Not Your Sorrows
By
Darcy Galvan

TITLE: Not Your Sorrows
AUTHOR: Darcy Galvan
E-MAIL: mscribe@angelfire.com
RATING: G
SPOILERS: Up to season 5
SUMMARY: The Bluebird of unhappiness is upon Buffy
DISTRIBUTION: suuuure. Just gimme a line and lemme know.
DISCLAIMER: BTVS and characters belong to Joss. Post-It Notes belong to...the company that produces Post-It Notes.
FEEDBACK: The Voices would be ever so grateful (I need the positive feedback that my English teacher never gives me. Feed a starving artist with your happy words?)
DATE ARCHIVED: 6 November 2000


Buffy was having a crappy day. Really, REALLY crappy. Now, when an event such as this occurred, our Ms. Summers would generally pick herself up and say, in her ever energetic speech, "Don't be an idiot," and having thusly chastised herself, head out to find a friend. Else wise, a pint of a nauseatingly rich ice cream would suffice to chase away the `funk.'

At the present course, though, neither solution seemed to be the right one for our heroine. Buffy was having a Fat Day.

Xander would often mock her when she proclaimed such a day, pointing out that, as a Slayer, there she was never without a way to work off the extra calories, and tell her that she was the skinniest person he knew. Xander wasn't there, however, and had he been and used that logic on her, he most likely would have come to on the floor minutes later with a blindingly obvious new black eye. Buffy was feeling fat, and aside from that fact, she had lived on nothing but sugary foods for the past three days and the mere thought of ice cream was enough to make her ill.

Ice cream was out.

Xander was gone. Having finally gotten a car, he'd managed to scrape money together and, at long last, headed out on his road trip ("With high hopes of actually making it *out of state,*" he'd proclaimed before leaving).

Willow was in San Francisco with Tara for the weekend, visiting Tara's aunt, a Wiccan who they hoped would show them a few things while they were in the area.

Riley had broken up with her, which was, in point of fact, the main reason that Buffy was in the state she was in. Going to him for comfort seemed to be the wrong thing to do as well.

Her chemistry class had not gone well. Chemicals did not like her and a ruined, had-just-been-new-that-day shirt attested to that fact.

Dawn had managed to get herself kidnapped twice within as many weeks (though Harmony did not appear for the repeat performance) and Joyce had caught them the second time around. There was yelling. Lots of yelling. At Buffy. And Dawn's unaffected shrug as she left Buffy to deal with the wrath of their mother. Dawn didn't act much like Buffy had always suspected sisters should, and sometimes Buffy didn't know how Dawn had ever come to be a part of her family.

Mulling the week's -- and specifically the day's -- events over in her mind, Buffy decided that the situation was much worse than she had originally calculated.

Buffy was having a crappy day.

Giles. The thought leapt into her had a moment later, startling her.

"Why didn't I think of it before?" she questioned herself with a slightly on-edge cheerfulness. "Super Slayer-Watcher Bonding Time." With Giles resuming his duties as Watcher (still in a somewhat 'fired' capacity), he and Buffy had been spending more and more time together in training and on the side. And now that he owned the magic shop, she helped out most days. They'd become quite the pair, though she was a tad miffed that he still would not let her borrow his sports car. She didn't understand. He apparently didn't care for it despite the fact he kept it. "There is no romance. It's a purely physical relationship. Love-hate," Buffy stated. Why did he still care what happened to it?

"Giles." She stood up with more energy than she frankly felt, and headed out of her room, the bounce leaving her step by step until she was back to shuffling before she was half-way to his home.

*****

Giles opened the door and let Buffy in. "Hello, Buffy."

"Hey, Giles," she replied in what she thought was quite the cheerful mumble. "Just thought I'd come by and say hi. Hi."

After a pause, he smiled sympathetically. "Still feeling badly?"

"How'd you guess," she drawled. "Yeah. I'm still feeling really crappy. As a matter of fact, color me bummed to the extreme. About Riley. About Willow, Xander, Dawn, ice cream, chemistry...."

"That's quite a list that you've compiled there. Are you sure you can keep it all straight."

Her disbelieving look would have been quite enough to make him apologize under normal circumstances. "I can't believe that you're mocking me."

"Well, not in an unsupportive way, I assure you," he said with a chuckle. "Buffy, I just don't like to see you hurting." The sulking look that had come into her eyes receded a bit. "Have you ever heard the phrase, `count your blessings, not your sorrows'?" he queried.

Slight frown. "Yes, I think. Grandma used to say that." Normally, a joke about his age would have followed, however, under the circumstances, the Slayer somehow couldn't dredge up the humor centers of her brain.

"Have you ever considered using it?"

"Oh, come on, Giles, what, you want me to burst into a rendition of `My Favorite Things'? I'm no Julie Andrews, you may end up bleeding from the ears."

He shook his head and her grin managed to manifest itself. So the humor returns. Took you long enough.

"I don't think that musical form is required, but, considering how much you have going for you might just outweigh that which is against you at the moment. It helps sometimes. Merely a suggestion." A thoughtful nod shook her head and she leaned back against the couch.

*****

Giles awoke the next morning and stretched lazily. He blessed the ownership of his own store and the ability to set working hours at any time he pleased. He had slept late. With a grunt and a heave, he rolled over, hand searching the night stand for his glasses. On the went. However, when he opened his eyes, he was somewhat startled to see nothing but yellow. Off they came.

Post-It Notes. Someone had attatched the little adhesive papers to both lenses. One read: "The way you fumble with them when you're upset or tired." The other: "When you take them off and I can see your eyes." He was a bit confused to say the least. They were in Buffy's handwriting. He peeled them off and stuck them to the night table, where he found another one.

"How you won't sleep until you've researched everything I could possibly need."

He rose, and moved to the bureau. Two little yellow papers.

"Anything and everything you wear."

"Even the tweed."

A smile replaced the startled and confused expression.

On the wall of the stairs: "How you run your hands through your hair."

Further down: "Your beautiful hands."

The bookcase: "Your big fat brian." "Multilingual." "Anti-techno." "Pro-literature."

They continued all around the apartment. His stutter, the earring he wore, his pinkie ring, his accent, insistance that he didn't watch TV, his music collection, weapons selection, training, ever stocked refrigerator. There were Post-It Notes about his shameless addictions to tea and jelly doughnuts, his artistic abilities, singing voice, "British" humor, loyalty, love, dedication, persistence, his temper, his laugh and his smile.

He heard a noise outside the door, moved to the enterance, and opened it.

There stood Buffy with a pad of the yellow papers. Her mouth turned up in a little smile and she pointed at the new note on the door: "The door that's always open, even when I don't deserve it."

"Morning Giles." He couldn't speak. She tilted her head, her grin widening.

"You told me to count my blessings. Favorite things."

His lips twitched, he blinked. "Oh!"

Her mouth rounded in surprise. "One more Post-It left." Buffy bent over the little pad and scribbled something, straightened and stuck the paper square on his bare chest.

He looked down, shocked, and pulled it off: "You."

Giles looked at her and beamed.



The End