craterdweller

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Giles, Dawn
Prompt: It's the Thought That Counts
Rating: G
Summary: Takes place during Season 5 episode "I Was Made To Love You".
Word Count: 517

Fourteen year old Dawn Summers stared at her sister’s Watcher. She snorted. Giles might be Buffy’s Watcher but he was stuck here watching his Slayer’s little sister while Buffy partied the night away with her friends. Dawn had thrown a hissy fit, objected to the notion that she needed a babysitter, particularly one as old and stuffy as Giles, but as it turned out he’d been a lot more fun than she’d expected. He’d watched her favorite bands on MTV with her, listened to her babble about boys and had even eaten cookie dough with her. All without her resorting to either whining or pouting. Although she’d never tell him, she thought Giles was kinda cool, for an old guy. An old guy that drank way too much tea. He looked up from the musty, old book and rubbed his eyes. He spent like all of his time researching for Buffy and he hasn’t refilled his tea in a while. I’ll go make him a cup. How hard can it be? Just boil water and add the tea bag and some milk. And maybe some sugar. No problem. It’s the least I can do since he’s been really nice to me.

Giles shifted in the uncomfortable desk chair. Joyce had obviously picked it for looks rather than functionality. He removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He really could use 'a cuppa', but he didn’t want to be running to the bathroom every ten minutes. Lord knows how much trouble a teenager could get up to in that amount of time. He sighed. Dawn hadn’t had it easy in her short existence. Circumstances that were hard to fathom even as an adult, never mind a teen with mystical origins. He’d been a bit put out when Buffy had asked him to babysit Dawn because her mother had plans, but Joyce deserved a night off and so did his Slayer. Where had Dawn gotten off to? He didn’t hear her stomping around upstairs. Nor did he hear any music or chatter coming from her room. Alarmed, he rose quickly to search for her. He found her in the kitchen pulling a steaming mug out of the microwave.

Before he could say anything she handed him the steaming mug, “I made you a cup of tea. I didn’t know if you like it with milk and sugar so I added a little of both.”

He blinked and suppressed any sarcastic comments. He searched her face for any sign of deception, but saw only shy affection. He smiled then and took a sip of the tea. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Dawn. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

The teen beamed in response. “I’ve finished all my homework. I’m going to head to bed. Night Giles.” She kissed his cheek and disappeared up the stairs in a blur.

He grimaced as he took another sip. The tea was truly horrid, made from the tea bags that the Americans favored instead of loose tea leaves and altogether too sweet, but he savored every drop for what it represented. After all, it’s the thought that counts.