Buffy and her mother were just stepping out of the house when Giles arrived. He got out of the car and met them halfway.

Buffy hugged Giles fiercely and as she squeezed him to her, he observed the reaction it elicited in Joyce. She gave him an uncertain smile before herding them into the station wagon. Buffy insisted on sitting in the back with Giles, to which her mother gave her a questioning look. She said nothing, though, and started driving, casting frequent glances in the rear-view mirror.

Buffy ached to hold his hand, to feel the comforting warmth of his skin touching hers. She met her mother’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and knew it was out of the question. Still, she couldn’t help looking at him in a whole new light after last night’s revelations.

They’d had sex.

True, she hadn’t been there at the time, but it was still her body. With Giles’ body. He’d seen her naked. She’d seen him…

Her eyes widened.

Giles raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question. She simply stared back at him, desperately trying not to picture him naked—feeling envious of the demon for getting the chance.

In the front seat her mother cleared her throat, and Buffy tore her gaze off of Giles and studied her fingernails.

“Sorry to drag you out of bed so early, Mr.Giles,” said Joyce, breaking a tension she felt but didn’t understand.

“Oh, it’s quite alright. I was going to get up soon anyway,” he lied graciously.

They had to drive halfway across town to find a clinic that was open so early on a Sunday morning. The waiting room was nearly empty—the only occupants an elderly couple and a young woman with a squalling infant. Buffy looked at the baby and felt so many conflicting emotions that she couldn’t pick one to express. She glanced at Giles for reassurance, and he was there, his soft green eyes fixing her with a look that said he understood everything.

They sat in the waiting area while Joyce filled out forms at the desk. Even though it wasn’t busy, it still took nearly half an hour before the doctor called Buffy’s name. Joyce stood up to go with her as she’d always done in the past, but Buffy stopped her.

“Mom, I can go in by myself.”

Joyce looked a little hurt, but said, “Of course you can. I’ll just wait out here, then.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” said Buffy, following the doctor into the back rooms.

But he surprised her.

“So, you think you might be pregnant?” he asked, after she’d circled around the subject for what seemed an eternity. Buffy immediately wanted to back-pedal, and her mouth flapped open and shut as her brain scrambled to find a way out of this.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice deliberately soothing. “I won’t say anything to your parents unless you want me to. Whatever we discuss stays between you and me.” Buffy blushed hotly when he mentioned her parents, knowing that he’d assumed Giles was her father.

The doctor was waiting patiently for an answer, and she figured he might not keel over after all, so she admitted she might be pregnant. His face crinkled in a sympathetic smile, that told her he’d had this discussion many times before. He opened one of the sterile-looking cupboards and pulled out a package, handing it to her.

“There’s a washroom down the hall on the left. Follow the instructions carefully—you’ll know in a few minutes whether you’re pregnant or not. No one else has to know the outcome of the test, not even me, if that makes you feel better. But if you decide you want my help, then come back here and I’ll see what I can do. Deal?” Buffy smiled at him thankfully and took the little box with her to the washroom.

She was taking a long time in there, and Giles worried that she was in there crying her heart out while he sat out here uselessly waiting.

When at last she did come out, Joyce and Giles rose as one and went to her. She looked pale and shaky, and Giles knew there could be little doubt now—she was pregnant. He swallowed hard and did his best to compose himself. Joyce took her daughter by the arm and sat her in the nearest seat.

She didn’t want to sound pushy, but Buffy’s silence and shaken appearance were too much to ignore. “What did the doctor say? Is it serious?” she asked.

Buffy looked at Giles, who gave her a reassuring nod—he would stand by her no matter what. She turned her eyes to her mother and said: “I’m fine. He said the nausea wasn’t anything to be worried about. I’m supposed to drink plenty of fluids and it’ll go away on its own. Can we go home now? I’m really tired.” She’d told the truth, to some degree, and it would have to do for now. Buffy felt like she’d just come from a battle that she barely survived—she needed to regroup before facing off with her mom.

The tension in the car on the way home was palpable. Giles and Buffy both wanted to talk, but couldn’t in front of Joyce. And Joyce knew Buffy was keeping something to herself, and thought she didn’t want to say anything in front of Giles.

The drive seemed to stretch on for hours and with every passing minute, Buffy felt her composure slipping away bit by bit. The tears were just below the surface, and she bit her lip, hoping to distract herself from her thoughts. Then she felt her hand being scooped up off her lap as Giles captured it in his own. She squeezed it gratefully.

Letting go of his hand when the station wagon came to a stop was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. As Giles got into his battered old Citroen, he called to her:

“You’ll call me if you need anything?”

