"Beholden" ~ Part 2

SUMMARY, THIS PART: It's 4 years later. Buffy, now 26, is discovering the trials of being a first grade teacher, while Giles, 52, struggles with his handicap to maintain a part-time job. After 4 years of living together, routine has made for boredom. Both are aware that some of the fire has gone out of their relationship, but how to fix that? Enter an old flame and a new possibility, both of which are part of a bigger plot, leading to one inevitable conclusion.

SPOILERS: Season 3, then branching into AU.
PAIRINGS: Buffy/Giles, Willow/Xander
RATING: FR-T for mature themes, violence, language. This is the soap opera part! Prepare for a sappy wallow, and a whole lot of angst to boot!
DISTRIBUTION: KoalasPlace.com, Gabi's B/G FanFic Archive.
DISCLAIMER: Without Prejudice. Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and concepts are copyright ©1997-2000 20th Century Fox, WB Television, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy. No Infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission. I just borrowed them to put them through a little hell. The story and all other characters are mine.
DEDICATION: To my chatroom pals at #bgshippers, without whom this fic would never have been finished. Thanks also, to Tricia, JBG and Nancy for the beta.

Part 2: Something Old, Something New

" . . . And so, by the authority vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you 'husband and wife.'"

The bride and groom turned to each other, the man lifting the woman's veil so they could exchange their obligatory kiss. Watching from his aisle seat on the garden chair in the third row, Rupert Giles smiled, delighted that the two young people before him had finally realized their friendship and mutual attraction was actually true love. Willow looked absolutely radiant in her white, trainless, wedding gown--a vision of loveliness--while Xander cut an equally dashing and impressive figure in his Army dress uniform.

The May afternoon was unseasonably warm, even for Southern California and, sitting there decked out in his tuxedo, Giles was thankful the duo had opted for an informal park ceremony over the more traditional one indoors. The shady setting beneath tall, timeless, old oaks was extremely pleasant, both temperature-wise and esthetically speaking, although according to Buffy, it had been the only viable option left when three other traditions collided head on.

Ira and Sheila Rosenberg, sitting two rows in front of Giles, wanted a full Jewish wedding for their only daughter, while the Harris clan, front row opposite, insisted on Catholic proceedings. The US Army, too, wanted an official military do for their promising young NCO lieutenant and his charming bride. As such, the nuptials were a bit of a mish-mash of all three, with an arched trellis of white roses doubling as an altar canopy, the folding garden chairs standing in for the pews of a church, and several uniformed young men and women, designated 'saber bearers', representing the military. Since there had been no simple agreement over a rabbi, a priest, or an Army chaplain, Willow and Xander had chosen a local Sunnydale Justice of the Peace to marry them.

Not that any of it really mattered. Watching as the bride and groom pull back from their kiss to share an intimate smile, Giles decided they would have been perfectly happy to tie the knot in the middle of a garbage dump.

As the end of the ceremony drew near, Giles felt Buffy's hand creep into his. He glanced at her, sitting at his side and looking every bit as stunning as the bride herself, just as she rested her cheek against his shoulder and let out a heartfelt sigh. Giles gave her hand a little squeeze, an action that briefly brought her gaze up to his. For four years Buffy had been his--his passion, his joy, and all his little heartaches to boot--and he loved her more than life itself. That Buffy returned his love was nothing short of a miracle.

They exchanged a smile. She loved him, of that Giles had no doubt, yet lately, little insignificant things had given him cause to question whether or not she was still in love with him. Falling out of love with someone was a simple process . . . especially when the someone was an aging invalid with little to nothing to show for himself, or his life.

'Wallowing in self-pity again, old man?'

No, not today. Today belonged to Willow and Xander, and he would not let his personal doubts ruin it for them.

On cue, the bride and groom linked arms, and turned to lead the recessional between the ribbon-decorated garden chairs. As they passed under a dutifully drawn arch of sabers, they were detained momentarily, long enough for one of Xander's soldier friends to swat Willow's behind with the flat of his sword and say, "Welcome to the Army". Giles stifled a laugh, unsure how such military tradition would wash with the stunned-looking families, but the expression on Willow's face was worth every penny.

Grinning broadly, Xander led his new bride across the lawn. As the guests seated around Giles and Buffy began to stir, Giles reached for his cane and repositioned himself in preparation of standing. His injured leg made him a little slower off the mark than others, a handicap he had lived with for the past seven years. In his tardiness, he again caught Buffy's gaze, this time as she eagerly jumped to her feet. The Rosenbergs, the Harrises, and the other guests quickly followed the happy couple through the park toward their waiting limousine, showering them with rose petals, well wishes, and the occasional 'mazel tov'.

Buffy waited for Giles to move out of her way so she could join her friends, her impatience showing in her eyes and in the tight smile on her lips. Another prime example of the 'little things' he had so recently begun to question. But, knowing how important this was to her, Giles bowed out gracefully. He swiveled in his seat, moving his knees to make room for her to pass.

"Go on. I'll be along shortly."

"Sure you don't mind?" Buffy asked, immediately squeezing past him into the garden aisle. Her actions, despite her words, proclaimed her haste. Nothing was going to hold her back, him least of all.

Giles hid his disappointment well. It was childish, of course, to expect her to dally when Willow and Xander were already halfway toward their limousine, yet it stung, nonetheless, to know the love of his life had absolutely no intention of waiting for him.

'Yes, indeed, it's the little things . . . '

He diverted his gaze and shook his head, as if he actually still had some say in the matter. Attuned to his sudden disillusionment, Buffy leaned forward to bestow a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Love ya," she said perfunctorily.

Giles looked up again as Buffy moved away, the twinge in his injured leg nothing when compared to the sharp little pain that flowered into life deep inside his heart.

* * *

Conflicting traditions aside, the reception proceeded without incident at Sunnydale's most popular wedding venue. Alone on the third story terrace of Grayson Hall, Giles sipped champagne and reflected on the last time he had been standing there, drinking from the same crystal flutes in the blue-sliver moonlight. It had been four years ago, when Buffy's mother took a new husband, and the street below had been mirror-slick from a recent rain shower. He remembered looking down at it from this very perch, lost in depression and seeing only the black void of his own existence. Apathetic and self-pitying, he had contemplated a leap that would surely end it all, when quite unexpectedly his entire life changed for the better. Buffy had kissed him--really kissed him--and, as he often did, he thanked The Powers That Be for the miracle of that single event, and the richness and fulfillment it had brought to his otherwise miserable life.

"Thought I might find you out here," came a familiar voice from the direction of the open French doors.

Giles swiveled on his cane, a smile of recognition forming on his face even before he saw her. Amusingly enough, Buffy had said the very same thing upon finding him alone on the terrace that night, too. She sauntered toward him and, unlike before the world had changed and she had become the other half of his heart and soul, she went straight into his arms without reservation. She was sans a champagne glass of her own, and so she slid both her hands inside the jacket of his tuxedo. His breath caught, her slow caress sending tendrils of desire coursing through his body, and flashes of liquid heat to every extremity. It never took more than an instant for Buffy Summers to completely intoxicate his senses.

They stayed like that for a moment, embraced in the moonlight, until he laid a loving kiss on top of her golden head. The action caused Buffy to lift her cheek from his chest, and tilt her head back to look at him.

"What was that for?" she asked, grinning cheekily.

Giles smiled back. "I was rather hoping it would prevent you from calling me a 'party poop.'"

