Some comments on your notes: I put in the musing about Giles' plans for
the future to show that he's kind of thinking of the three of them
together, if not necessarily in a family way, before getting the news.

Giles/Dawn? Looking back, I can see how one could assume it, but I've
never seen that pairing anywhere so it's not one I'd think to look for.
I'm not thrilled with it, but the alternative would be writing out the
scene where they tell him which I'm not interested in doing. I happen to
be a G/B shipper myself, which is what the story was *supposed* to be. It
had other ideas. (Although if I were going to write a sequel, it would be
definitely G/B!)

"(It'd be nice to have more sense of what he doesn't say, how this similar
to or different than other points in his relationship during Buffy, for
example during her Cruciamentum or during "OMWF.")" Such as? How exactly
would such a thing be handled?

The barb about Buffy not realizing there are more than two kinds of
relationships is effective because it's *true*. It also happens to be
true of most modern Western society, alas, but that's a whole 'nother
rant.

I know the section on whether or not Giles wants kids is a bit talky, but
it's important to Dawn; Hank was a *crappy* father and Giles (let's face
it) left her/Sunnydale after the most traumatic event of her life at that
time (possibly worse than the later destruction of SD, from her POV). She
doesn't want to come right out and ask whether he's going to be there for
her, though, and she has every reason to be wary. Giles, otoh, hates
talking about his feelings but thinks she's got a right to know this. In
any other circumstances, he'd gracefully change the subject.

You're right that it needs to be broken up, but there will be no demon
attacks; I suck at action. I mean, *really* suck. I think you're also
right that it needs a better punch, dramatically; I'll have to think a bit
to see what I can do to it. Hm. I can see Giles completely missing what
kind of reassurance Dawn needs and blowing her off, though I'm not sure
how to do it in such a way as to make her stomp off visibly upset. Then
have him go to Willow for advice--not Buffy, I think that would distract
too much from the G/D relationship unless I were going to *seriously*
expand this piece. You can't have a sub-plot to a story this short;
neither plot would get sufficient time to develop itself.

Question: if Giles was going to give a book to Dawn, a book totally
unrelated to anything occult/demonic/supernatural, what would it be? I'm
thinking maybe a classic English novel. Any suggestions? So far, a search
of Amazon has suggested Brideshead Revisited to me. And didn't Jenny once
say that Giles liked E.M. Forster? So maybe A Room With a View or Howard's
End.

This is really the type of question that you should ask a non-writer, in my opinion; fellow writers tend get caught up in the sort of thematic quibbly which may well be the source of your own uncertainty. OF course finding someone with the requisite knowledge of canon who isn't a fanfic writer could well be impossible. I once asked a flister for a name, in order to name a minion, and she went through a 10-minute thought process, which was the exact opposite of what I wanted.

Anyway.

In "The Dark Age," Jenny mentions that Giles loaned her a book by either Forrester (as it reads in the Shooting Script and the admittedly error-filled Buffy Dialogue Database) or Forster (as many sources, including the BBC, seem to think.) I think my Season 2 Disc 2 DVD is in my other CD-case so I haven't gotten a chance to check what she says myself. In any case, she pretends to have abused it and Giles gets all huffy because it was a first edition. Jenny says it was " so romantic, so evocative"; Giles says the book was his father and he read it 20 times. I supposed that meant he was fond of it, especially if it was his idea to recommend it to Jenny.

For no real reason at all, I'm fond of the Howards End idea. Or perhaps some Conrad, such as The Secret Agent? Or perhaps something older? I could see him giving her an Italian copy of The Decameron or some such.

Giles walked through the halls of the new Watchers’ building, absently flipping through a report on Fyarl activity in southern Africa that he was supposed to read before the next meeting.  As Travers and the rest of the Council’s bureaucrats had had the indecency to get themselves all killed by Bringers, Giles found himself stuck with boring meetings instead of hands-on research and training; it was the worst parts of being a shopkeeper and a high school librarian rolled into one, with none of the benefits.

