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It was an unlikely day for a feast. Gray and depressing, the rain blanketed everything, weighing it down with implacable sobriety. It was a cool day for Southern California, the temperature rising to the mid-forties and no further.
There were only two vehicles in the driveway of the home on Revello Drive, unlike the rest of the neighborhood, which seemed to overflow with automobiles of every shape and condition. To the casual observer, the home seemed strangely quiet.
Inside the house, the feeling of stillness prevailed. There were no noisy crowds of boisterous cousins, no wacky friends causing their own particular brand of cheerful chaos. No football games on the television, no nibbling of leftovers, no Willow with her earnest defense of the Native Americans and the injustice that marred the first Thanksgiving, no Xander with his skewed but amusing views on the way Pilgrims used to dress. No Anya with her annoying, and somehow endearing references to ritual killing. No Tara, her quiet presence constantly in the background, who might shyly mention some obscure fall tradition that was only observed by seventh-century Druids.
In the kitchen, the dishwasher hummed and sloshed through a cleaning cycle, the only animate thing in the house. The formal dining room table was cleared, food carefully put away in the refrigerator. It seemed the house was waiting, patiently, for its occupants to bring it to life once more.
Upstairs, an uncomfortable sound penetrated the quiet. In a darkened bedroom, a woman's soft moan of discomfort brought a sleeping teenager instantly awake. The child had been keeping vigil after the family shared their quiet meal, waiting for this moment, her bedroom door standing open to catch the slightest noise.
Dawn crept to her Mother's room, a glass of water in her hand. She quietly opened the door and slipped into the room, tears reaching her eyes as Joyce Summers cried out again.
"Mom? Mom, wake up. It's time to take your medicine."
Joyce stirred sluggishly. "Is it three o'clock already? I must've dozed off, honey. I'm sorry."
Dawn fixed a bright smile on her face. "No, it's fine, really. You probably need to sleep. Here." She shook out the correct dosage and handed the pills to her suffering mother.
Joyce took them and the glass with a grateful, if slightly embarrassed smile. "Thank you, baby. You're the best nurse in the world."
"I wish I was a real nurse, or even a real doctor, because then I could make you better." Fear and sadness crept into Dawn's voice despite her resolve.
"I'm sure Doctor Worthington knows what he's doing," Joyce murmured reassuringly.
"I guess."
Joyce suddenly became aware of the house's stillness. "Where's Buffy?" She unconsciously left her daughter's 'Significant Other' out of the question.
Dawn almost added his name, but after thinking about it, she decided that he went with Buffy automatically, even if he wasn't mentioned. "They're downstairs, probably taking a nap." She wrinkled her nose slightly and added, "I'm not going down there until I have to. Seeing them smooching is *gross*." She dismissed the idea with a toss of her head, and added with false satisfaction, "I can watch TV in my room, and I don't have to fight *her* for the remote."
Joyce plumped her pillow, sitting up in the bed as she swallowed the prescription and the water her youngest daughter had given her. She sighed when the glass was empty, thankful that her appetite was still reasonably intact, and that she could still feel the cool comfort of the liquid as it went down her throat.
She fought down the memory of the symptoms the doctor had recited for her, and concentrated on Dawn. "I'm sorry this was such a boring Thanksgiving, honey. I wish your Aunt Arleen and your cousins could have been here."
Dawn shrugged. "It's okay. I'm not bored." 'Just worried,' she added to herself.
********
Downstairs, Buffy stirred in the arms of her lover. The oversized recliner was a perfect place for napping, she decided, as she nuzzled his shirtfront. Despite the ominous specter of her mother's illness that cast a shadow over their entire lives, she was content at that particular moment. Dinner . . . while not the elaborate spread that her mother was previously known for producing . . . was a success. She and Dawn had assisted, working surprisingly well together under Joyce's careful eye. Buffy knew she was a decent cook in her own right, when she put her mind to it. The Thanksgiving at Giles' last year had proved that. Still, it was her mother's kitchen, and it was only right to defer to her culinary authority while under her roof.
