(gigglegiggglegigglesnortgiggle)

Yeah...you know I'm pretty sure I'm not who he had in mind. And I have not thought about those books in years...except for the one where Nathan turns into a breast, because it is so like the bad fic. And as such, really kind of hideous. But I start writing the Munchkin, and some part of my brain remembered all of it. Huh. Hey, if we ever did meet up, who'd be at the word-processor first? Me or him? (But even he wouldn't be as surprised as Spike Lee. I think I could make him speechless for probably the first time in his adult life.) ETA: Iirc, the love of his life, the first serious gf that Portnoy feels the worst about jerking around? Her name was Kay.

more V!Giles

Sister Agnes brought tea out to the grape arbor and sat across the table from Joyce.

Joyce accepted her cup. "So, what happened to all the Knights' horses?"

"Oh, the horses." Sister Agnes settled in comfortably. "We sent a message to the monastery of the Knights, and a few weeks later several novices came to collect the horses and to hear the tale."

"Were they angry?"

"Not in the least, thank God. They seemed far more relieved that Glory was defeated. They said a few prayers next to the graves and left." She smiled tightly. "Well, they left after I forbade them to salt the earth where Glory is buried and other similar things. She's not going anywhere, there's no reason not to leave her in peace."

"So it's been quiet otherwise?"

The nun nodded. "A typical summer. A few more visitors than normal, but no problems. We always get a few wanderers stop by who are exploring the roads and find their way here."

Joyce glanced at the chapel. "What do they make of Saint Eugene?"

"If they notice, they never say anything. Savlin and the others stay out of sight, and the visitors have a nice tour and leave. The rangers come through occasionally, but no one bothers us." She smiled and sipped her tea. "So, tell me how everyone is."

Joyce told her about the gallery, Buffy and Dawn in summer school, Tara getting back to perfect health, and Willow busily studying. The easy words slowed when she reached Xander and Anya. She told of how worried people were about Xander and how he pulled away when his friends tried to find out how he was.

"They're pushing him too hard," she said. "I told Buffy he need room and time, but she's too worried about him to leave it be."

Sister Agnes nodded. "She sees a challenge and must defeat it. They want everything to go back to normal, but some things never can. Are he and Anya still . . ."

"I think so. I didn't ask. Too many people keep asking him things."

"Poor boy." Sister Agnes stared at her tea cup for several moments. "What of Mr. Giles?"

"Well . . . I think he's still around. Buffy hasn't said anything either way. I haven't seen him, and I don't know if any of the others have. I know Buffy misses him. She'll start to say his name, then change the subject." Joyce shook her head. "They all do."

They sat in silence, sipping their tea.

Xander retrieved his tools from the car and, followed by his faithful shadow, Baynar, went through the convent repairing and building. Sister Teresa's kitchen work table had its wobbly legs tightened; Sister Mary got some new shelves for her herbs. Sister Dymphna bashfully asked him to take a look at the mangers in the stable, and he found some scrap wood in a corner to incorporate into the renovations.

It was good, silent work. Baynar quickly learned the English for "nail" and "hammer" and "saw" and such, and the only thing heard for hours was the occasional request for a tool and sound of woodwork. When Xander paused for a drink of water, though, he heard whispers and quiet giggles just outside the stable. He peeked outside; three young women in nuns' habits squeaked guiltily.

"Uh, hi," he said.

The three looked at each other nervously, then the shorter one smiled. "Hello."

"Have we met?"

They all shook their heads. The taller one took a nervous breath. "We're novices. We've only been here a few weeks. I'm Sister Yvonne."

He couldn't help smiling. "I'm Xander."

The medium one was just gathering her courage to speak when a throat was cleared behind them. Sister Dymphna stood there, trying to look stern. "Sister Teresa is looking for help in the kitchen, sisters."

The three novices immediately tucked their hands into their sleeves, nodded demurely, and headed serenely back towards the gate. When they rounded the corner, though, there was the sound of more giggles.

Sister Dymphna sighed. "They're very young, and new to their vocation. But they're good girls. I remember being young." She glanced at Xander, then looked away, blushing just a little.

Xander looked at her curiously, then remembered that, in the heat of an August afternoon of hard work, he'd taken his shirt off hours ago. You weren't supposed to wander around nuns half- dressed. He scurried into the stable to find his shirt.

Sister Dymphna looked over her nearly-rebuilt stalls. "This looks lovely, Xander, thank you. But you don't have to do it all today. It's almost time for Vespers and supper." She looked pointedly at Baynar, who was burrowed into the straw. "And I know someone's mother expects him to be clean for supper." Baynar did his best innocent look.

"Come on, dude, there's no fighting it," Xander laughed. "They always make us clean up for supper." He put his tools into a neat pile for later, then held his hand out to Baynar. "Let's go in before your mom comes looking for us."

Baynar pouted, then leaped out to grab Xander's hand.

Connie - thank you. I don't post a lot, but I try my best to keep up, especially with all the Buffista Fic. I just love this story.

Ahhh... More V!Giles fic on an otherwise crappy day. Thank you so much, Connie.

BTW, I absolutely adore the way Xander and Baynar interact. I always got the idea that Xander would be a cool dad.

Yay, Connie.