They separated, just far enough for Buffy to take the almost empty glass from his hand. "Depends."

"On what?" Giles asked, lowering himself to sit on the marble balustrade behind. He rested his cane at his side, absently rubbing the ache in his lame leg as he settled.

"On whether or not I find what I'm looking for," Buffy said, downing the last of his champagne and placing the empty glass on the balustrade beside him. She moved to stand between his knees, her hands resting lightly on the front of his dress shirt, eye to eye with him in the seductively pale moonlight.

"And what might that be?"

"Oh, I don't know," Buffy said in feigned nonchalance. Idly, she walked her fingers up his chest, until she could clasp her hands at he back of his neck. "Some big handsome guy in a tux who wants to take me home to bed." Meeting his gaze, she hit him with a seductive look, Force One. "Know anyone who might want to rise to the occasion?"

Giles chuckled, low and throaty, his hands finding a natural resting place on her hips. "I believe I might. But . . . don't you want to say goodbye to Willow and Xander first?"

"Already did," she informed him. "They just left."

"Oh?" In his contemplation he had been looking at the street, and had not seen anyone leave Grayson Hall, much less anyone as high profile as the bride and groom.

"They snuck out the back. Wanted to avoid The Big Departure, you know? Can't say I blame them. Did you know they're driving to LA tonight? They don't fly out to Acapulco until tomorrow afternoon. But they'll only be gone five days, back home by next weekend. Will said she'd call you then, about the details of her Watcher Council application thingy--"

"Darling," Giles interrupted with a tender smile. Gently, he touched her cheek. "As much as I appreciate the details of Willow and Xander's honeymoon itinerary, I believe we were in the midst of making important plans of our own."

Buffy cocked a wry eyebrow at him. "We were talking about going home to bed."

"A subject I find infinitely more appealing at this point."

She grinned. "You do, huh?"

Giles saw the love in her eyes, and fell instantly and completely under her beguiling spell. What magic had been cast for this stunningly beautiful and intelligent young woman to ever fall for him? "I do indeed."

"Then come on, big guy, take me home . . . "

When she made to step out of his embrace, Giles swiftly drew her back and kissed her. At Buffy's hesitation, he almost let go again, but the desire she had stirred in him made him persist. It paid off, and the instant she began to respond to him, all reservations about their crumbling relationship fell away under the tender assault of her lips on his.

Buffy loved him. How could he have ever doubted that?

Giddy with the need to make slow, passionate love to her in the moonlit shadows that fell lazily across their bed, Giles' hands moved, as anxious as his mouth for the feel of her, and leisurely took in the delectable curves of her hips and derrière beneath her formal dress. Possessively cupping her rear end, he pulled her hard against him, so there could be no mistake of exactly what was on his mind. He let his passion for her wash over him and carry him away, until he lost all sense of his surroundings, time and space. Only Buffy existed for him, her breath giving him life, her body fueling his heat, her kiss driving him wild. His own body snapped to attention, responding to the physical contact with her . . . which was precisely the moment she forcibly broke the kiss and back-peddled.

"Um, sweetie, not here, okay? This is a public place." Buffy trapped one of his die-hard roving hands under hers, picking up his fingers to terminate his caress. "Let's just . . . go home first."

Confused, and more than a little frustrated, Giles squeezed her hand, hoping to encourage her back into his arms. "Darling, we're completely alone." After all, she started this, she wanted this, and yet when he attempted to oblige, she rejected it.

Rejected him.

'It's the little things, mate.'

"I know, but . . . " Buffy refused to meet his eyes, and instead moved further out of his embrace. Reluctant to surrender her closeness, Giles held onto her hand until the distance she put between them made it necessary to let go. She turned her back, seemingly to look at the French doors, although he couldn't be sure. "But someone might walk out and catch us."

Her excuse sounded a little lame, enough for him to guess that it wasn't the truth. "Buffy, we we're both adults. And even if someone had ventured out here, we were just kissing." Ducking his head as the thought came to him, Giles added, "Or are you that ashamed to be seen with me?"

Buffy half-turned away. She hugged a shiver, as if she missed the warmth of his arms around her just as much as he missed holding her. "No, not ashamed. Never ashamed. It's just . . . "

"Just what?"

"Just 'weddings', you know? All the false emotions they conjure up and let loose. The mood of the moment and all." Guiltily aware of her words, Buffy bit her bottom lip. Their first real kiss had been at her mother's wedding, four years ago. There was no doubt they had been caught in the 'mood of the moment' then, and with this kiss in doubt, too, Buffy had just made their entire relationship sound like a sham.

"Darling," Giles said, desperate to put her mind--and his--at ease, "there's nothing false about the way I feel for you."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," he insisted, despite the heavy seed of doubt she had just sown. He looked at her with his heart pouring out of his eyes. Had she fallen out of love with him? Had she?

Buffy wouldn't look up. "I've never seen Willow or Xander so happy. You think . . . you think it's because they're married now? Or because of tonight--too much good times and champagne?"

Remembering her mother's wedding, and the abundance of champagne that had, in part, been responsible for his pursuance of her, Giles cast his gaze to the terrace floor. "I'd rather believe it's because they're in love."

"So are we." Her declaration gave him hope, but when he glanced up, he still found Buffy wearing an expression of doubt. "Right?"

All of a sudden, Giles knew exactly why she had broken the kiss and retreated to a safe distance. It was not because she was embarrassed at the thought of being caught by a stranger, but rather because she, too, realized that what they shared was in danger of slipping through their fingers.

The knowledge that his worst fears were not all in his head, crushed him. Much as he himself had done earlier, Buffy had now begun to question the depth of his feelings for her, specifically, in this instance, if the passion that surfaced during their kiss was true love, or simply a by-product of the romantic atmosphere of the wedding.

Despite himself, Giles did not have an easy answer. He had entered into this relationship as an equal partner, and as such, had to accept an equal blame for the state it was presently in. To say their troubles were because Buffy had neglected him was only half of the story, for he could not recall the last time he had told her that he loved her just to make her smile, brought her flowers on a whim, or felt the flames of desire rise so ardently, or so swiftly, in response to a simple kiss.

'If she really has fallen out of love with you, pillock, then it's your own bloody fault.'

Holding out his arms in response to her question, Giles offered a silent invitation and an equally silent prayer that she would accept. Buffy continued to stare at him, undecided, as if the unthinkable were, indeed, true. After an incredibly long moment, she finally surrendered and returned to her former position between his knees, holding onto him for all she was worth.

"Take me home?" Buffy asked timidly, her cheek against his dress shirt. "And . . . make love to me?"

It broke him in two that she even had to ask. It had been far too long, a month or more. So long, that it had given him reason to believe that she no longer desired him. "With all my heart and soul, my darling . . . "

Giles let out a shuddering breath. The thought of losing her scared him to death. But it was happening, even now, even as he held her so tightly in his arms.

Buffy was slowly slipping away from him.

* * *

First light cast its blue-gray glow over everything in the bedroom; the furniture, the walls and curtains, even Giles himself. With her head on his shoulder and her hand resting gently on his chest, Buffy both felt and heard the steady, reassuring beat of his heart as he slept. She had drifted awake about half an hour ago and, although weary from the early hour, was loath to close her eyes again. For surrendering to sleep meant surrendering this treasured moment with the man she loved.

