Pairing: Giles/Citroen, Giles/BMW Convertible... but not in a romantic way. Rating: PG for a couple mild sexual references. Spoilers: A few for A New Man. Summary: Giles and the cars in his Sunnydale life. Author's Notes: This comes to you courtesy of my habit of answering my own challenges. In his case, GRB Monday Mini-Challenge #8: Why the Citroen? Then why the BMW? Dedication: To Liz, for running the Citroen Fanlisting, Tea With Lemon with thanks for keeping the flame of the Gilesmobile alive in the fandom. It looked so lonely. Giles had been searching used car lots for days now, looking for the car that would get him around Sunnydale and its environs. He'd been considering a minivan or SUV. Something that could carry himself, his Slayer, and a load of weapons without drawing notice. The only problem was, none of these vans and SUVs... felt right. They fit in too well, looked too comfortable in Southern California. Then, he rounded that latest in a line of disappointing vehicles that seemed to shut him out in his Englishness, only to find himself staring at the perfect car. A Citroen. It looked as lonely and out of place as he was. It reminded him of home, of family. His father had had one of these years ago. He'd gone on trips and family picnics and been driven to the station to catch the school train in a car that looked just like this. Perhaps not the same color, and perhaps newer, but otherwise the same. When he ran his hand over its metal body, all he could think of was the night he'd hot-wired his father's old Citroen and taken it for a joyride that ended in the poor car's death, and his own disgrace. It might look a bit stodgy, but this car reminded him of a time when he, Rupert Giles, had been rakish and a bit outrageous. It reminded him of his old band, of nights spent at the local on the pull, of taking birds into the backseat and making them see stars that had nothing to do with the heavens. Like him, the car was a fish out of water, outwardly stodgy and slightly silly-looking, and probably possessed of a past few would believe. "Come on, old girl," he said to it, "let's face this place together." * * * * * Thanks to a combination of Ethan, Spike, and bloody Maggie Walsh, Giles found himself again wandering the car lots of Sunnydale searching for new transportation. If he hadn't been feeling so lonely, he would never have gone drinking with Ethan. If he hadn't felt so utterly useless, Maggie Walsh's barbed comments about his 'friendship' with Buffy and her obvious lack of male role models wouldn't have stung so badly. If he had been able to communicate with anyone - anyone at all - other than Spike, the vampire would never have been let near the wheel of his old warhorse car. Now, here he stood, staring blankly around himself, wondering if there was any point. For all her zeal to find and kill the beast that had presumably eaten him just a few nights ago, once Giles was out of danger, Buffy had easily tucked him back into his old corner and ignored him in favor of her current boyfriend and her exciting college life. Oh, he knew she cared about him, much as she cared about her old plush pig who was rarely looked at anymore, but never thrown away because of old associations. She'd take them both down occasionally and think how much she'd cared once, then set them on their respective shelves and ignore them until she wanted another trip down memory lane. Willow and Xander were no better. Willow was more interested in college and magic now, and didn't trust him to help her with either. As for Xander, when he wasn't losing yet another dead-end job, he was busy shagging Anya. Now and again, he could hire Xander to come over and help with odd jobs, but the boy almost never showed up spontaneously. No, none of them had time for him. He was old. Unnecessary. Obsolete. Unwanted. Lonely. A flash of red across the lot caught his eye. He ambled over a bit listlessly. No, this car was not for the invisible man. It didn't meet the needs of a man who might yet hope to be called on to transport a Slayer, her friends, and all the weaponry and magic supplies they might need to avert the Apocalypse. There was absolutely nothing practical about this car at all. Still, he couldn't help looking at the sticker. It was expensive. Too expensive to make sense. The insurance on a brand-new red convertible alone would make this a ridiculous car to buy. And an automatic transmission! He'd never driven an automatic before. He didn't trust them. He knew he'd look a complete prat, racing down the road with the top down so the wind could blow through his thinning hair. No, this wouldn't do at all. He was just about to turn away and go look for a Volvo or a Toyota - something practical, boxy, anonymous and safe, when two young women wandered over and smiled. They were both in their twenties, so far as Giles could tell, and could easily pass as models. The tall brunette wore a flimsy tank top that emphasized her full breasts, a pair of shorts so short they were nearly non-existent, and high-heeled sandals. The blonde was a little shorter and wore a dress that reminded him of the heart-attack-inducing minis Buffy had typically worn - even on patrol - when he first arrived in Sunnydale. They simpered and played with their hair in the way of very interested women the world over. It was the brunette who spoke. "Nice car. You gonna buy it?" "Do you think I should?" Giles had always enjoyed a good flirt, and this woman seemed very practiced at the game. A little too practiced. A part of him whispered that she was probably hired by the lot owner expressly to talk middle-aged men in baggy sweaters into buying insanely expensive cars in hopes of taking women like this to bed with them. Another part of him whispered that it didn't matter. She'd noticed him. He wasn't invisible. "I love convertibles," the blonde said in a way that sounded very much as if she'd been discussing oral sex rather than transportation. "Especially red ones." "Tell you what," Giles said with a wolfish grin, "if you'll come with me on the test drive, I might just decide to get it." The girls hopped in while he called over the salesman. So what if he looked like a living advertisement for mid-life crises and Viagra? So what if the girls were laughing at him the whole time? At least with this car, people would pretend to care. And he could pretend not to be lonely.