Giles slept peacefully, his breathing just short of being a snore. She smiled fondly at the sound and closed her eyes again, memorizing the feel of being in the right set of arms at last. She sighed a great, heaving sigh and gave him a loving squeeze . . . one that was just a tad too loving. He gave a soft 'oof' and woke up.
"Here, now, there's no need to throttle me. Are you finished with your nap?"
"Sorry." She amended her embrace to a more tolerable level, kissing his chest where it was exposed by his unused top buttons. "I'm finished sleeping, but I don't think I'm finished 'napping.' Naps are essential, you know. Studies show!"
He began to chuckle. Since her somewhat rocky start in college, she'd been enjoying her psychology classes, and was fond of prefacing her current sentences with 'studies show that hugs help you lose weight', or 'studies show that kissing raises your body's immune response', or some other such nonsense. At least, to him it was nonsense, but he agreed happily anyway. Anything that increased his chances of affectionate exchanges was well worth tolerating.
"I'm sure such studies are imminently reliable," he said softly and pulled her up for a gentle kiss.
"We could always do some studies of our own." She kissed him again.
"I am duly impressed with your scholarly pursuits." Another long kiss followed.
"Mmm. College is sooo good for me," she murmured.
"It's considerably improved *my* life," he acknowledged with a grin.
They kissed languidly for some time, enjoying the closeness and sense of security that being together brought them. They could hear Dawn stirring upstairs, but Buffy knew that her sister would alert her if their mom needed help, so she relaxed into Giles' caresses, reveling in his soft, thorough explorations. It constantly amazed her just how good the man was at loving. Nothing in his slightly shy, emotionally bumbling exterior warned her about just how passionate he was or how joyfully he shared himself with her.
By now, the sensation of his body against hers was a familiar one, something she craved beyond reason at times. Yet no matter how demanding she was of him, he always responded with delight and something very like awe. She amazed him, just as he amazed her.
He slid a hand up her arm and cupped her face with a warm hand, a gesture she found endearing and almost painfully sweet. His thumb brushed her cheek as he continued his gentle invasion of her mouth, his tongue leaving no surface untouched. She moaned softly and wrapped her leg around his, massaging his calf through his brushed cotton slacks with her foot. He responded by bending his knee until it was held between her thighs, allowing for the closest contact possible considering their current perch. The recliner, while being comfortable for napping, wasn't the optimum place for serious making out. Somehow, they managed anyway.
Buffy was just about to recommend they adjourn to a more comfortable . . . and private . . . location when Dawn came bouncing down the stairs. She gagged loudly as they broke apart, grinning sheepishly at one another. Buffy sat up and pushed the footrest back into place, running a self-conscious hand through her mussed hair.
"Is Mom okay?" she asked quietly.
Dawn nodded. "She took her medicine and went right back to sleep. She sure sleeps a lot." Confusion and fear were plain in her voice.
"She needs it. It helps, the doctor says." Buffy held out her arms and Dawn moved into them willingly, taking a seat on Buffy's lap as she leaned back into Giles. Dawn no longer shrank away from him, and he was glad. Having Buffy's family against them would have been miserable for his Slayer, and for him, as well. He held a genuine affection for Joyce and Dawn, but he knew how prickly and fragile the younger Summers girl truly was. He wondered idly if the monks who created her and sent her to Buffy knew anything about teenagers. He doubted it very much, or they would've endowed 'The Key' with more endearing - and self-preserving - tendencies.
"Buffy?"
"Yeah, Munchkin?" Buffy stroked the long brown hair out of Dawn's face, a maternal gesture that went straight to Giles' heart.
"What are they waiting for? The doctors, I mean. Why don't they just cut that tumor outta Mom's head and be done with it? What's taking so long?"
Buffy took a deep breath and glanced at Giles. His eyes supported her silently.
"If I can remember all that medical-ese the doctor spouted at me, it's because they want to do more tests and make sure just how big it is and how fast it's growing before they do anything. Besides, it was almost Thanksgiving, and they wanted her to be home instead of in the hospital."
"Oh." Dawn accepted this with typical teen distrust. "Sounds pretty dumb to me."
