Daughter Of Mine: Chapter 13 Accusations
by Willow Fireheart
Disclaimer- Not mine.
Note- Thanks go to GrayMatter for beta-ing this.
xxx
Chapter 13
“My relationship with certain students?” Giles repeated. “And what students would these be?”
Mr. Schirato inclined his head towards the teenagers. “Perhaps it would be best if we took this somewhere more private. Your office?”
Jamie shook his head angrily. “Any thing you have to say to our father you can do it here.”
Mr. Schirato pulled a file out of his briefcase. “You would be Jamie Giles then?”
“I would be.” Anger vibrated in his tone.
“Jamie,” Giles said warningly.
Mr. Schirato flipped over a few pages. He looked up at them. “So this would Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg, Alexander Harris and Cordelia Chase? Where is Amy Maddison?”
“She should be in her History class. But knowing these delinquents, she’s probably out somewhere vandalizing property.” Snyder sneered at them.
Buffy crossed her arms. “Amy’s dealing with a personal problem at the moment. She should be back soon.”
Mr. Schirato nodded and scribbled some notes into the file. He turned back to Giles. “You have a very impressive file, Mr. Giles. You have to admit that it does look suspicious. You were, after all, curator of the British Museum. High school librarian does seem to be-“ He paused.
“Beneath me?” Giles questioned. There was a dangerous edge to his voice. “Mr. Schirato, I don’t know where you get your information from, but my doctor advised me to take on a profession that generated less stress. My son wanted to come to America, and Sunnydale was hiring. I am fully qualified, and as you can see, the students here seem to have forgotten the definition of library, and study.”
Mr. Schirato’s pen scratched against the paper as he wrote. “But didn’t your son only arrive in Sunnydale recently? You have been employed here since 1997, yes?”
“Not that it’s any of your business but my grandfather made me stay. He doesn’t trust the American education system.” Jamie smirked at Snyder. “After taking English classes here I can see why.”
Snyder turned purple.
Giles gave him a warning glare. “After the death of my mother my father decided that he could not care for a teenage boy and finally acquiesced to my wishes that Jamie join me.”
The scratching of pen against paper stopped. Mr. Schirato closed the file. “I see. I’m sure you understand that I still have to proceed with my investigation. These are very serious charges.”
“Yes, and I would like to be clear of them.”
“I shall have to interview yourself as well as the students in question and members of the faculty.”
Snyder smiled smugly. “You have the full co-operation of Sunnydale High.”
Mr. Schirato looked down his nose at him. “Thank you.”
The library doors swung open.
“Hey, Giles. We sorted it all out-“ Faith paused as she caught sight of the diminutive principle and the tall, stern man.
Giles cleared his throat. “Faith, perhaps this could wait until later?”
Mr. Schirato opened his file and flicked through it. A frown creased his face. “I don’t have a Faith in my report.”
“They think Giles is manipulating us into some twisted relationship thing.” Buffy informed her sister slayer.
Faith wrinkled her nose. “Giles? No way! From what I heard he’s got a thing for Joy-“
“Faith!”
Faith shrugged. “What? I mean, it’s twisted and wicked gross. Giles wouldn’t do that.”
“I see.” Mr. Schirato glanced at Faith. “And you know Mr. Giles how?”
Faith slung an arm around Buffy. “Through B and the Scoobs.”
Mr. Schirato looked Faith up and down, taking in the dark make-up, leather pants and tousled hair. “You are not a student here?”
Faith smirked. “Nope, I left high school behind ages ago.”
“Interesting.” Mr. Schirato straightened. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Giles.”
Giles nodded tersely.
Turning on his heel Mr. Schirato strode purposely out of the library. With one last sneer Snyder turned and hurried after him.
Giles sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing a hand roughly over his face.
“I wonder who made the allegations?” Willow asked innocently.
Buffy snorted. “I think we all know that.”
She shared a look with Xander. “Snyder.”
“That little toe-rag?” Faith glared at the door.
Giles put his glasses back on. “He has been after me since I forced him to readmit Buffy. I’m afraid the band candy incident has only made things worse.”
“It’ll be okay,” Buffy said confidently. “It has to be.”
xxxxx
Joyce watched at Buffy in concern as she set the table. There was something wrong. Buffy was distracted, much more than usual.
Her movements were mechanical as she placed three plates on the table and arranged the cutlery beside them. Buffy hadn’t even complained when Joyce asked her to set the table, regardless of the fact that Dawn was sitting watching television.
“Buffy?”
Buffy looked up. “Huh? Oh, sorry, Mom.”
Joyce chewed on her bottom lip. “What’s wrong, honey? You can tell me.”
Buffy sighed and threw down the napkins. “This guy came to the library today. Apparently somebody lodged a complaint against Giles to the school board. They think he’s too close to certain students.”
“You and your friends?”
Buffy nodded. “Yep.”
“Well, you do spend a lot of time there.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what they mean, Mom.”
Joyce froze. “Oh! They can’t really think that about Rupert- ah Mr. Giles, can they?” Joyce shook her head. “That’s horrible!”
“They’re probably going to want to interview you as well.”
Joyce forced a smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m sure everything will be fine. Mr. Giles is a good man and by this time next week I’m sure everything will be cleared up.”
Buffy swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. “Yeah.”
Buffy picked up the napkins and stared down at them. “Mom, there’s something I should tell you.”
Joyce looked up. “Yes?”
Suddenly the phone rang and Buffy started.
“Mom! Phone for you!”
Joyce looked back to Buffy. “Can it wait a minute while I get this? François has been calling me all day about the opening next week.”
Buffy forced a smile. “Yeah.”
Joyce paused. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it can wait.”
Reassured Joyce hurried to get the phone from Dawn. Relieved from having to listen to an irate Frenchman rant about his watercolours Dawn wandered into the dining room and flopped into a chair.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Buffy placed the napkins back on the table. “Nothing, I’m fine.”
Dawn sighed. “If you say so.”
xxxxx
It was late by the time Joyce looked at the clock. Darkness had set itself in for the long haul. Dawn was tucked into her bed, fast asleep and Buffy was still out patrolling.
Joyce ran a hand through her hair and sighed. If this opening next week wasn’t a success Francois was going to be one unhappy Frenchman, even more so then now, if that was possible. You would think that handling temperamental artists would become easier with practice, but Francois took the cake, hell he took the entire bakery.
‘Ze lighting in the corner is rub-bish. It throws ze shadows. My artwork must have light! Light! Not be obscured in ze shadows!’
‘Ze structure of this room is wrong! It must be open! Open!’
All day she had patiently listened, doing her best to change what she could and carefully explaining that which she couldn’t.
Joyce leafed through the paper work on her desk, looking for the appropriate form. If she could just keep it together until next week the gallery should rake in a fair profit and she could be free of that whining man.
Deciding she deserved a break Joyce pushed back her chair and padded silently into the kitchen. She pulled open the freezer and searched from the container of ice cream she had put in there yesterday. Just when her fingers threatened frostbite she found it. Grabbing a spoon from the draw Joyce took the container into the living room and turned on the tv. Scowling at the young bodies moving obscenely to so-called music Joyce changed the channel, flipping until she found an old movie.
Ice cream and Rock Hudson. What else could a girl ask for?
Grabbing her day planner Joyce sunk into the couch with a sigh. Perfect.
In between mouthfuls of ice cream Joyce idly flicked through the planner. She focused on the last few months. Try though she might Joyce couldn’t shake that feeling that she was missing something. Something very important.
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