Giles was the most experienced field watcher in almost two centuries, which made him (as Dawn had pointed out when he griped about it last week) about a thousand times too valuable to risk on field manoeuvres, at least until the entire structure of the Council of Watchers had been rebuilt to a standard of training, readiness, and flexibility that both he and Buffy considered adequate.  Of course, by that time he’d be too old to go back into the field, but perhaps a position in the Research section of the library would be appropriate?  There’d be less day-to-day contact with Slayers than he had now, but perhaps by that time Buffy would be done with her world tour and ready to settle down?  She’d seemed weary of her travels when he picked her up from Heathrow the night before, and there was no earthly reason the Senior Slayer need be the one to inspect each region, nor be available for every minor crisis, once things were more settled.  They might even be able to teach a class or two together.  And if Dawn wasn’t assigned to the field, they’d be working together in Research.

He slowed as he approached Buffy’s office—perhaps she might be interested in a late lunch after his meeting?  They saw too little of each other, and a meeting with the Senior Slayer would give him a perfect excuse to cut things short if Johnston-Smythe exercised his usual propensity for arse-kissing verbosity.

“…and loaded, since he found out about the Council’s funds.”  That light-hearted voice was Dawn, and he had a sinking feeling she was talking about him.  Going to Oxford on a Council scholarship had given her a rather exaggerated view of his personal fortune. (Because he's paying for her education? The logic isn't completely clear to me here.) “Think he’d give me a car, if I told him?”

“Told who what?” he enquired as he entered Buffy’s office.

***

There was a stack of paperwork to deal with, but unless Giles had the good fortune to have a mik’Nar demon nesting in his desk drawer, it would still be there tomorrow.  The day’s news was, he felt, momentous enough to justify a bit of truancy.  He’d gone to his meeting but had spent more time trying to adjust to the notion of new-found fatherhood than paying attention to the current state of the supernatural. Afterwards, he’d spent five minutes dithering in the gentlemen’s toilets before returning to Buffy’s office.

“Come in!” Dawn called at his knock.

Giles slipped in, closing the door behind him.  Dawn was poring over her studies, books spread out across the desk.  “I swear, you use your—Buffy’s office more than she does.  Perhaps we should put your name on the door?”  As he’d expected, Buffy herself was nowhere to be found.

“But then where would she keep her souvenirs?” Dawn replied, waving at the knick-knacks Buffy had acquired on her travels.  “She was still wigging, last I saw her.  I think she and Willow went out for some coffee and retail therapy.”

“I see,” Giles said.  “I wonder if …” he took off his glasses and began to polish them “… I wonder if you might like to go out for a bite to eat?  Perhaps talk about the new, ah, developments in our relationship?”

Dawn blinked, glancing at the clock.  “I guess it is lunchtime, huh.  Yeah, that sounds good.  Not in the cafeteria, though.”

“I dare say I can afford a real restaurant this once,” Giles replied.  Rumours were bound to fly once the news came out, but he didn’t want to give them a head-start.  “I do have to be back for another meeting later this afternoon, but aside from that I’m all yours.”

***

“I’m not going to start calling you ‘Dad’ all of a sudden, just because we found out the monks took some of your, um, genetic material to combine with Buffy’s to make me.”  Dawn broke the uncomfortable silence with her usual bluntness.  “Although, I dunno, maybe someday.  I’m never gonna call Buffy ‘Mom,’ though; that would just be too weird.”

“I see,” Giles said noncommittally, poking at his curry.  “I’m … I’ve never really given much thought to having a family.  Children.  Particularly not under such circumstances.  I’m afraid I’m not sure what exactly I’m supposed to do or how to act towards you.”

“You could give me a car,” Dawn suggested with an impish grin.

“Oh, certainly, how about a townhouse in Kensington while we’re at it,” he shot back.  “Do be serious, Dawn.”

“If you insist,” she said with a shrug.  “But you do realize I’ve never actually met Hank Summers?  Not face-to-face, I mean; I have talked with him on the phone a couple of times, but aside from that everything I have of him the monks made up.  You’re here, and you care, and that puts you miles ahead of him in my book.”  Dawn jammed a fry in her ketchup.

“Yes, but that’s not saying much.”

Dawn snorted.  “True.”  She popped the fry in her mouth.  “I guess, I dunno, haven’t you ever thought about being a parent before?  Even an honorary one?  I mean, the Scoobies—”

“Are hardly my children,” Giles said.  “I’ve never been a father-figure to any of them.  Friend, researcher, and butt of the occasional joke, yes; father, no.  I realize you’ve a dearth of male role models in your life, but a father is more than just an older man who happens to be around or who just happened to supply half your DNA.  A father—any parent, really—is a protector, an authority figure, an advisor, a disciplinarian when necessary.”

