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When Buffy entered The Magic Box late on Friday afternoon, nothing seemed amiss from the outside. She waved to Anya, who was stationed behind the cash register as always. There were some people browsing the shelves, but nothing else to note. She made a beeline for the door that led to the training room -
And stopped short at the sight of Giles walking around the room, stepping over various weapons and bouncing baby Connor in his arms. Baby paraphernalia lay scattered about: bottles and tiny clothing and burping rags and toys scattered everywhere. Connor couldn’t have been there for more than a few hours and it already looked like a tornado had swept through the room, leaving behind half the stock of the local Toys ‘R’ Us.
Giles had been singing softly but stopped when he saw Buffy. “Oh, Buffy,” he said. “I completely forgot we were supposed to have training today. Er…” He looked around at the mess and quickly began to snatch up random bits of cloth that had ended up on the gymnasts’ vault.
“It’s fine,” Buffy assured him. “We can do it after Angel comes to pick up Connor. How long is that going to be?” She had more or less gotten used to having the baby around when the gang went to L.A., but having him here in Sunnydale was new and she was hoping he wouldn’t be staying long.
“I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure,” Giles admitted. “Angel thinks Holtz is about to make his move, and wanted Connor out of the way when he does it.”
Buffy made a face. “So we’re stuck with him for an unknown amount of time? Can’t someone else take him?”
Giles gave her a sympathetic look. “I know you don’t trust what he may or may not represent, but there is hardly anyone more capable than we to take care of him.”
Buffy sighed. Of course she knew that, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. “Is he going to stay at your place?”
“Yes, I think that would be for the best,” Giles said.
Okay, so that wouldn’t be so bad. She could handle having Connor around for the weekend. After all, it wouldn’t take that long to put a stop to whatever Holtz was planning, right? Maybe by the time Connor went home, Buffy would even be able to hold him for longer than five minutes without totally wigging.
Buffy spotted something in the corner of the training room and went over to take a look, frowning. “Giles… is that your guitar?” She smothered a laugh - whatever she might think of the baby, watching Giles play the part of a neurotic daddy was unendingly amusing. “Were you going to play your guitar for Connor?”
“It’s hardly something to laugh at,” Giles sniffed haughtily. “Babies are very stimulated by music.”
Buffy had a sudden thought of what Giles would be like as a father - a real father, not just a stand-in for their little mish-mash family - and felt a sudden pang of sadness that he had never experienced that. He would have been a wonderful dad. On the other hand, a small, selfish voice in her head reminded her that if he’d had children, he might not have been chosen to be her Watcher, and then where would she be? Dead a lot sooner and more permanently, probably.
“Sorry,” Buffy said. “I just can’t imagine you singing Row Row Row Your Boat.”
Giles gave her a scandalized look. “I will do no such thing. Connor is going to learn to appreciate real music.” He shifted the baby slightly and gave him a strict look. “The guitarist for The Who is Pete Townshend, and that is a name you had better remember. Also, Keith Richards, who played for The Rolling Stones. And no matter what your daddy says, Barry Manilow is the devil incarnate.”
Buffy smothered a giggle. “Angel won’t let you babysit again if you brainwash his kid.”
Giles made a small noise of derision.
Buffy jumped up on the vault and watched Giles continue to murmur to Connor in a low voice. It was comforting and nice - like being a child again and listening to her own father lull her to sleep. Buffy felt a little selfish taking this moment for herself, but she didn’t leave. She stayed and watched and for this moment - just this once - she let herself be soothed.