“Promise,” she called back, then followed her mom into the house. She went straight to her room, hoping to avoid the inevitable mother/daughter confrontation. It didn’t work.

Joyce knocked on her daughter’s door lightly, then pushed it open. Buffy was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed. She looked so tiny and helpless that Joyce wanted to gather her into her arms as she had when she was a little girl. Instead, she sat down next to her and brushed the long blond bangs out of Buffy’s face.

“Now…are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m starting to think I should put a bench there for you. How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long…okay—an hour, give or take—but I don’t mind,” she added quickly.

“Come on in, then,” he said, unlocking the door. “Have you found out anything new about our demon?” he asked.

“Nada. Sorry.” She paused. “I hope I’m not prying—I know it’s not really any of my business, but I was wondering …I mean, I haven’t heard from you or Buffy. And I was going to call her today, and I didn’t know what to say to her. Does she know? Does she know that I know? Do you think she would want me to call? I don’t know the proper etiquette for this kind of thing.”

“I talked to Buffy last night—told her everything.” He dropped heavily onto the couch, the strain of the last couple of days catching up to him. He removed his glasses, rubbing at his tired eyes with the heels of his hands.

Willow alighted on the couch next to him. “How did she take it?” she asked tentatively.

“Far better than I could have hoped,” he answered. “She’s a little fragile right now, as you can well imagine, but she’d dealing with it remarkably well. Her resilience astounds me.”

“And how are you taking it?” asked Willow.

Giles gave her a wry smile. “Mostly I worry, because there’s little else I can do. I guess we’ve all got to roll with the punches.” He turned to the sweet young woman sitting beside him; Willow had single-handedly pulled him through all this, but it had to be taking its toll on her as well. “How are you holding up, Willow?” he asked.

“Me? Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. It’s not like I’m the victim of a sexually twisted, parasitic demon, or anything.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely true. You’re as much a victim of the Preot as Buffy and I, albeit indirectly. You’ve witnessed things I’m sure you’d rather forget, and I know you feel you have to be strong for me and Buffy, but you can’t be strong all the time. Remember that I’m here for you, too—when this all becomes too much to bear alone, know that you can come to me for support.”

“Actually,’ said Willow with a shaky voice, “I think I could use a little of that right now.” She held out her arms to Giles and he held her, feeling her tears wetting the front of his shirt.

He was just thinking how quickly life had pulled the rug out from under them, when the door flew open. Giles quickly let go of Willow and stood up to face an irate Joyce Summers. “Joyce,” he started, and was silenced by a hard slap to the face.

“If you ever come near my daughter again, so help me God I’ll have you thrown in jail so fast your head will spin,” she said with icy calmness. “You may have fooled Buffy with your demon story, but I’m not an impressionable teenager and I don’t buy it for one second. What did you use? Some kind of date-rape drug? Or did you just get her drunk before you took advantage of her?”

Giles made as if to speak, but he was cut short once more.

“I’ve got a terrified daughter at home who believes she’s pregnant with a demon baby. You’ve got her so brainwashed that she thinks you’re the victim in all this! How dare you try to lay the blame on Buffy? And you,” she said, addressing Willow, “if you’re half as smart as Buffy thinks you are, you’ll run as far and as fast as you can from this snake of a man before he adds one more notch to his bedpost.” Having run out of steam, Joyce stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door hard enough to make the wall rattle.

Giles’ and Willow’s breathing was audible in the stunned silence that followed. Giles tasted the coppery tang of fear at the back of his throat. He hadn’t expected Joyce to be overcome with joy at the news, of course, but he never imagined she’d come after him with such vehemence. But then, why should she believe the Preot demon story? She’d only recently discovered her daughter was the Slayer—there were limits to how much strangeness a person could cope with. It made more sense to assume he was the guilty party. God knew he felt pretty damn guilty at the moment.

Willow was the first to speak: “That went well—you know—if you don’t count the yelling, door slamming and general rage bits.”

“I suppose it could have been worse,” he conceded. “At least she didn’t kill me.”

There was a knock at the door and they both jumped. Giles answered it with more than a little trepidation. He was both surprised and relieved to see Xander, Oz and Cordelia standing there.

They pushed past him and made themselves at home in his living room.

“Not to sound rude, but what are you all doing here?” he asked.

“Birthday planning get-together,” said Oz, who’d gravitated to Willow and was now snuggled up next to her on the couch. “You didn’t forget, did you?” Giles looked back at him blankly.

“Buffy’s birthday,” prompted Xander. “Big celebration, usually involving cake, presents and a near-death experience? Any of this ringing a bell?”

He had forgotten, and judging by the look on Willow’s face, he hadn’t been the only one.