“Well, there you have it,” Dawn said.  “You don’t need me to tell you what a parent does.  Though I’d add comforter and ATM to the list.”

“I am not now and never shall be a bank machine,” Giles replied.  “And you’re just a tad too old to be taken over my knee, even if you deserved it.  Not to mention, when you’re done with your schooling and Watcher training, you’d tell me off for trying to protect you from field work.  As to comforter, you may have noticed that I’m not exactly what you might call the ‘touchy-feely’ type.  It’s not as if I was very successful at it after Buffy’s death.”

“I think the ‘protector’ thing is mostly for kids, anyway,” Dawn said.

“Yes, and you are hardly a child any longer,” Giles agreed.  “It seems as if there’s little left for a father to do in your case; you’ve matured into a fine young woman.”

“Thanks,” she said, sounding out of sorts.  He’d just complimented her; what on Earth was the matter?  She narrowed her eyes at him.  “You’ve never thought of Buffy as your daughter?”

“Good heavens, no,” Giles said with some annoyance.  “She’s my Slayer.  I refer you to the aforementioned role of the parent as a protector, which doesn’t exactly mix well with a Watcher’s duty to send his Slayer out against vampires, demons, and assorted apocalypses.  And when was I ever an authority figure to her?  Or a disciplinarian?  Though I’m not sure she quite realizes there are relationships between men and women that don’t fall into either the father/daughter or lover categories.”

“Yeah.”  Dawn shrugged.  “But I think what’s freaking her out more than that is the thought of having a kid with someone Mom once slept with.”

Giles blinked and reached for his tea.  “Good Lord, I hadn’t thought of it that way.  Yes, that is rather, um …”

“Wig-worthy?” Dawn suggested.

“Indeed.”

They ate in silence for some minutes.

“You never expected to have kids?” Dawn asked.

“Not really, no,” Giles replied.  “I’ve never given it much thought.  I suppose I shall have to, now, shan’t I?”  He checked his watch; they still had plenty of time before his afternoon meeting with the Prophecy Committee.

“You do that,” Dawn said, her voice hard.  Giles looked up to see her shove the last few fries into her mouth.  “I’ve got a lot of studying to do before Hilary Term starts, and I know you’re always complaining about how much paperwork you have.”  She stood and grabbed her book bag, not looking at him.  “I can take the tube back to HQ.  See you later.”

She stalked out, leaving Giles alone with a half-finished plate of curry, wondering what had gone wrong.

***

Giles pondered his options on the drive back to the office.  One thing that heading the Council had taught him was the delights of ‘consultants.’  (I really don't think this use of single quotes is standard in fiction writing. I've only really seen it used like that in some academic writing, and even then rarely.) One didn’t need to be proficient in all demonic languages if one could hire an expert who was fluent in the particular language needed, and while the inside of a young girl’s head wasn’t quite demonic in the iniquitous sense, it was at least as unfathomable as any demon language Giles had ever seen.  Yes, better to get a good translation, first, before rushing once more unto the breech. (I really like this narration.)

Xander was in Africa, and presumably hadn’t yet been informed of recent developments.  While the young man had a rapport with Dawn that Giles lacked, he was hardly available for immediate consultation.  Buffy was presumably still attempting to apply ‘retail therapy’ to recent developments, and she’d never seemed to have any more insight into Dawn’s mind than he’d ever had into hers (I keep on getting tripped up when I read this sentence); besides, Dawn in pain triggered all her protective instincts, which was commendable but hardly useful to him.  Under the circumstances, she was more likely to attack than explain.  No, better to leave Buffy alone until after he’d sorted this whole mess out.  That left Willow as the only available interpreter. (I like the chance to go into Giles' thoughts rather than have him constantly talk about them, but I don't like it cut off all by itself in its own scene. It's too detached; I'd prefer a sense that he was having these thoughts in a specific place at a specific time. Can you find a way to connect it to the next scene, maybe?)

