaled. Should I fail, I was a disgrace to the Watcher's community.
So I perservered. I gave a sincere effort to find out about Buffy's situation. She lived comfortably with her mother, Joyce. The first time I witnessed their interaction, I was very pleasantly surprised. Joyce was a caring and attentive mother. She and her daughter had a bond unlike any I'd seen. The first time I stood silently by, studying their interaction, I felt a small flare of jealousy I couldn't quite explain.
That night, I went home to my empty apartment, made myself a cup of Bovril and settled on the sofa with a good book. However, after thirty minutes, I set it down in frustration. I could feel the silence of my flat. It had never felt so empty before.
Months later, I stumbled on the prophecy that spelled Buffy's imminent death at the hands of the Master. Alarm and horror didn't even come close to describing the whirlwind of emotion that overtook me in that one horrid moment. An incredible protectiveness I'd never experienced before came over me. Buffy was a perfectly capable fighter, I knew. All the lessons I'd thought had not taken, I saw reflected with a vengeance in her. And when she added a bit of her own flair to the match, I found myself smiling with pride. Still, I wanted to shelter her from everything that could possibly touch her. I lay awake for long nights dreaming of every possible scenario that would culminate in the defeat of the Master, however pointless I knew it was.
The night she killed him was one of the proudest moments of my life.
"You're so pumped about hell?" she growled, her voice pure fury. "Go there."
In that moment, I knew not resigning from my post was the smartest decision of my life. Nothing could have prepared us for the years to come, but we were a family. I was part of a family.