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TITLE: Electra
AUTHOR: Kate Bolin
EMAIL: dymphna@dymphna.net
SITE: http://www.dymphna.net/fanfic/
SUMMARY: Buffy and Giles don't deal. Post-"The Body."
RATING: PG-13
FEEDBACK: Privately, please. It saves annoyance, and you're more likely to get a reply.
ARCHIVE: My site, list sites, otherwise ask.
DISCLAIMER: The characters and universe herein are the property of Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar, and Kuzui Productions. This piece of fan-written fiction means no infringement.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not exactly the happiest of stories. So you're warned in advance. Thanks to Dolores and Emma for the beta job. Excellent work.


He didn't start sleeping with her until after her mother was buried.

It seemed unnatural beforehand, and they reduced their contact to training and the occasional hug.

But once her mother was in the ground, Giles spent one night curled up on the living room couch, a bottle of whisky nearby, watching over the family house while she went out to patrol. She drank one glass with him when she returned, and they would sit on the couch, gagged by the silence.

The next night, one glass became two, then three, and they found themselves finishing off the bottle as sunrise dawned.

Two more nights, two more bottles, and on the third night, he finished his third glass, and before she poured, took her instead. The only sounds were the soft squeaks of couch springs and the even softer moans from her.

His eyes were closed the entire time.

They dressed before Dawn came downstairs, and refused to look in each other's eyes for the entire day after.

Nightfall came, and when she returned from patrol, he was sitting on the couch, another bottle of whisky in his hand.

She took him up to her mother's bed this time, the expensive mattress refusing to squeak, and her moans were slightly louder, the door closed too tight to let sounds escape.

When dawn crept over the bedframe and Dawn stomped loudly into the bathroom, he was already gone, taking any evidence with him, leaving a woman who may have been mourning by lying on her mother's bed.

The day was hazy, and when night fell, she went patrolling again.

She returned and stood in the doorway of her mother's bedroom, staring at him as he undressed. When he laid on the bed, his eyes closed tightly, she also closed her eyes as she moved over him.

He stayed in the morning, and when she dressed, she put on her mother's clothes.

She paid the bills and bought the groceries. She fed her sister and helped her with her homework. He ran his shop and researched hellgods. He bought a bottle of wine and waited for sunset.

She moved her things into her mother's room. She boxed up the leather pants and long skirts, shirred tops and thick boots, and placed the boxes in the corner of her closet without a single wistful glance.

He stocked the liquor cabinet and explained things to Dawn in vague terms and long pauses.

She wore her mother's clothes, and he closed his eyes at night.


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