Giles murmured something indecipherable in his sleep. Raising her head, Buffy regarded his face with fond affection. He looked so adorable when asleep; she could just bet he had been as cute as button as a child.

'As adorable as his children would be.'

The thought came unexpectedly. Children? She and Giles had never seriously discussed the possibility of having kids, although at times like this, in the wake of such unbridled passion, Buffy wondered what would happen if a child were to become a reality in their lives. How would things change?

'Giles would so be a great dad,' she thought lovingly, still watching him sleep.

Settling again, this time with her head on the pillow next to his, she let pleasant images of her own childhood, before her parents' divorce, drift through her mind. Somehow, she could see Giles with a daughter, a little girl to love and cherish, whom would no doubt have him completely wrapped around her little finger by the age of two.

Buffy smiled languidly, but as her thoughts began to wander, it quickly turned into a frown. His children. Children she so wanted to have with him, one day, when the time was right . . . if they lasted that long.

Snippets of doubt came flooding back in a rush, and the idea that Giles no longer loved her, or desired her, brought a choking terror to the fore. Last night, as he made tender love to her and then gently cradled her in the afterglow, those fears had been pushed to the furthest recesses of her mind. But now, in the cold light of the approaching morning, there was no way to be sure if it were real, or simply because she had practically begged him to do it. Of late, Giles just didn't seem that interested in her, and it both scared and intimidated her because she had no clue as to why.

As if on cue, Giles turned over in sleep. As he again moaned something incoherent yet obviously contented, Buffy began to wonder where his dreams had taken him tonight. Was hers still the face that came to him in dreams?

She stared at his naked back. Or was his lack of interest of late because he had already found someone else? Someone he was dreaming of right now?

No, that was ridiculous. Giles was not the type to stray.

Although he was a man, she suddenly realized, with manly wants and needs . . . the same manly wants and needs she also suddenly realized she had been neglecting for months.

This was all her fault!

With a small whimper, Buffy pulled the bedcovers up around them both and moved in closer to his warmth. Almost as an afterthought, she pressed a feathery kiss to the back of his shoulder and then anxiously watched for a reaction. Another moan, or a smile, or the sweet, dreamy whisper of her name would go a long way in restoring confidence in herself, and in them.

But Giles didn't stir from sleep, and his involuntarily response was far from what Buffy had hoped. He shrugged away from her touch, shuffling toward the edge of the bed and making it plainly obvious that he neither wanted nor needed her in any way, shape, or form.

Disheartened, Buffy retreated to the other side of the bed, where she curled into a ball and stared at the shadows playing on the bedroom wall like pantomime puppets. The sheets were cold, unwelcoming and empty, and it brought the sting of tears to her eyes to know she had best get used to the feeling.

* * *

Giles was awakened the following morning by the rather unpleasant sound of someone gagging in the adjoining bathroom. After a long night of confessions, tears, and slow, tender loving, what he wouldn't give for several more hours of uninterrupted sleep. But it was not going to happen.

Scrubbing in vain at a slice of sunlight that stung his eyes, he directed his bleary gaze toward the sound of a flushing toilet. "Buffy?"

Clad only in his pajama shirt, she wandered back into the bedroom. She looked pale and seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and his concern for her well-being immediately chased away his fatigue.

"Are you all right?" he asked, sitting up in bed.

Buffy sat on the mattress next to him, one knee curled beneath her, and nodded unconvincingly. "Must've been something I ate last night. S'okay. Feeling better now."

Giles raised a hand to brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You're certain?"

She nodded again. "I'm fine." After a moment's hesitation, she melted into his touch, and he quickly found himself pushed backwards as she cuddled into his side. "Thank God it's Sunday," Buffy said, paraphrasing. He felt her smile against his skin, her breath tickling the graying hairs on his chest. "I have an idea. Let's stay in bed all day."

"Sounds extraordinarily pleasant," he said, grinning. Last night they had definitely patched a couple of potholes, but there was still a long way to go. "But . . . "

Buffy lifted her head to look at him, disappointment already shining in her eyes. "But?"

Giles combed his hand through the hair falling seductively across her face, finding small measure of delight in the feel of it pouring though his fingers like liquid silk. "I have to go to work," he said apologetically.

She pouted. "Why can't you get a real job? Nine to five, no weekends."

"Buffy . . . " Giles said in warning. Surrendering the argument before it began, she settled beside him again. His present employment was a touchy subject, an ugly can of worms that he would rather not open right now. Or ever, for that matter. If there was one thing that always caused ripples between them, then it was his decidedly odd vocational choice.

"I know, I know." Sharing his pillow, Buffy let her finger trace idle circles around his chest. "It's just that . . . you used to be Book Man, remember? Answer Guy. The one we all turned to when we needed help. You speak five languages, hold so many degrees that the letters after your name look like a Scrabble board, and are unquestionably the smartest person in this whole town. And what are you doing?" She terminated her caress with a sigh, throwing her arm across his stomach and tucking her fingers between him and the mattress. "Working God-awful hours, for minimum wage, selling CDs to kids at the local music store."

"It pays the bills," Giles admitted, unenthusiastically.

"I can pay the bills," she countered.

That, of course, was true. Buffy, who was presently finishing up her introductory year as a first grade teacher at Sunnydale Elementary, made enough money to adequately support them both . . . which was precisely why Giles would never allow it. His pride was the only thing he had left.

"I wish you'd reconsider going back to teaching," Buffy continued, giving him an encouraging hug. "You're a great teacher."

"I rather think my teaching days are over," Giles confessed sadly, recalling his brief return to the profession shortly after sustaining the life-altering injury to his leg, and his consequent dismissal when a serious battle with depression and alcohol almost swallowed him whole. Only Buffy had saved him from that; saved him from himself, really.

"Here in California, maybe. But we could move to another state . . . or to England . . . "

"Mmmm," Giles agreed, only half-acknowledging that she was ready to give up everything for him. Sleepily, he let his eyes drift shut. It was pleasant enough just to lay with the one true love of his life in the peaceful morning silence, enjoying the moment for what it was without rehashing old regrets.

'Or old doubts,' he thought. The notion that Buffy no longer loved him seemed downright preposterous in the morning light, if last night was anything from which to judge. They had been together for four years, and in spite of the minor clashes, which were an inevitable repercussion of two spirited individuals attempting to live together, they had shared four years of absolute bliss.

'Absolute unwedded bliss.' Trepidation again rose in the pit of his stomach. Despite all they had, despite all they shared, until there was a ring on Buffy's finger, society dictated that their relationship was purely temporary. Or, at least, could be. And Giles did want to make it permanent.

Stifling a sigh, he cuddled Buffy closer. It was difficult for him to accept her repeated rejection of his marriage proposals, and harder still to accept her unyielding explanation that although she loved him, she was simply not yet ready to be tied to him. But, after having spent so many years as a Watcher in the Council's rather strict employ, Giles, perhaps more than anyone, understood Buffy's feeling of ex-Slayer independence. Although reluctant, he gave her the freedom she wanted, and would continue to do so for as long as she desired it. He just needed to wait, the same way he had waited for her to grow from the teenage Slayer first entrusted to his care, into the beautiful, self-sufficient young woman she was today. When the time was right, she would say 'yes'. She would become his wife. Until then, he simply had to be satisfied with what he had, and valiantly hang on to hope.

Hope that she was still in love with him. Hope that she would never leave him.

Impulsively, Giles kissed her forehead. Buffy was everything to him, his entire world--although her reaction to his show of affection was not exactly what he expected.