***

“Has the younger Miss Summers returned from lunch yet?” Giles asked the receptionist as he signed back in.

“No, sir,” the young man replied respectfully.  “Shall I direct her to your office when she arrives?”

“No, thank you.  What about Miss Rosenberg and the elder Miss Summers?”

The receptionist—one of the new hires from outside the families, Giles supposed he should remember the man’s name (having a whole independent clause next to the appositive like that isn't working for me at the moment)—checked his computer.  And wasn’t that a sign of how things had changed?  Travers was certainly rolling in his grave, and not just from the introduction of modern technology; the London office building that was currently serving as the Council’s headquarters until something more suitable could be found was a far cry from the elegantly appointed compound in the country that had housed their previous incarnation.

“They’re out with one of the Council’s cars, no estimated return time given,” the secretary said presently.  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you,” Giles said absently, heading off to his office.  Once there he instructed his secretary to reschedule his meetings for the day and that he didn’t wish to be disturbed for anything short of an imminent minor apocalypse.  Overriding her protests, he closed the door behind him, glancing about the rather utilitarian room as if the files and forms covering his desk and every available surface might have become alive while he was out.  Though, given their propensity to multiply, he wouldn’t put spawning beneath them.  Shaking off the momentary fancy, he typed in Willow’s number into his cell phone.  She picked up after only a two rings.

“Giles!  What did you say to Dawnie?” Willow demanded.

“Why, hello, Willow, it’s so nice to talk to you.  I have no idea what happened to upset her. We were eating lunch, and discussing the recent discovery, and she got up and left rather abruptly for no reason I could determine.”

“You must have said something, though; she called Buffy about ten minutes ago and she’s really upset. (Dawn tends to self-destruct rather than reach out for help; I'm not sure I buy this.)  You gotta do something to fix this.”

“Yes, I realize that,” Giles said.  “But alas, until I know why she’s upset I can hardly do so.  I was actually hoping you could help me; you’re rather more in tune with the intricacies of the female mind in general and the Summers women in particular than I am.  Any and all assistance you could provide would be greatly appreciated.”

There was a pause and some rustling, and he thought he heard Buffy’s voice in the background.  “I’ll take the tube back to HQ,” Willow said at last.  “Buffy’s gonna pick up Dawn—they may be out for a while.  See you in about half an hour.”

***

“So,” Willow said after he finished repeating their conversation to her, “you say you don’t want kids, you don’t know how to be a father and don’t think she needs one.”

“That’s not what I said!” Giles protested.

“No, but it’s what you implied,” Willow said.  “Whether you meant it or not, it’s what she probably heard.  You know how Hank’s ignored her and Buffy; that’s the only father she’s ever known.  You’re a smart guy, Giles; you shouldn’t need me to tell you to avoid sounding like him right out of the gates.”  She sank into the comfortable chair across from his desk and crossed her legs.

“I’ve never met the man,” Giles said.  “How should I know how he talks to Dawn, on the rare occasions he can be bothered to call?”

“Exactly,” Willow said, nodding.  “‘On the rare occasions he can be bothered to call.’  That’s what she’s used to from her father.  It’s kinda what she expects.”

“I would never abandon a child of mine like that arse did,” Giles replied heatedly.

“Maybe not,” Willow shot back, “but you did leave Buffy and Dawn and the rest of us after Buffy came back, and we all needed you.  Buffy and Dawn especially—that year was hell.”

“The situations are hardly comparable,” Giles said, shoving his hands in his pockets.  That year (and the events leading up to it) had been hell, for everyone; him included.  They had all been soul-sick, then, and Giles had thought there was nothing he could do for anyone until he could fix himself.  It had taken some extensive soul-searching, and long retreats with the Devon coven, to restore him to anything like himself.  “And if I’d known then what I know now, I would have acted quite differently.”

“We all would, Giles,” Willow said with a sad smile.  “But that doesn’t change anything now.  And you can’t just ignore it.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant to the situation,” Giles said.  “Though,” he added with some chagrin, “I do see your point.  But I was expecting a civilized conversation, not a counselling session.  Dawn is a mature young woman who always seems to be relatively self-sufficient.”

