Hank: Chapter Eighteen
by Painbow
Ok, so I realize that I most likely have one reader left (spikeNdru *g*), but in case I haven't completely alienated everyone who was reading this story, here's another chapter of Hank!
Disclaimer: Yes, I AM Joss, nice to make your acquaintance. . .whaddya mean he's a guy?
A/N: Thanks again to spikeNdru for the fantabulous beta! Couldn't have done it without you, hun! *smooches* Also, thanks to MJ who let me bounce ideas off of him.
Also: I am a feedback whore. Please, feed my addiction...
Chapter 18
Giles felt someone come up behind him.
“Nice work, Rupes.”
Giles sighed. Just what he wanted. A conversation with Spike.
“You got Harris to stick around. Frankly, I thought he was going to bolt.”
Giles looked back at the vampire, irritated. “Then why didn’t you say something?”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Me given’ him advice on stickin’ round? Wanted him to bolt faster, did you?”
Giles had to concede the point.
“’Sides,” Spike continued, “any advice had to come from someone like you. He looks up to you. Don’t ask me why. I s’pose you aren’t completely useless, then.”
Giles rolled his eyes. “I don’t need affirmation of my usefulness from you, Spike.”
Spike sneered. “Not me sayin’ it.” He gestured in the general direction of Hank, who was standing next to Buffy and Dawn, away from the bar so as not to be disturbed by Mr. Harris. “I thought it was harsh.”
Giles ground his teeth and walked stiffly away from the vampire. Spike grinned. Xander may not provide entertainment, but Spike never got bored with Scooby tiffs. Not evil, his ass.
*****
Hank was happy and hurt at the same time. Here he was, dancing with his daughter, which felt so good, and yet . . . she didn’t trust him.
When he’d come home he’d seen the look of relief in her eyes. He’d thought they were past that, the lack of trust. She couldn’t keep thinking that every time he left he may actually stay gone.
Hank looked up to see Giles glaring at them. He smirked and whirled Buffy away.
Giles turned and headed for the bar. As he sat down, he noticed Mr. Harris, hunched over, nursing a drink. Giles ordered a bourbon, and Mr. Harris scoffed. Giles looked at him askance.
“You people,” began Mr. Harris, drunkenly, “you people jus’ come in here and drink away my money. Who even cares about this wedding? ‘S not Like Xander will even go through with it. Th’ boy’s never done anything worth—”
“Oh, shut up, you prat,” cut in Giles. He picked up his bourbon and took it elsewhere. At this moment he’d rather sit with D’Hoffryn.
*****
Anya patted her dress. She turned a little, this way and that, looking at her figure in the mirror. It was a good dress. True, it had a lot of buttons, which would make it more difficult for Xander to remove when they finally arrived at their Honeymoon Destination, but she was confident that the way it accentuated her ass would make Xander hurry. Though . . .
She’d heard a saying: bought the cow. Would Xander fell less inclined to give her orgasms once he thought of her as a bought cow? Perhaps she should keep the dress around, just in case.
Anya admired herself in the mirror one more time. Marrying her best friend. It was tremendously exciting.
*****
Willow dabbed at her eyes. Surreptitiously, of course. Best Men weren’t supposed to cry.
She clasped her hands to keep them occupied and watched Xander and Anya run to their limo, which she’d covered in shaving cream, since it was something that Best Men were supposed to do.
They were so happy.
Dawn came over with a basket of confetti. No rice. She’d read that it could make birds explode after they ate it, and she didn’t want to be responsible for time activated bird grenades. Willow took a handful and tossed it at Xander. Little pink and white bits landed in his hair and he smiled up at her. So happy.
Willow glanced over at Tara, also throwing confetti, hers landing mostly on Anya. The bride was complaining loudly that her dress was very expensive, and that she needed Xander to admire her ass in it before it became covered in paper bits, but she was smiling as she said it. Happy.
Willow dabbed at her eyes again. She wanted this. Her left hand started shaking and she did her best to get it under control. She had visions of Confetti swirling through the air, Xander and Anya whisked to some tropical island with the blink of an eye, Tara agreeing to come back to her, whether willing or no.
She couldn’t have this. She had to stay in control.
She grasped her left hand and looked up to see if anyone noticed her loss of control. She didn’t see anyone watching . . .
Willow sighed and grabbed another handful of confetti, grinning as she tried to get more stuck in Xander’s hair. She missed Giles’ concerned glance.
*****
Buffy bolted from the cab and made for the front door. Financially speaking, it had made sense for everyone staying at the Summer’s residence to share a cab, but . . .