“That’s this Friday,” he said, more to himself than to the group.

“Right,” said Cordelia. “So I don’t understand why we have to start planning now. It’s not like disasters are something you can plan anyway. What?” she asked as everyone glared at her.

Giles listened to the group of youngsters plotting and planning. He had to politely refuse their request to use his apartment for the party, and after only a minimal amount of whining, they moved on to The Bronze as the party spot.

They hammered out the details for a while, then a loud grumble from Xander’s stomach reminded them all that it was lunchtime. Giles offered to make sandwiches and excused himself to go into the kitchen. Willow went with him, offering to help.

“They’re going to wonder why you won’t be there,” she whispered, voicing what had been on both their minds.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to come up with a convincing excuse—this is a Hellmouth, after all, and technically I am fighting a demon, so I wouldn’t even need to lie.”

Xander popped into the kitchen suddenly—“Did I miss anything?”

“What on earth are you talking about, Xander?” asked Giles, perturbed at the interruption.

“The big bad. Any leads yet? ‘Cause I’ve been thinking, and I’ve got a theory. This beastie’s got purple eyes, right? And Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes are definitely purplish…do you see where I’m going with this?”

“Sadly, yes,” said Giles.

“Liz Taylor’s eyes have always been violet, Xander. That kinda takes her off the suspect list,” said Willow.

“Still, ya gotta admit, she is pretty scary sometimes—like in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolfe”—and how many husbands did she go through? Oh oh! And then there’s that bizarre thing she’s got going on with Michael Jackson. That cannot be of the good.”

Giles found himself oddly intrigued—maybe she was a Preot after all—but she wasn’t Buffy’s Preot. He shook his head, catching the ridiculousness of the thought.

Oz and Cordelia joined them, squishing into the little kitchen like so many clowns in a mini car.

“What’s the what?” asked Cordelia. “I’m starving. Where’s the food?”

“It would be ready by now if people would leave me alone,” said Giles.

“You heard the man,” said Willow, “everybody out—let the chef do his thing.” She ushered them all out of the kitchen and Giles sighed deeply. They were great kids, and he loved them dearly, but right now he wanted so much to be alone. It was a strain keeping up the pretence of normality when all he wanted was to find a deep bottle to crawl into.

Perhaps, he thought, it was a good thing he wasn’t alone after all.

The group split up not long after lunch. Giles promised to meet them at The Bronze on Friday night and did his best to sound excited. Willow flashed him a brief, sad glance as she closed the door behind her, leaving him alone at last.

He wasn’t alone for long when the phone rang. He ran to it, knowing instinctively that it was Buffy.

“Buffy? Hello?”

“I can’t talk for too long, Giles. If Mom catches me on the phone with you she’ll freak.”

“Understandable,” said Giles.

“Did she…was it horrible?” she asked him.

“I imagine it was worse for you than it was for me.”

“I’m sorry it happened that way—I wanted to wait so we could tell her together. I don’t think I explained it very well.”

“It’s not your fault, Buffy. I think if I’d been there it would only have been worse. I should tell you, though, that she’s forbidden me to see you.”

“That could be a problem,” she said.

“I can’t say I’m thrilled about it either, but she was adamant. She’d have me arrested.”

“You don’t understand…I have to see you,” she said with a tremor.

“I know this is difficult, Buffy, but until you mother cools down, I think seeing each other is out of the question.”

“No, Giles! I need you—like scary-need. I feel like I’m losing it.” Giles could hear the near-panic in her voice.

“Alright, try to stay calm. I’ll call Willow; she can stay with you and help you through this.”

“Willow ain’t gonna cut it, Giles. No offence to Willow—I mean I love her and everything—but I don’t love her. You know what I mean?”

“Buffy, you’re under a great deal of stress…”

“Let me finish, will you? I need you, Giles. I have to be near you. I…I love you.”

Giles closed his eyes and hung his head. She’d said it. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard her. She’d said it, and now he would have to face the feelings he knew she’d been harbouring for him.

“Giles? Say something. Or at least breathe—you’re starting to freak me out here.”

“Buffy, what you’re feeling…it’s the demon. Remember I told you it’s creating a bond between us? I can feel it, too. I know it’s powerful, but it’s not real, and if we give into it we’ll only regret it later.”

“It feels pretty real to me. It feels more real than anything else in my life right now, so don’t say it isn’t real.” There was a muffled pause as Buffy put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Great. Mom’s coming, I gotta go. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

The phone went dead in Giles’ hand.

“Damn!” he shouted and slammed down the phone. He wasn’t angry with Buffy, but with himself. He’d very nearly caved in and promised to see her. He’d been so affected by her need that he wished he could crawl through the phone to be with her.