“There’s a difference between being self-sufficient because you want to be and self-sufficient because you don’t have anyone to support you when you need it,” Willow pointed out.  “You and Dawn are a lot closer than she ever was with Hank.  You mean a lot to her.  You gotta let her know that she means a lot to you, too, and that you’re gonna be there for her.  However you two decide to work out your relationship.”

“And just how does one go about doing that?” Giles asked.

Willow shrugged.  “I think me telling you what to do here would be pretty counterproductive—she’s not going to accept it if she thinks it’s staged or coached.  It has to be natural.  Sincere.  From the heart.  And it has to be convincing.”

Giles took off his glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief.  “Willow, I don’t know if you’ve figured this out in all our years of working together,” he said.  “But I’m not very good at what one might call the ‘touchy-feely’ stuff.”

“No, really?”  Willow’s eyes widened in mock-surprise.  “And here I thought you were all into warm fuzzies.”

“Do be serious,” Giles said with an exasperated glance, sitting down on the edge of his desk.

Willow shrugged.  “Dawn knows you, Giles.  She’s not going to expect you to suddenly turn into Mister Touchy-Feely.  That’s not what this is about.  It’s about you being there when she needs you.  Though, in order to convince her she can count on you, you are going to have to open up a bit more than you’re used to.”

“Yes, but do you have any specific suggestions as to how that might be accomplished?”  Giles shook his head.  “I can’t just go up to her and blurt out my undying love.”

Willow tilted her head and stared off into space.  “It would help if I knew what specifically set her off,” she said at last.

“I’ve already repeated the conversation for you,” Giles replied.

“What about body language?” Willow asked.  “Was there anything significant there?”

Giles ran the luncheon through his mind, studying the actions instead of the words this time.  A Watcher’s trained memory came in handy in all sorts of situations besides those it was intended for.  Dawn had seemed rather absorbed in her food for the most part, sneaking glances at him, while he—  “Oh, dear Lord.”

***

Giles shifted nervously in the hallway, taking deep breaths.  Somehow, this was more nerve-wracking than facing the average apocalypse.  Then, at least, he usually had at least half an idea what to expect.  He smoothed out the ribbon on the package before tucking it under one arm; Willow had suggested bringing a gift, not jewellery or flowers but something more personal, something that required thought, and something unconnected with work or school.  He raised his hand to knock on the door.

It opened unexpectedly, startling him.

“Oh!” Dawn said in surprise, looking cornered.  “Giles.  I, um, wasn’t expecting you.  I was just about to go … somewhere.  Did you, uh, want to talk?”

“Yes, actually,” Giles said.  “I would, um, like that very much.  I’m a-afraid our conversation earlier didn’t go well, and I’d like to apologise.  And see if we can’t make another go of it.”

“… all right.”  Dawn stood aside and let him enter the tiny bedsit.  He didn’t think he’d been in her flat before, but it was generically similar to the others of its type in the building, which was owned by the Council.  There were posters on the walls, and books piled on the floor; the bed was unmade.  “Sorry about the mess,” Dawn muttered.  “I could make tea, if you want.”

“No, I’m fine,” Giles said.  “And truth to tell, it’s much neater and in better shape than just about anywhere I lived when I was your age.”

“Oh, right,” Dawn said.  “Your ‘Ripper’ stage.”  She gestured at the chair by the desk, the only one in the room.  “Have a seat.”  She plopped down on her bed and grabbed a pillow.

Like … her mother, she had an abundance of pillows.  What did one person need with so many, Giles wondered?  He shook himself and held out the package.  “I brought you something.”

“You didn’t have to,” Dawn said, hesitating.

“I know,” Giles replied.  “I wanted to.”

He held it out until she took it from him.  She turned it over in her hands before unwrapping it carefully.  It was a book, old but well-cared-for. (Part of me wants more description of the book; another part thinks the amount of description we have is silly when we're in Giles' POV and he already knows what it is. I think the two parts can be reconciled if you focus on Dawn's reaction to the book—have her look at the old but well-cared for book, run her fingers over it, etc.)   “Howard’s (no apostrophe; it's not an End belonging to Howard) End,” she said.  “What’s it about?”

“It’s about a terribly stuffy family in Edwardian England,” Giles said.  “It’s about them learning to connect.  With themselves, with each other, with the world around them.”

“No symbolism there, huh?” Dawn said wryly.