Giles decided to voice a question of his own, since he hadn't pushed Buffy for details. Getting ready for Thanksgiving occupied her thoughts for two full days, and they hadn't discussed the matter thoroughly. He wasn't hurt by her actions. He knew her too well. She always found more comfort in action than in words.
"When is the surgery? I can leave Anya with the store, and be there with you, if you like."
Buffy looked at him with deep gratitude. "I would like. I don't wanna wait alone. It's next Tuesday. That was as soon as they could get her in."
Dawn sat up, indignant. "You won't be alone! I'll be there!"
Buffy shook her head firmly. "You'll be at school. I'll call the principal 's office the minute she comes out of surgery, but you're not skipping school. Mom already said."
Dawn sprang to her feet, huffing angrily. "You think I'm too young to know what this is? This is serious, Buffy! It's not fair to leave me out!"
Buffy stood and touched Dawn's arm carefully. "Mom said, Dawn. It wasn't my idea. She said you've already missed a lot of school. She'd worry."
"She doesn't have to worry. My grades are fine," Dawn grumbled.
"Yeah, I know. But there's this thing about showing up for class." She shot a look at Giles before he could comment on her somewhat imperfect attendance record in high school. "They kinda want you to."
Dawn knew she'd been defeated, but she was still upset. She started towards the front door, her face set in a frown. "I'm going to Karen's. They're having this movie marathon. Something dorked out like Terminator, but everybody's gonna be there."
Buffy moved with her. "I'll walk you across the street."
Dawn turned on her sister, exasperated. "Buffy! No! I'm not a baby! I can cross the street by myself! Geez, you treat me like a kid!"
Buffy smiled wistfully. "You'll always be my kid sister, no matter how big, fat, and old you get."
"Shut *up*," Dawn drawled, but grinned despite her ire.
Buffy gestured towards the door. "I'll watch from the window, then, okay? Nobody'll know big sis is looking out for you."
"That's better." Dawn tossed her hair haughtily, and started out. She stopped with her hand on the doorjamb and turned. "Buffy?"
"Yeah, Munchkin?"
"It's kind of okay that you worry. Just don't smother me to death."
Buffy held up her hands in surrender. "You're smother free, I promise."
Dawn snorted. "Yeah. Right. *Today*, maybe." She was across the lawn before Buffy could reply.
Giles came up behind her and put his large hands on her shoulders. "If she' s to remain with you, love, you're going to have to let her grow up. I realize these are extraordinary circumstances, but for all intents and purposes, she's a typical teen. She must be allowed some freedom."
She craned her neck to look up at him, smiling sadly. "I know. I really do. But I don't know how much freedom is good for her, and how much will kill her and plunge the world into apocalyptic darkness." She turned to him, amusement setting in. "And I just realized how much like you that sounded."
"I'm rubbing off on you, am I?" He kissed her, smirking slightly. "I suppose that could account for your increased scholastic achievements."
"You're very funny, Rupert Giles." She tapped his nose lightly. "And cute, too. Now, where were we before we were interrupted by the teen tornado?"
"Wishing we could go back to my place?" he said, unreasonably hopeful.
She giggled softly. "Very much so. But."
"I know. You're needed here. I do understand."
"Right now, *we're* needed here. Mom needs me, and I need you." She tilted her head up for another kiss, and he complied gladly. Suddenly, he swept her up into his arms, causing her to shriek and cover her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound. He kissed her thoroughly, holding her easily against him.
"I love it when you do that. It's so . . ." Words failed her.
"Old-fashioned?" he supplied.
"I was gonna say 'romantic.'" Her eyes sparkled with love as she toyed with the hair at the back of his neck.
"Much better than my choice," he admitted.
"So, now that you have me in your power, what are you going to do with me?"
He turned for the sofa and sat carefully with her still in his arms. "I'm going to . . . watch television."
He reached around her for the remote and switched the TV on, carefully reducing the sound to keep from waking Joyce.
"You're watching TV when we could be smooching?" Astonishment gave way to a sly, teasing stare. "Maybe I should have said just plain 'old' back there."
"We can make rather good use of the adverts," he said smoothly.
She smiled. "You're forgiven," she said instantly.
The End