KAY

It’s weird. As much as I’ve thought I’d had a death wish lately, when I thought the monster inside Munch was gonna suck the life out of me, I still wanted to fight. The image of the fangs still creeped me out, but not as much as what I’d almost let him do in my dreams.
Cause I’ve been doing my research, huh? When the Angel gang is out on another job, or de-sliming the streets, or whatever the hell they do(I’ve been trying to research that, too, but they don’t have a Board. If I do what I’m thinking, and stick around, learning the demon-fighter thing, things are just gonna have to get more organized, no matter how much Wesley loves his dusty little engravings. These streets are crazy now...who the hell cares what happened in the fourth century? Not Kay Howard, anyways, even though I like how it sounds when Wesley says it.

I couldn't work like this. Where was I? I’m getting all ranty, like the Munchkin, huh) Anyway, I looked up the dreams I’ve been having...the next step would be my drinking his blood, probably after we have sex. Then DreamKay is on the Transylvania Express. Jesus...in real life I don’t always like it when a guy leaves his toothbrush, and in my sleep, I give up my soul?! The next thought is “Think about it, Kay. No more mammograms.” No more heartbeat. No more nutrition from solid food. No more awkward post-shooting sex with Ed Danvers. It was decent before, even good(nothing like I told Frank, though) but since the shooting, he gets freaked by the scars on my chest...wants the lights out and he’s always asking about my diet...and well, worrying that I’m over-exerting, huh? (Feel free to edit that part out later. I was just being woman-to-woman, but I don’t want it on the news, right?) They are pretty dramatic, but not too bad for a woman who’s been ripped open and stuck together with duct tape.
I think Ed just doesn’t want to think about how vulnerable somebody he knows could be. Victims are those people with their names on the file folders, right? Not somebody you love...somebody you kiss. I don’t want to make Ed the bad guy here...I’m sure it’s the same feeling that drove me to consider suicide on a rooftop in Tinseltown, huh? Vampire Munch would probably think the surgical scar by my heart is sexy. It’s like a zipper or a lightning bolt and it intersects my breast and he thinks everything’s sexy, anyway. Or he did when he was a person. And I think a lot of vampires are just urges with fangs.
If I were a younger woman, I might put a tattoo there, some kind of climbing vine with flowers on it. But you have to wait a year for the skin to recover, and I’m too old for that kind of nonsense(and I can just imagine the variations of that story circulating the coffee room, huh? Before the ink dries, it’ll get around that I have some kind of holographic sexual suggestion there, some new erogenous zone that if a guy touches it, he can drive me insane. I might not know demons, but I know the guys, God help me. )Against my will, the image of Munchkin kissing the raised white ridge of my surgical scar floods me with feelings. I have to back him up and fast...my soul’s at stake.

I’m halfway through my Dirty Harriet spiel when I realize I can’t even fake it. In addition to leaving the stake Wesley gave me on the dresser at the Hyperion, the pants I covered myself with only look like they have pockets. Son of a...am I felony stupid, or what? Survive getting shot by a dirtbag only to die because I’m dumb. But instead of lunging on me, and covering me with his cape like Bela Lugosi, he stands there smirking and making a dirty joke...like Munch. He looks relieved when I tell him to give it a rest. Probably like foreplay to him by now.

Speaking of foreplay, it was probably incredibly easy for that undead bitch to get her fangs in him. Munch is too forthcoming with women. One good kiss and he’s in love. Two good kisses and I gotta spend the next office party entertaining the latest Psycho Squeeze. He probably fell for the hair toss, that little thing where you touch a guy’s arm to show him how close you wanna get, and if I had to guess, she laughed at his jokes. (Just cause I don’t play games doesn’t mean I don’t know how to play,huh? And if you laugh at Munch’s jokes, he’ll follow you anywhere.) And knowing him, he didn’t twig to what was going on till it was too late.
Such a smart guy, with such a big blind spot. I get choked up when I think of what happened next. The intense pain, the random funeral and burial that asshole Bernie arranged on the cheap. I would have been there...it's the least a friend could do, but the way it turned out, I guess his brother being a creep was lucky. If I had known all that, they'd have to work on my heart again. I already met Bernie once, when he came by with some paperwork after Crosetti...well, after Crosetti. He called me Legs. I hate him, honestly, although after what happened, it feels creepy to say stuff like that.

erika, I have no idea how to highlight the section II want - I'm on a mac and it doesn't love me - but that whole introspective thing there just floors me. I love her when she's being honest with herself and doing it in a purely female way; Kay's big thing with herself, one of them anyway, always seemed to me to be about her believing she had to feel like one of the boys to stay even. And she so didn't.

And the idea of her whipping AI into shape - probably over Cordy's outraged screams - is a thing of purest beauty.

Yeah...I think she likes being, you know, one of the guys some of the time. I think she's very proud of being macha, but when something's really bothering her, it's a liability. Like when her sister had the biopsy, and Beau's like "Wanna talk about it?"
And she says "You're a MAN!" like "You're a complete, stupid, piece of shit."(Which he kind of is, but not that second.)
And even I've noticed that a lot of times on Angel they don't know where each other is(oh, gonna need the jaws of grammar here) But that would drive Kay crazy. Cause Gee taught them "Your partner is like your lover. He should never be far from your thoughts."

Connie, I love the Xander and Baynar interaction. This story is so comforting for some reason. It makes me feel flinchy, waiting for whatever's coming next.

Erika, that's just wonderful. I love the inner dialogue and the characters and you're the one who made them real to me.