Giles raised an eyebrow.  “No, none at all.” (This exchange is perfect for them!)

She opened the cover and read the inscription on the inside. ("and, seeing the inscription inside, read it aloud"? as it is it makes it sound like she knew there was an inscription inside.) “To Rupert, Christmas 1976.  (Hmm.) May it (this?) give you ease and entertainment when the world seems too dark, and be a reminder of hearth and home when you need it.  From your father, Allard Giles.”  She blinked rapidly a few times, keeping her head bent over the book.  “Giles, I can’t take this.”

“Why not?” he asked after a moment, keeping his voice steady.

“It’s from your father,” she said.  “And it’s old, and probably valuable.  It’s too much, really.”

“And I want you to have it,” Giles said quietly.  “I don’t really need it myself; I’ve read it so often I have practically all my favourite passages committed to memory.  I think you might enjoy it.”

“It obviously means a lot to you,” Dawn said, brushing a finger over the inscription.  “Why do you want me to have it?”

Giles paused, meditating on possible answers to the question.  He could think of several off hand, all perfectly true, but perhaps under the circumstances it was best to keep things simple.  “Because you are my daughter.”

Dawns fingers clenched so hard on the book that for a second he was afraid she might damage it.  She carefully loosened her grip, smoothing out the pages and closing the cover.  “Thanks,” she said, clutching it to her.  She raised her head at last, eyes glistening.  “So, Allard, huh?” (That's exactly how they'd respond—focus on the comical.)

“It’s an old English name,” Giles said.  “It means ‘noble and brave.’”

“Uh-huh,” Dawn said with a slight smile.  “You know, if that’s the kind of names your family comes up with, I think I’m kind of glad you didn’t name me.  It’s worse than ‘Buffy’.”

Giles tsked.  “Rupert and Allard are both perfectly fine names, with ancient and honourable lineage and symbolism.  Buffy, on the other hand, was made up in the late twentieth century to sound cutesy.  In your … mother’s case, it doesn’t even have the excuse of being a derivative of a decent name such as Elizabeth.” (Great.)

“‘Mother,’” Dawn shook her head.  “God, that sounds too weird.”

“Yes,” Giles said.  “I assure you, it is no less strange to her or me.  We are all of us floundering, somewhat, trying to catch our bearings.  I’m afraid that in my confusion, I expressed myself rather—badly, this afternoon, for which I apologise.  And when I checked my watch, I wasn’t trying to find an excuse to get out of the conversation or to avoid you or put you off; I was checking to see if I needed to reschedule my next meeting.” (You know, I had no idea what it was she objected to until I read this line—on my second reading. I'm not sure when you wanted the audience to be aware or how subtle you wanted to be, but I thought telling you of my experience could only help you make informed decisions.)

“Oh,” Dawn said quietly.  She shifted restlessly on the bed.  “I’m sorry for storming out like that, I just …” (This sounds too formal to me, not quite natural. Maybe lose the "I'm"?)

“It’s quite all right,” Giles said.  “Under the circumstances, and given your history with … with Hank, I understand.  I would appreciate it if you would give me the benefit of the doubt in the future, or at least time to explain myself.  Although, I doubt that would have helped much with today’s luncheon; I really had no idea what had upset you until Willow explained it to me.”

“You talked to Willow about this?” Dawn raised an eyebrow. (I'm not quite sure what the point of this train of thought is.)

“Yes, well, I’m afraid the female mind often baffles me; I was at quite a loss to explain what happened.  Willow was good enough to explain where exactly I’d gone wrong.”

Dawn shook her head.  “No, I was being too sensitive, and I shouldn’t have taken it that way.”

“Well, perhaps, but given your experience with Hank it was quite an understandable reaction and I should have been more sensitive to your … to your needs.” (Okay, now they're just being too understanding. Way too understanding. And you recognize it and turn into a joke with the next line, which is great, but….)

Dawn cocked her head at him.  “You know, we could be here all night with this.  Let’s just  … move on, okay?”

“Very well,” Giles said.  “Where do you want to move on to?”  At her slightly panicked look, he made a suggestion.  “Perhaps you’d like to ask some questions, to clear up any misunderstandings from earlier?” (Meh. He's still too good at this.)