Buffy shattered the serene morning mood by jumping up with a shout. "God, I think I'm gonna barf again!" She was out of bed and away from him, a blur diving for the bathroom door, before he even had a chance to blink.

"Buffy?" Giles called as she disappeared from sight. Her answering retch made him grimace in sympathy. Throwing back the sheet, he moved to the side of the bed. His feet searched for the floor, but by the time he manipulated his lame leg off the mattress, the toilet had already flushed. Reaching for his cane, he pushed to standing and hastily pulled on his robe.

Buffy stood at the bathroom sink, staring at her pasty reflection in the vanity, her hands gripping the edges of the porcelain as if it were her lifeline. When she raised one to brush the hair out of her eyes, he realized why. She was shaking so much that the sink was the only thing holding her up.

"Okay, this is officially 'not fun'," she told her reflection.

Giles came to stand behind her, his free hand rubbing her arm in a silent gesture of support. "Perhaps you really should spend the day in bed," he said, meeting her eyes via the mirror. "Resting. You've been under a tremendous amount of stress recently."

Even 'tremendous' was an understatement. This past semester Buffy had, unfortunately, unearthed the Education System's ugly side, dealing with not only her six-year-old students, but with their often bickering parents, and even with the petty jealousies of some of the other faculty members. While Giles morally supported her every way possible, sometimes it just irked the hell out of him that there was nothing he could do to help. The end of the school year could not come quick enough. For either of them.

Buffy faked a smile, solely for his benefit. "Feeling better now."

"You said that before." Giles turned her to face him, combing a straggly lock of blonde hair back over her ear. "Darling, you look . . . well, bloody awful. Come on, let's get you back to bed, and I'll make us both a nice cup of tea."

* * *

Initially, Buffy didn't think her stomach could handle a cup of tea, but she was wrong. She even managed to keep down the slice of bland, wheat toast Giles brought on the tray to her bedside. Now, as she snuggled lazily under the covers in the mid-morning sunlight and watched him get ready for work, she had to admit that it was not so much the sustenance that made her feel better, but rather his caring ministrations. Despite their problems, Giles really did care about her, and that one simple fact made life seem absolutely perfect.

She had forgotten what a methodical man he was, watching as he moved systematically about the bedroom following some strict order for dressing that only he knew. Guiltily clutching the sheet to her chin, Buffy realized that it had been a long time since she had looked at him--really looked at him. She had been so caught up in her own career-related problems that she had neglected the man she loved, and their relationship had suffered because of it. Right then, she promised to do better over the summer, to reinforce to him that he was as essential to her life as the air that she breathed.

'He's so damn sexy!'

She hid a schoolgirl giggle beneath her clutch of bedsheet, although her eyes were wide and innocent when he cast her an inquiring look. Dismissing her, Giles returned to his selection of ties in the armoire. Picking one, he moved to dresser for his electric razor. Despite herself, Buffy's gaze zeroed in on his butt. Giles had a nice butt for a fifty-something-year-old guy, and the suits he always wore to work only seemed to enhance its appeal, much more so than the baggy pants and sweaters in which he lounged around the house. A well-tailored suit turned Rupert Giles into a very attractive package. As an adult, she had learned to appreciate that.

'He should wear a suit all the time,' Buffy thought dreamily, and then totally nixed the idea at the thought of having to fend off hordes of female competition. Not that Giles had even so much as looked at another woman in the past four years, but with things as they were at present, she would rather not dangle the temptation in front of him.

'Things as they were? God, what's happened to us?'

Buffy dismissed the thought, although not without some degree of guilt. She had neglected Giles, true enough, but she had also vowed to do better. Right now, as she watched her lover stand before the full-length mirror, his back to her with his razor buzzing at his chin, she decided to just enjoy the moment.

And what a moment. The dress code for Giles' sales job at the music store required nothing more presentable than a shirt and tie. A classy three-piece suit was just his stubbornly British way of bringing dignity to an otherwise undignified position. So far, he had only donned his trousers, shirt, and suspenders. The tie he had flung around his neck after several minutes of serious deliberation had yet to be knotted, and his waistcoat and jacket were still on hangers on the armoire door. Half clad, he looked absolutely scrumptious.

When he finally put the razor down in favor of his necktie, Buffy called to him. "Sweetie?" Sitting up, still wearing nothing more than the discarded pajama top that smelled so deliciously of him, she patted the mattress beside her. "Let me do that."

Giles limped across the bedroom to obey. He sat by her legs, an uncertain smile on his face. "I can manage. Why don't you rest?"

"I feel fine now," Buffy said truthfully. Her bout of nausea seemed to have passed as quickly and mysteriously as it had come. "Honest."

"Very well, then." Giles swiveled slightly, so she could reach his tie. It wasn't like the guy didn't know the difference between a Half-Windsor and a Four-in-Hand, but rather something Buffy discovered she really liked to do for him, at least ever since he taught her how.

Obligingly, Giles lifted his chin so she could button up his shirt. Turning down his collar and taking the ends of his tie, Buffy diligently set to work. It made her feel special, an intimate ritual that only she was allowed to perform . . . although one, she suddenly realized, she had abandoned months ago.

"I can't remember the last time you did this," Giles said, on the same wavelength.

Buffy hesitated. "I know. And . . . I'm sorry."

"For not tying my ties? Darling, that's ridiculous."

"Not just for the ties," she admitted, passing the wide end of the necktie down through the loop she had made in front. "For everything." Finishing, she snugged the knot up to his buttoned collar, and sat staring at it rather than his face. "For . . . making you think I didn't care anymore." When she finally worked up the courage to look at him, she found him wearing an understanding expression. "But I do. You know that, don't you?"

"I do now." With a smile, Giles leaned in to kiss her forehead, then used the movement to reach around her and gather his watch, wallet, and keys from the nightstand.

His token kiss was less than what she had hoped for, but more than what she deserved after her months of shameful neglect. They may have still been living in the same house and sleeping in the same bed, but Buffy knew, now, that she had actually jumped ship a long time ago. Perhaps her mother, who always insisted it would never work between them, had been right all along . . .

'Don't go there.'

She drew up her knees and hugged them. "What time do you finish work today?" she asked, ashamed to admit to being so wrapped up in her own life that she didn't even know Giles' schedule. The fact that he only worked part time and his hours changed from week to week was no excuse.

"Six," he answered succinctly, his attention on fastening the clasp on his watch. After stuffing his wallet and keys in his pocket, he rose and limped over to don his waistcoat.

"Can I meet you for dinner?"

Giles cast her a concerned look. "Are you sure you're feeling up to it?" She nodded as he took his suit coat from its hanger. "Then that would be nice," he agreed, and then turned back to the mirror to finish dressing.

"Maybe we could . . . go down to the beach? Like we used to."

She waited for his response, wondering if he would recall the moonlit night they had made out in a secluded little cove in the dunes beneath the cliffs. That must have been close to four years ago, just shortly after their discovery of each other made them act like a couple of hormonally-charged teenagers. 'Spontaneous' and 'energetic', were two words that came to mind. In those first few months, they had not been able to get enough of each other, unlike the present, when making love had become a prearranged, then often cancelled, event . . . last night not withstanding.

'Reality check, Buffy. You know last night only happened because of Willow and Xander's wedding, and because you asked.'

