Geoffrey made a face that clearly said,see what I mean?
“I agree, it's a dreadful name. But Wally,” he grimaced, “is out of the question. Walter, I think. Can you live with that?” At the omega’s hesitant nod, Grimbold continued. “What would you like to do? Where would you choose to live, if you could live anywhere, or with anyone?”
The newly christened Walter's eyes dilated and he stilled to such an extent that he resembled a statue. “Anywhere?” he asked softly. “With anyone?”
“Indeed,” Grimbold said decidedly. Behind the omega's back, Geoffrey looked resigned.
“Then I want to live with Giles,” the boy said, his voice timid but certain.
Grimbold looked back at his son. “And this Giles person. Is he unsuitable in some way? Untrustworthy, perhaps, or unreliable, or—”
“No!” Walter nearly shouted in his indignation. “Giles is perfect! Okay, yes, sometimes he's a bit cranky, but he's never mean, and he takes good care of the Scooby Gang.” He sighed. “Especially Buffy.”
“Who are these people? I thought the boy had no family.”
Geoffrey groaned. “He doesn't. Those people aren't real—”
“They are!” Walter insisted.
In his agitation, the boy's cheeks colored and Grimbold saw a shadow of what the omega could be, had he been properly cared for. Something inside him stirred. He wanted to fix this. To fix Walter. The situation was untidy and Grimbold abhorred untidiness.
“It's a television program, Wally,” Geoffrey said in the same tone of voice he used when telling Maxime he wasn't allowed ice cream before supper. “We've been over this. It's not real. They aren’t real people. They are actors playing roles.”
Fat tears formed in Walter's eyes. “He said anyone.” He turned his watery gaze on Grimbold. “You did. You said anyone, anywhere, and I want him. You’re dragons. You have magic. I know you do. That’s what they taught us.”
“Wally…”
“He said,” Walter insisted back. “No one wants me. Not my parents, or the cloister, or anyone else. So, yeah,Buffy the Vampire Slayeris just a stupid TV show to you, but it isn’t to me, and he said anyone, anywhere.”
“Wally! You must stop—”
“Tell me about Giles,” Grimbold said, his voice quiet, but still cutting through the argument like a fang through flesh.
“He's—” Geoffrey began.
“Not you.” Grimbold stood and approached the boy slowly, trying not to startle him. He reached out and took the omega's pointed chin in his hand. With his thumb, Grimbold brushed away his tears. “I want you to tell me about this Giles person. Why is he so special to you?”
“Father, are you—”
Grimbold silenced his son with a look. “You came to me. Let me handle this.” He turned back to the boy. “All right. Tell me, Walter,” he commanded.
“He's this strong and bold alpha,” Walter rasped, his voice hoarse with tears. “But kind and really smart. He takes care of people, like I said. And he never lets the bad guys win. Ever.”
He brushed his thumb along Walter's cheekbone, catching another tear. “And this Buffy you mentioned. Who's she?”
“She's my favorite. After Giles, of course. She’s this omega, but she’s so strong and she always saves the day. She doesn't let people push her around, and Giles, he's kinda like her dad, but not, you know?” The boy blinked wet lashes at him.
Grimbold both did and didn't understand the boy’s words. It wasn't an original story. He'd lived long enough to know that there were no original stories in existence. But the tried and true ones resonated with people over and over for a reason.
“Giles takes care of Buffy?” Grimbold asked.
Walter wrinkled his nose. It was, Grimbold realized, covered with a stippling of golden freckles. “Sorta,” he admitted. “Kinda. She can take care of herself. Most of the time. But when she needs help…”
“This Giles person is there for her?” Grimbold guessed.
The omega sighed happily. “Yes. Giles is always there for her when she needs him. Always.”
Grimbold nodded and made a decision. A potentially foolish decision, but there was that stirring of interest within him. When had he last felt that for a person who wasn't part of his family? Grimbold couldn't remember. There was something about this omega that compelled him to set matters right. He wasn’t responsible for how broken the young man was, but he’d done precious little in his capacity as head of the council to avoid such an occurrence. An emotion he rarely felt pricked at him: guilt. “Have the boy's things brought around, Geoffrey. Carsons can arrange it.”