“Okay.”  Dawn nodded.  “That sounds good.  Um,” she took a deep breath, “why don’t you want kids?”  She was staring fixedly at a point a few inches above his shoulder.

“It isn’t a matter of not wanting children,” Giles said somewhat sharper than he’d intended.  He paused to take hold of himself and think out what he wanted to say very carefully.  “As a youth, I expected my life to take the usual path of career with the Council, marriage, and children, but nothing specific, really.  In my rebellious phase children were the furthest thing from my mind, and afterwards I’d acquired quite the reputation among the Council families.”

“Didn’t want their daughters going out with a guy who used to raise demons, huh?”

“Not especially, no,” Giles said, grimacing, though he was pleased to see she’d relaxed a little. (I'd love to see a little more of his thoughts here, and it would serve to break up the dialogue a little.)

“Their loss,” Dawn said with a shrug.  “And you couldn’t look outside the Council because?”

“Casual relationships are one thing,” Giles replied.  “Settling down and raising a family with a woman ignorant of the dangers involved in my line of work was simply … out of the question.  And by the time I’d paid my dues in Council circles for my youthful follies, I was on the short list to be an active Watcher.  And if one doesn’t already have a family by that point, well, one generally doesn’t have a family.”

“Don’t want to put children—besides Slayers, of course—on the front lines, huh?”

“It’s generally frowned upon.”  Giles scratched his head meditatively.  (Scratching one's head seems something one can do meditatively in a way that once cannot, say, eat French fries, but I'm still not 100% happy with the phrase.) “I also think it has something to do with the fact that one’s duty to one’s Slayer must take precedence to one’s family obligations, and most women have a hard time playing second fiddle to a teenage girl.”

“I can see that,” Dawn said.  She paused, tilting her head, looking serious.  “Did you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“A family life with a wife, kids, the whole nine yards.  Did you miss it?”

Giles stifled his first reaction and gave the question some thought.  “Watchers don’t often get fairy-tale endings,” he said slowly.  “Few people associated with the Council do; we each have our destiny to fulfil, and the needs of the many outweigh the desires of the individual.  One does one’s duty.  If one is lucky, it is … not incompatible with one’s wishes.  If not.…”  He shrugged.  “You can’t live your life on dreams and wishes.  You learn to put them aside, to ignore them, and focus on your responsibilities.  When you’re trying to find a way to prevent the end of the world, such things seem … trivial.  Naïve.  Fortunately, there’s no shortage of work to keep one occupied.” (Long.)

“Yeah, but did you miss it?”  Dawn was, as usual, quite persistent.

Giles pursed his lips.  “I wouldn’t trade my time as Buffy’s Watcher for anything; even with the horrors we faced, it is … good to fulfil one’s purpose in life.”

“You’re not answering the question,” Dawn said, crossing her arms. (More description, maybe?)

“I don’t— I can’t—”  Giles paused to collect his thoughts.  “I’m not sure how to answer.  It’s not really a question I’ve ever allowed myself to consider.”

“And now that it’s, um, not academic?”

Giles looked at his … his daughter (nice), sitting across from him, who had already been abandoned by one father.  “Now?”  He smiled gently.  “Now I’m nervous, and still slightly in shock; it will likely take quite some time to get used to.  But I’m glad it’s you.  And I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world, either, Dawn.”

Dawn blinked.  “Really?”

Giles reached across to her.  “Really.”

She placed her hand in his and grinned. (I just . . . don't know. It's seems a bit too saccharine, you know? It'd be better if you could find something that said what you want to say more obliquely, IMHO. That said….)

Beatrice:

Yes! This is it, I think—the story the first draft was trying to tell. Even if there are places that could use polishing, the structure is in place now.

It is still very, very talky and there conversation is too logical and linear—although less so than in the first draft; you made some really great revisions. It could use a dash of the totally random. I understand that Giles is making a point of addressing things head-on, instead of in the sideways fashion more characteristic of the Scoobies, but it still doesn't feel 100% organic to the two characters.

I'd still like there to be something else non-dialogue to latch onto, media through which the reconciliation to occur other than just the giving of a gift and through conversation.

But I really enjoyed reading this, and got caught up in the story (no mean trick since I had read the first draft!), and this is great.

A.O'K.