"Sweetie?" Buffy prompted, unsure. Despite their passion, she really didn't know if last night had just been 'the mood of the moment', or if it truly was the start of a new beginning. She watched Giles cross to the bed again, her eyes wide and hopeful, and perhaps just a little desperate. "Um, the beach?"

"We'll see," he said, non-committal, and bent to bestow another empty kiss on her cheek.

Then he was gone, out the door and headed for work, leaving Buffy with a gutful of doubt, and the sudden, inexplicable urge to cry.

* * *

Todd McPherson had been at Sunnydale High at the same time as Giles, although in the capacity of student rather than a member of the faculty. Giles vaguely remembered the youth as having been all brawn and no brain, a snot-nosed athletic type who thought he ruled the world, although he could not remember if the pillock had graduated with the rest of the class of '99 or not.

Little did it matter. At 6'3" and 287 pounds, McPherson used his size to intimidate the opposition and get what he wanted, not his head. For the past six months, he had worked alongside Giles and the other employees of The CD Barn, 'Sunnydale's premiere music source', in the lowly capacity of sales clerk, although never very amiably as any one of the others could readily attest. Three weeks ago, all that had changed rather drastically, when the previous store manager had abruptly up and quit. For reasons that went totally beyond the comprehension of any sane individual, not to mention the rest of the sales staff, McPherson had been promoted to the position.

So, the thuggish brute Giles dimly recalled from high school was now his superior, at least in terms of job status. McPherson, unfortunately, had no trouble remembering Giles as the tweedy school librarian, and now that he had power, he seemed to take a great deal of delight in wielding it with a heavy hand. What the bastard needed was a swift kick in the ass, and, if not for his lame leg, Giles would have gladly been the one to give it.

"Rupert?"

Giles turned from what he was doing--stacking newly arrived CDs in a prominent end-cap display. "Yes?"

McPherson gave him a pained look.

"Yes, Mr. McPherson," Giles corrected through gritted teeth. The prat was even less likable as an adult.

"Claudia's running an errand for me." He pointed a thick finger at the compact discs still in Giles' hand. "Leave those. I need to you to cover for her."

Giles stiffened. If he had to work at this rotten job, then at least he had found a comfortable niche in the classic rock department. Claudia, an attractive black woman around Buffy's age, ran hip-hop and rap, and Giles would grovel in the dirt with the rest of the worms to keep himself off that particular turf.

"But I know nothing of her section," he complained. "I would be more hindrance than help to customers. Why not one of the others?"

"Because they're all busy doing other stuff for me." Drawing back the shoulders of his designer label shirt, McPherson looked down his nose. "Now, Rupert. That's an order."

The two men stared at each other, locked in a silent confrontation of wills. Giles' blood pressure shot sky high, until he felt as if he were going to explode. If not for the fact that his rather hard fall from grace in the Educational System a few years back made it difficult to find employment, then he might have taken a swing at the pillock right there and then. But he needed his job--this job--lest he stay home and suffer the ultimate humiliation of letting Buffy take care of him like some crippled old man.

"Very well," Giles said, forcing a tight smile to help defuse what had quickly turned into a volatile situation. He dumped the CDs he had been about to add to the end-cap into McPherson's pudgy hands, and began to walk away on his cane, sarcastically adding, "Mr. McPherson."

* * *

"Excuse me. Do you have the new CD by Spilt Milk?"

His back to the customer, Giles shut his eyes and offered a silent prayer. 'Lord, not another one.' He had absolutely no doubt that these 'Sunday browsers' masquerading as paying customers had, in reality, been sent into the store by a higher power with the sole purpose of annoying him. Thank God there was less than an hour until closing.

Donning a charming smile, Giles started to turn from the display rack he had been dusting. "I believe that's alternative pop. This is--" He froze, the words solidifying on the tip of his tongue. His gut twisted into a cold knot, and before his brain could wrap itself around the logistics of the encounter, he had reverently whispered her name. " . . . Jenny."

The forty-something-year-old woman who stood before him frowned slightly, her head tilting in an inquisitive gesture that he remembered so well. Her raven hair hung loose to her shoulders, framing a face with creamy smooth skin and dark eyes that sparkled with inner mischief. Even her clothes looked hauntingly familiar, her long skirt hugging sensuous curves and hiding shapely legs, her wispy sheer blouse allowing a tantalizing glimpse of a full bosom and inviting inspection from every man she passed.

"I'm afraid," she said, her own eyes darting over him in return appraisal, "you have me confused with someone else."

Giles grinned stupidly, looking at the feather duster in his hands as he realized how insane it was to think she was actually his Jenny. He had buried Jenny Calendar over a decade ago. "I'm sorry. It's just that you--" Unable to keep his eyes from her, he glanced up again, completely awed by her physical resemblance to the woman he once loved. Whoever this stranger was, she was Jenny's perfect doppelganger. "You look like someone I used to know," he finished gently.

"Someone special?"

He nodded. "She was. A long time ago."

The woman smiled warmly, and something that had lain dormant inside Giles for so many years unexpectedly awakened to life. "Then I'll take that as a compliment."

Rousing himself from the spell, Giles said, "I'm sorry, what was it you wanted?"

"Oh, um . . . Spilt Milk. Their new CD."

He gave her a genuine smile. Although he had not personally listened to the music in question, from the band's name he could easily imagine it as something his Jenny would have liked, too. "Alternative pop. Aisle three."

"Thank you . . . " Her gaze shifted to the name tag on his lapel, then back to his. " . . . Rupert."

"You're entirely welcome," Giles said, meaning it.

With a smoldering smile, she slipped around the corner to find her CD.

'Extraordinary,' he thought, returning to his dusting but unable to shake her face from his mind's eye. The resemblance was uncanny, and she was the right age too. Jenny Calendar at forty-something was still a breathtakingly beautiful woman . . .

No, not Jenny. Jenny was dead. Who then?

Frustration suddenly gripped Giles.

Who was she? A relative? Or a complete stranger? It was said that everyone had a twin somewhere in the world, but what were the chances that Jenny's had picked Sunnydale, CA, at a time when things were undeniably close to falling apart with Buffy, to waltz into his life? Divine intervention? Or intervention at the hands of something--or someone--a little more sinister?

Realizing he had been dusting the same clean spot for the past three minutes, Giles abruptly decided that he could not let Jenny's double walk into his life, then out again, without him so much as knowing her name. What, after all, could that hurt? Even Buffy would understand his curiosity.

Putting down his duster, he went to find her.

* * *

She wasn't in alternative pop, so Giles made a beeline toward the front of the store, fearing he had already missed his chance. Limping out into the main center aisle of the store, Giles spotted her, checking out. Unless he hurried, she was going to be out the door before he was even halfway to reaching her. She accepted the plastic bag containing her purchase from Jonathan, the awed-looking young man behind the cash register, and spent a precious moment stuffing it and her wallet back inside her shoulder bag. Then, almost as if she sensed his presence, she glanced his way.

Their eyes met briefly from afar, a simple glance ripe with mutual understanding and consummate desire. Eager now, Giles hastened to reach top speed on his cane . . . which was precisely when a hand grabbed his arm from the side and jerked him to a stop.

Giles rounded, annoyed, ready to give the person detaining him a good piece of his mind. He expected to find Todd McPherson smirking at him, and so it came as a complete surprise to find Buffy standing there, wearing one of the prettiest dresses she owned and an amused smile.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Buffy quipped, still holding onto his arm.

