Dark Days: Part 3
by Virginia Eveland
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the characters of Buffy, Giles, Xander, Willow, or anything else in, from, or related to the Buffy Universe as created by the all mighty man, Joss, and owned in some strange way I don't get by WB. I DO, however, like messing around in other people's universes. And I'm poor. To quote our favorite principle, "Don't sue."



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Part Three

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She healed sufficiently in the next two days to reduce the gashes to thin angry lines that could be explained away. Another testament of her powers as the Slayer that he hoped to never see an example of again within their remaining years.

Whether or not she'd healed equivalently inside was difficult to say. The hadn't talked about the suicide attempt since the first night afterward, when she had stayed at his house. He hadn't planned on making it a semi-permanent affair, but Buffy was loath to left alone, and somehow some silent agreement had been made concerning her mother and Xander. He couldn't possibly tell them unless she wanted him to, and he doubted she would ever want them to know.

She constantly found some reason to follow him through out the house. To, if nothing else, just sit in the same room that he was in. It was terribly odd to him. He had begun to strongly believe that she would not have minded sleeping in the same room as him. It had been necessary to intentionally misinterpret her allusions to such a situation on more than one occasion. Until she had come out and simply asked him.


* * *
"What?"

His hands paused in the customary and well engrained procedure of making himself a cup of tea.

"I just don't want to be alone at night, Giles."

He set down the saucer and cup with more force than he intended, nearly chipping the china. Buffy reached over him and got the kettle warmer and fit it snuggly over the kettle. He wondered when she had learned the decorum of allowing the kettle to settle before pouring?

His hands nervously turned the cup around on it's saucer until Buffy stilled his hands with her own. He looked up to where she perched on top of a kitchen stool, a bit of a grin on his face.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he heard her say softly. He shook his head and released the tea cup in preference of her hand.

"I was just trying to decide which side of the floor I prefer, since you're getting the bed."

Her smile easily repaid the price of a few night's sleep on the hard wood that made up his bedroom floor.


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