Author: Meltha
Rating: PG
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Meltha
Spoilers: Essentially, nothing past BtVS season 1, though there are echoes of season 2's "Passion"
Distribution: Fanfiction.net and the Bunny Warren. If you're interested, please let me know.
Summary: Giles is hovering on the brink of a precipice he wants to fall into. Cordy give him a shove.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Author's Note: Written for the 400 word Drabblethon for goddess_loki, who requested blue, chocolate, and quixotic, and any pairing except Lindsey slash, with no sex, violence, or character death.

Simply Infuriating

It had been a long time since Giles had allowed himself to be anything but a Watcher. The Council had driven from his mind any thoughts of a wife and children; while he was not forbidden from having a family, he had seen too often what the outcome was.

Giles had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t let himself fall into that trap. If he loved a woman, it would at the least make her unhappy and at the worst cost her life. It had worked for years; there was enough of Ripper left in him that he had been far from a monk, but no connections, no dalliances into the quixotic romanticisms he occasionally found himself wanting to indulge in, no red roses and opera and moonlight for him.

Jenny was infuriating. She had been infuriating since she first walked into his library (and it was his library, Snyder and the American public school system be damned), sniffing disdainfully at the outmoded paper and leather that formed the geography of his world, and she remained infuriating with her half-smiles, unabashedly linking her chocolate eyes with his gaze.

One morning, she had stopped by with a cup of coffee, railing against the slowness of the school’s modems, and he had shrugged, letting the words run over his head. As she exited the swinging doors, Cordelia had entered, primly placed her books on a table, and produced a lipstick and compact from an impossibly small purse.

“So,” she’d said, carefully outlining her mouth, “when are you asking her out?”

“I beg your pardon, but Miss Calendar and I are merely colleagues. Also, isn’t there a ladies’ room where you might apply that more suitably?” Giles said, annoyed.

“The light’s better in here, and what color were her shoes?” she asked, tucking the lipstick back in her purse.

“Blue,” he said automatically, “but I don’t see what that...”

“Giles, face it. No man notices the color of a woman’s shoes unless he’s paying way more than casual attention. Deal with it. Buy her a cappuccino,” she demanded, picking up her books and leaving, the doors swinging behind her.

He stared after her, face contorted into a disbelieving frown until finally he punched the counter in frustration. Cordelia, tactless as she was, was entirely correct. He was fooling no one, including himself.

“Pillock,” he muttered, then slouched determinedly towards the teachers’ lounge.