"What the devil are you doing here?" Giles countered, both shocked and irritated by her untimely appearance.

The hurt look he got in reply brought reality crashing down on top of the world of pure fantasy. Giles blinked, surprised at himself. Good Lord. What the bloody hell was he doing, chasing after another woman?

"Sorry, I . . . didn't mean to interrupt," Buffy faltered. Oblivious to events, she let go his arm and stepped back. "Go. Finish. I'll just--" She nodded at the display rack behind her. "--browse the Top 10 until you do whatever it was you were doing."

With a surreptitious glance toward the cash registers, Giles confirmed that Jenny's twin was now on her way out of the door. With her went the past, and all the old regrets and the pain of a lost love that he had naively resurrected since making her brief acquaintance. He lowered his gaze to the laminate tile floor, thoroughly ashamed. Buffy was the love of his life now. He was completely devoted to her. And he had almost single-handedly botched the entire thing right in front of her.

Giles offered an apologetic smile. "That's all right. It wasn't anything important. Um, darling, I know we had a dinner date, but what are you doing here at--" He looked at his watch. "--at 5:15? We don't close for another forty-five minutes."

"I know," Buffy said, brightening with that youthful enthusiasm he had always loved. "I wanted to surprise you."

Giles nodded jadedly. "You certainly did."

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not." Taking her arm, Giles threw one last furtive glance toward the store doors, then deliberately turned Buffy the other way. Limping on his cane, he headed them back toward his classic rock section, rather than hip-hop and rap where he was still, technically, filling in for the absent Claudia. "I'm actually very glad you're here."

"You are? Silly me, I thought you were royally pissed for some reason."

Giles was spared having to admit that she just stopped him from making a complete ass of himself, by someone calling out his name. "Mr. Giles!"

He turned as Jonathan left his cash register and rushed up behind them. Jonathan Levenson hadn't changed much over the years, except maybe for gaining a few extra pounds. At 26, he was the same loveable loser they had known in high school, and although he was now an adult, Giles still felt a paternal sort of protectiveness toward the lad. Especially when it came to fending off unprovoked character attacks from their mutually detested boss.

"Hi, Buffy," Jonathan said shyly, joining them. Since Jonathan had known them both in high school, their relationship now made him slightly uncomfortable. To him, Giles was still 'Mr. Giles the librarian' and Buffy a 'fellow student', and any hint to the fact that they were lovers only made him squirm.

"Hey," she returned with a warm smile, relinquishing her possession of Giles' arm solely for her former classmate's benefit.

"Um, that lady?" Jonathan told Giles. "The one who looked like Ms. Calendar and bought the new Spilt Milk CD? When she spotted you over here, she asked me to give this to you." He handed over a folded scrap of paper, which Giles recognized as a CD Barn receipt with something handwritten on the back. "She said she talked to your earlier, and you'd understand."

Giles took the note. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he tried to ignore the look of astonishment on Buffy's face. 'Bloody hell . . . '

Oblivious to the building tension, Jonathan grinned. "Man, I thought I was talking to a ghost. Didn't you? I mean, the resemblance--"

"Yes, thank you so much, Jonathan," Giles interrupted, deliberately keeping his gaze away from Buffy's. He could feel watching him, searching his face for an explanation. Searching for the truth.

'And you bloody well know what the truth is, old man.'

Giles began to sweat.

Thanks to the stilted silence that followed, Jonathan finally clued in. "Oh, yeah, right. Well, I gotta get back to . . . you know . . . " He backed away, thumbing over his shoulder at his checkout station, where more customers were already beginning to queue. "Bye."

Buffy never said a word, not even goodbye. Stuffing the folded receipt into his coat pocket, Giles started them walking again, back toward his section. Whatever was written on there would have to wait until later.

"Aren't you going to read it?" Buffy asked in a too quiet, too calm voice.

"Not right now. It's most likely just a special order for a CD. She did ask me for something in particular earlier."

Rounding music displays and traversing down various aisles, they reached Giles' section before Buffy spoke again. "So she . . . looked like Ms. Calendar?"

Letting go his grip on her arm, Giles took refuge on the other side of his counter before he answered. Lowering his head, fussing to tidy the already tidy countertop, he muttered, "A tad, yes."

"How tad?"

Knowing it was far better to tell the truth now than to lie and have to account for it later, Giles squirmed a little, definitely uncomfortable with the topic. "Bit of dead ringer, actually." He looked up, offering a half-smile, which Buffy duly shot down in flames.

"'Dead' being the operative word."

"Buffy . . . "

"Well, I'm sorry, but she is. Jenny Calendar is long dead." She put her hands on her hips in a familiar pose of defiance and frowned. "That's why you were headed for the checkouts like a lame bat out of hell! God, what were you gonna do? Ask her out, so you could relive old times? Dinner and a movie, then back to our place for a quick--"

"Yes, let's do air this in public," Giles cut in sarcastically, aware of the customers and staff who browsed and loitered within earshot of Buffy's rapidly rising voice. Lowering his own voice, he admitted, "If you must know, I simply wanted to catch her before she left and ask her name."

Folding her arms, Buffy grunted, unconvinced.

"Being curious is not a crime," he retorted, although the instant the words came out of his mouth he knew there was a little more to it than that. There was curiosity, yes, but there was also . . . something else. Something dormant that was now screaming into life.

"But it did kill the proverbial cat," Buffy said jealously. "Well, you're in luck. Because my guess is she wrote it on that piece of paper Jonathan gave you . . . along with her damn phone number!"

"Splendid." He dug in his pocket for the folded register receipt. "Let's both find out then, shall we?"

"You know, I really hate the way you use sarcasm as a weapon."

Holding up the mysterious note between two fingers, Giles resisted the urge to read it first, and instead offered it to Buffy. "The right, I believe, is yours. Since you are so convinced that asking a person's name is an act of . . . betrayal."

Buffy stared at the note, then scowled at him. "Oh no, you're not turning me into the Bad Guy in this! You were the one who was hot to trot! You read it."

"Hot to--? Buffy, I had no intention of 'trotting' with anyone."

"Uh-huh," she said, employing a healthy dose of sarcasm of her own, "then why do I see it in your eyes?"

Giles continued to glare at her for a moment longer, before the honest-to-God truth trampled his anger and forced him to look away. There was no denying it, because Buffy already knew. She knew that Jenny Calendar had once been the great love of his life, just as he knew that Angel had once been hers. It was both poignant and ironic that after her lover had murdered his lover they should end up together, survivors chosen by destiny to be eternal soul mates.

Another memory tore through his mind at breakneck speed; a brief yet dazzling encounter in a high school hallway, the morning he had stolen his first kiss from Jenny as the bell rang for class. Dear sweet, Jenny. Part of him would always love her, and miss her. And it was this long-lost, long-buried, unfulfilled part of him that had foolishly seen a rendezvous with her doppelganger as some insane second chance.

But he loved Buffy now. He was happy with Buffy--if one discounted the past few months, when it had all been slowly falling apart.

Giles put the unread note back in his coat pocket and made himself look up. He was appalled to find tears glazing Buffy's beautiful eyes, tears that he had caused.

"Darling," he began awkwardly, but the clearing of a nearby throat warned him of an audience.

Sure enough, Giles spotted Todd McPherson watching them, annoyed and sharing Giles' own reservations about holding such a private discussion in a public forum.

