And if you decide to peek? Don't expect continuity, plot, decent grammar, and possibly even correct spelling. But feel free to point out errors that you see. It won't offend.
He'd like to tell himself that it's duty that put him on this plane, cramped into a coach class seat and wondering whether he'd hit the balance between too much and not enough sedation when he doctored her over-sugared coffee. Wouldn't do to have too much notice drawn to them. The Rosenberg's weren't precisely overprotective parents, but one had to wonder whether they'd eventually come to the conclusion that Willow's increasingly--fringe was a good word for it--behavior was in any way related to his presence in her life.
Willow moaned softly in her seat, shifting her weight and sinking farther into the slim gap between the beige plastic of the walls and the rough orange upholstery.
No, it wasn't duty. Giles unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and pulled a leather bound novel from the seat pocket. He'd never been good at serving his obligations simply because they were his obligations, no matter the hipocrisy in forcing those sentiments on Buffy through 7? years and several lifetimes.
Duty would have meant dispatching her, a known vessel of evil, without regard for human intent or potential. Carefully tucking the bookmark into his jacket pocket, Giles opened the book to stare at the yellowing pages. The sound of her labored breathing made the words swim before sightless eyes.
Honestly now, guilt came closer to describing what drove him forward. But then didn't it always?
With a quiet murmur of thanks, Giles accepted the scotch the flight attendant brought and downed it in two gulps. Should have ordered several at once--it would take more than one to chase away the knot of emotions pushing painfully at the guilt.