Willow was preoccupied. Giles divided his time between watching her and glaring at Hank. Hank, in turn, gave Buffy and Dawn concerned looks and returned Giles’ glares-o-death. Talk about awkward. At least Dawn had been too buzzed from the wedding to really notice the tension in the car. She kept grinning and commenting on Anya’s dress or Xander’s tux. She raved about the cake, and the reception, and how Xander had clearly taken lessons for the first dance, and how she’d managed to con Spike into dancing with her (it was all in the lip . . . pouty), and how everything had worked out wonderfully for once, and how she hadn’t even minded when Mr. Harris tripped over her shoes and spilled punch on her dress, since it had dried and you could hardly even tell . . . see?
Between the wedding, the raving, and the glaring, Buffy was exhausted. She also didn’t want to talk to Giles. She knew she had to eventually, since she could tell from his face that he was going to broach the subject soon. She just didn’t want to do it when she was this tired, since she knew she’d say something she’d regret. Well, she’d probably say something regret-worthy anyway, but it was sure to be worse if she was tired. Bed.
Buffy began to undo her hair, piling the bobby pins neatly on her dresser, and determinedly avoided another thing she knew she should take care of.
There was an envelope on the dresser. And envelope from UC Sunnydale. She really should open it.
She hadn’t told anyone that she’d re-enrolled. Not after she’d been rejected the last time. She didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, especially her own.
The letter mocked her. Taunted her. “Open me,” it said. “What are you, chicken?”
Chicken?
No letter was going to call her . . . but . . . what if it was another rejection? Why tempt fate? Things were going so well. No point in disrupting the roll.
Buffy picked up the letter. She put it down. She picked it up. She put it down.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she would open it.
She finished getting ready for bed and lay down with butterflies in her stomach. Hopefully she would still sleep. She closed her eyes.
She rolled on to her back.
She rolled on to her side.
Well, this was ridiculous. The letter had been there for days. It could wait one more night. Buffy rolled on to her back. She started to relax.
The bedclothes went flying. Buffy flung herself up from her bed and grabbed the envelope. She ripped it open and sat on her bed. She couldn’t do this alone. She entered the hallway and knocked on a door.
*****
The kitchen door creaked open quietly. Willow needed tea. She had given up the magic, but from time to time, the cravings still hit her, even in the middle of the night. She would look at something across the room and remember how easy it used to be. She could just think about having it in her hand, and poof, it would come to her. And whenever she had those thoughts, something deep and dark would stir within her. It whispered to her, told her to just use it, that it would be so easy to just do it. She had the power. And who were these people around her to tell her she couldn’t do what came so naturally. And every time those thoughts came, she went downstairs and made a cup of tea.
She rummaged through the cabinets, trying to find something that wasn’t Orange Pekoe. As far as she was concerned, Orange Pekoe had been made popular by people who hadn’t had a chance to find other, better, kinds of tea.
She shut the door, hand clasping a box of Mint Infusion, and jumped. Giles was right there. How had he managed it? Maybe he’d taken a pair of Librarian slippers with him, even though he wasn’t a Librarian any more. Some habits died hard.
Willow half-smiled. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Giles flashed her a smile that was gone in an instant.
“So I’ve noticed. Is insomnia a frequent problem for you?”
“No! Well, yes, but I’ve had so much on my mind, with Xander and the wedding and school and—”
“Giving up magic?”
Willow froze. Suddenly she was angry. Who was he to father her? “Yes. With giving up magic. It hasn’t been easy, you know. I used to be able to make things go whoosh and help Buffy with the demons, and now I can’t even float a pencil. Again.”
“Is there any reason why it should be easy?”
Willow deflated. “Well, I was hoping the shaking would stop. And I keep needing to drink tea, and I screwed up Giles, and I almost lost everything. And on top of that, there’s . . .” Willow faltered.
Giles sat at the table and did his best to look concerned and non-judgmental. “There’s what, Willow?”
Willow looked scared. “I think . . . It wants me to use it again, Giles. The magic.”
Giles began to clean his glasses.
“I want to give it up, but part of me keeps . . . part of me wants to use it again, and I can’t turn that part off.”
Giles sighed. “Willow, I don’t believe you can ever get over this.”
Willow’s heart sank. Either she’s end up addicted again, or she’d need to find a way to buy the East India Company.
“I don’t believe it’s a matter of getting over anything, Willow,” Giles continued. “The magic is a part of you, now. You can’t simply turn it on and off. In fact, I believe that’s it is potentially dangerous to do so.”
Willow was confused. “So, it’s dangerous for me to use magic, and it’s dangerous for me not to . . . Giles, that doesn’t make sense.”
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