Going against what his heart told him to do, Giles glossed over his apology with a weak little smile. "We'll talk about this later," he told Buffy, self-conscious of both his employer's presence and his ego's need to keep up the pretense of a 'happy home'. "Why don't you wait for me at The Listening Post? You know how you love their lattes."

Buffy noted McPherson with the glassy eyed-look of unshed tears. She merely nodded, mute with all the raw emotion she was bottling in the wake of discovering his attraction to another woman. Reaching out his free hand, Giles gently touched her arm, his own expression silently pleading for her forgiveness.

Their eyes met, briefly, before Buffy lowered her hurt gaze, and moved away. This was far from over, and as he watched her leave, Giles' heart just about broke. He wanted to rush after her, to confess and apologize, and tell her--as many times as it took until she believed him--that he loved only her. But that would have to wait, because his boss sided up to him, preventing it.

"You know, Rupert," McPherson said, leering after Buffy, "you may be one lousy salesman, but you're one lucky old bastard to be getting some of that!"

The slur on Buffy was just too great. Emotions already running on high, Giles reacted instinctively and defensively. Swiveling on his cane, with all his suppressed rage and anger for the sodding berk erupting to the surface with the force of a volcano spewing molten rock, he punched the younger man in the face, hard enough to send McPherson spinning to the store floor.

Sprawled, undignified, on his butt, McPherson glared up at him. He opened his mouth to speak at the same moment his abused nose began to drip bright red blood down the front of his white designer shirt.

"And you're one lucky bastard," Giles grated, only half aware that Buffy had heard the commotion and was on her way back, "that I don't completely break your face."

McPherson spoke around the hand attempting to staunch his injury. "You're friggin' fired, asshole."

Giles broke into a feral, Ripper grin. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. You can't fire me, because I just quit. Or would you like me to give you my resignation again?"

"Giles!" Buffy said, reaching him and immediately latching onto his arm as if knowing he was sorely tempted to go in for seconds.

"We're leaving," he told her succinctly. Turning his back on his former employer, he dragged Buffy with him through the gathering crowd of onlookers. Disgusted customers parted to allow him space, while the couple of CD Barn staffers who had witnessed the confrontation quietly congratulated him and slapped him on the back.

* * *

"Giles?" Buffy clutched his hand even tighter, the same hand he had earlier used to punch out his boss, and which no doubt still smarted from the impact.

Feigning nonchalance to the incident that had cost him his job, Giles insisted they keep their dinner date, throughout which he had neatly steered all conversation away from the McPherson encounter, simply saying it had been brewing for a long time. Beyond that, he didn't want to talk about it, and Buffy knew from past experience that if she wanted answers, she would have to wait and pick the right moment to ask the questions. She didn't even bring up the subject of Jenny Calendar's look-alike, even though that was foremost on her mind.

After dinner at one of their favorite local restaurants, they drove to the Sunnydale pier, which had been Giles' alternative to her suggestion of taking a moonlit stroll along the beach. Strolling was difficult for him now, and sand, in particular, was a hard slog with a cane. The boardwalk suited her just fine; as long as they were together the location didn't really matter. Despite the ugliness that had transpired earlier, Buffy endeavored to be true to her original plan. Tonight was intended to be another turning point for her and Giles, the night when they attempted to reclaim a little more of what they had lost, but the incident at The CD Barn had set things off to a rocky start.

She wasn't sure which of them needed to apologize first--Giles, for almost straying, or her, for the neglect that had obviously caused it. Either way, Buffy felt responsible, and tonight, even the stress associated with going back to her class in the morning was blotted out by the billboard in her mind flashing a 'JENNY CALENDAR' warning signal at her in giant, neon letters.

Buffy brought them to a stop between two rusted light poles about mid-way down the pier. Since this was May, and the amusement rides, hot dog stands, and money-grabbing sideshows had yet to open for the summer season, the place was virtually deserted. There were several dark silhouettes of die-hard night fishermen out toward the ocean end, and one or two other couples meandering closer in towards the shore, which gave Buffy and Giles the deserted section in the middle all to themselves.

"Penny for them," she tried again when he still didn't answer.

"Hmmm? I'm sorry, I was miles away."

Buffy quirked an eyebrow at him. "You don't say?"

"Was I that obvious?"

"Oh, yeah." Turning to the rough, weathered-wood railing, Buffy stared out across the black ocean before them, its surface a ribbon of silver ripples in the light of the moon. A salty, sea breeze ruffled her hair and stirred the coattails of Giles' suit, making her wish she had brought a heavier sweater. She crossed her arms, in the process drawing Giles' hand, which she still held, around her. As he settled in close behind, she felt his heat radiate into her, and leaned against him to take all he wanted to give. When they shut out the world like this, it was easy to pretend things were still absolutely perfect. "Mmmm, this is nice."

His cheek nuzzled against her hair, his voice a warm whisper at her ear. "Indeed it is."

"So what were you thinking about just now?"

"Um . . . work, actually," he confessed, shifting to hug her just a little bit tighter. "Or rather, my present lack thereof."

"Well," Buffy began, trying to be supportive of his no-no career move, "maybe this is actually a good thing. Not punching out your boss--that was a definite bad--but . . . Giles, you hated that job. Now you're free to look for something else. Something better."

He sighed resignedly. "Whatever did I do to deserve you?"

Buffy turned in his arms. She tried to read his expression but his face was too concealed by shadow. "Made a sacrifice to some demon god when you were younger?"

Giles chuckled at her joke, and she smiled. It was good to hear him laugh; it seemed too long since he had. Lifting his free hand, he tenderly combed some windblown hair back from her face. "I shouldn't have lost my temper and hit that pillock . . . even if he did have it coming."

"What's done is done. Forget about it, and move on."

Giles was silent for a long moment, and it was only when he slowly lowered his head toward her that Buffy realized he meant to kiss her. Their lips met, tender and unassuming, as their bodies gently molded together in the moonlight on the pier.

'Wonder if he ever kissed Jenny Calendar like this?'

The thought, and all its implications, ambushed her out of nowhere. Buffy made a strangled little noise in the back of her throat, which made Giles pull back, uncertain. A cool gust made her shiver, although she wasn't convinced her goosebumps were entirely because of the temperature. She longed to stay in Giles' arms, not just for the next few minutes, but for the rest of her life.

If only he would let her. If only he wanted her to . . .

Noting her shivers, Giles gallantly shrugged off his suit coat. But instead of wrapping it around her shoulders, he held it out for her to slip into. "You'll be warmer if you put it on."

Buffy slid her arms into his coat, which was a comically large fit on her slim, short frame. However, its silky lining was luxuriously warm from his body and she gratefully snuggled into it, the second best thing to having his arms around her. Looking up into the dark shadows still concealing his face, Buffy wished she could see his eyes, and the love she knew she would find shining in them just for her.

'And for Jenny Calendar . . . '

Abruptly, she looked away. Competing with a memory was one thing, but now that Giles' long lost love was seemingly back as a living, breathing woman, how on earth did she compete with that?

Okay, maybe that was a stretch, for there were a lot of other factors involved, but the other woman's timing was just so freaky. Why did Jenny's twin have to appear now, when she and Giles were both fighting to pull their relationship in opposite directions?

Turning to the wooden railing again, Buffy stuffed her hands in her coat pockets, which were actually Giles' coat pockets, and stared at the restless ocean. She felt a great kinship with it at that moment, as it moved, dark and agitated, just like the turmoil rolling around in her stomach. Her fingertips touched a piece of folded paper, and sure enough, when she pulled out her hand, the CD Barn receipt came out with it.

Putting her back against the railing, and aware that Giles was watching her closely, Buffy unfolded the note now in her possession. Without hesitation, she read it. Her female intuition had been right, for written on it was not a compact disc request as Giles had alleged, but rather another woman's name and telephone number; a woman who, if intuition proved correct a second time, was interested in her man for considerably more than just his ability to special order music.

Buffy stared at the hated note, fighting to keep her jealousy at bay. God, how pathetic was this? She was jealous of a dead woman! But then again, no. Her rival was very much alive and kicking, she just happened to bear a striking physical resemblance to a dead woman. Since Giles had yet to read the note, or unintentionally memorize it with that photographic memory of his, she had only to drop the stupid thing over the edge of the pier and let the damn ocean swallow it.

Gone. Done. Forgotten.

It sounded such a simple solution, yet it was actually one of the hardest decisions Buffy had ever faced. Because if she did drop it, what sort of message would she be sending to Giles? That she totally didn't trust him around another woman? That he was not allowed to have any friends who were female? Not exactly strong relationship builders, and with their relationship hanging by a thread, they needed all the building support they could get.

So, she had to keep the wretched thing, that much was pretty obvious, even if it did go against every fiber in her being. And then what? Give the note back to him? If she buried her jealousy and resentment somewhere he couldn't see, and if she sanctioned his involvement, however innocent he claimed it to be, would she be handing away all that she once had with him on the proverbial silver platter? She wanted him back, damn it. She wanted things to be the way they used to be between them. She loved him.

Half turning, Buffy glanced down at the dark waves crashing against the poles of the pier beneath them. The ocean somehow had a way of looking sinister at night, like a living, breathing creature lying in wait, ready to pounce on the next unsuspecting soul who ventured too far from a lifeline. And here she was, the ex-vampire Slayer, who had spent her youth fighting sinister night creatures, completely afraid.

Afraid that if she let her guard down, even for an instant, she would lose the man she loved, forever.

Giles cuddled her from behind again. His hand moved on her hip in a light, circular caress that came as a precursor to an anxious question. "What does it say?"

At that moment, Buffy chose to walk a delicate line of absolute trust. As a Slayer, she had trusted this man with her very life. It was not much of a stretch for her, as a woman in love, to trust him with her heart. "Her name is Susan. Susan Malkovitch." Turning in Giles' arms, Buffy presented him with the note. "Her phone number is also on there, and a message."

"Message?" Giles asked, automatically taking possession of the detested scrap of paper.

"It says . . . 'Call me.'" Buffy still couldn't see his eyes, but his body language was clear enough. He was as uncomfortable with this as her, and for a brief instant, her hopes climbed out of the ditch into which they had fallen. "Are you going to? Call her?"

"I don't know. Would you mind, terribly, if I did?"

Buffy's heart sunk into despair again. Sucking in her lower lip, she shook her head in lieu of answering.

"Buffy," Giles began astutely, "I only want to talk to her, but if it bothers you this much then I shan't pursue it."

"It's not that it bothers me," she began in denial, but quickly had to renounce. "Okay, it is that it bothers me. Giles, I totally trust you. If you want to ask this woman over for coffee and a chin wag sometime . . . well . . . " She took a deep breath. "Well, who am I to say you can't? So go ahead. Call."

"And truthfully?"

"Truthfully, I'd prefer if you didn't, but if it means that much to you, then okay. I can handle seeing you going ga-ga over another woman for a few hours. I think."

There, it was said. She had taken her green-eyed monster out for a walk, but kept it on a tight, controllable leash. Looking up into the shadows that still ruled Giles' face, Buffy held her breath. Normally, she could read his expression pretty well and have some clue as to what he was thinking and feeling, but in this light, forget it. She was in Zeroland. No ESP for Buffy tonight. Her emotions were just out there, hanging and vulnerable, and he had the power to crush them.

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, giving her hope, although she still couldn't tell if he were smiling or pursing a frown . . . until Giles raised the hand holding the paper scrap and did something totally unexpected. Without reading it, his hidden gaze still locked on her, he opened his fingers and let it go. The sea breeze instantly plucked away the paper scrap, only to drop it again out in the roiling black water.

Buffy's mouth opened as she watched the tiny, white spot of waterlogged paper float atop the restless waves, then closed again as the backs of Giles' fingers gently caressed her cheek, demanding her attention. When she looked back at him, this time she knew he was smiling.

"The only woman I shall ever go ga-ga over," he promised, gently gathering her into his embrace, "is the one in my arms right now."

Tears sprang to her eyes; tears of joy and honest love. Buffy shut them tightly, holding it together, and pressed her cheek against his chest. God, how had they almost lost this? Why did she ever let them grow apart?

Her throat tight, she hugged him back, letting her body express all that she wanted to say but couldn't. Giles still loved her. Of all the things they had lost in the past few months, she hadn't lost that. Not that.

'God, please, never that . . . '

"I love you," Buffy whispered, then repeated it to the breeze still snatching at her clothes. She shivered again, despite Giles' coat and the warmth of his arms around her, the cold welling up from deep inside, born in the place where her doubts and fears still lived.

Ever the gentleman, Giles released her from his embrace and stepped back. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand to her. "Let's go home."

* * *

Buffy hated waiting. She always had, whether it was waiting for a newly made vampire to rise from a grave for the first time, or the couple of moments it took before she could steal one of her Mom's freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies. Most of all, she hated waiting in a doctor's office, while her test results were retrieved and reviewed in a room down the hall.

On both Monday and Tuesday, Buffy had awakened with a queasy stomach. On Wednesday morning, while dressing for school, the feeling had been upgraded to full Yak City. She tried hard to convince herself that it was all because of the stress surrounding the last week of school and the chaos that came as they prepared to break for summer vacation. Not to mention Giles, who was definitely adding to her present anxiety level. Although he denied it, she knew he had fallen into depression over his lack of employment, and that he probably moped through the days with endless--and pointless--speculation over his self-worth. But Buffy had neither the time nor the energy to deal with him. Next week, after school finished, for sure. She would be more than willing to help him through this, thus helping them patch up a much bigger problem. Until then, as long as Giles didn't take to looking for courage in a bottle, things would be okay. Hence, the first chance she got, she made him promise he wouldn't drink. God only knew, the last thing she needed was to come home from a hard day and find him passed out on the couch . . .

On both mornings, Buffy skipped breakfast, even her customary cup of coffee, but by the time she arrived at school she was ready to throw up, which she did, both times, in glorious technicolor. That's when she knew, despite the emotional trauma in her life right now, there was something else going on with her body. It was obvious she wasn't well, physically, and so she nervously made an appointment to visit her doctor on Wednesday afternoon.

Which was where she sat now; in the doctor's office, waiting.

Margaret Paxton had only been Buffy's doctor for the past four years. They met just after Buffy lost her Slayer strength and abilities, and was making the transition from Chosen One to Ordinary Civilian. Since Slayers rarely retired due to natural causes, Giles had insisted on a physical checkup, just to be sure. As such, they had taken the woman doctor into their confidence regarding Buffy's accelerated physiognomy, which was, no doubt, of great intrigue from a professional standpoint. The tests had been extensive and after a short period of nervous waiting, the ex-Slayer had been declared fit, healthy, and completely normal . . . much to the mutual relief of Buffy and Giles.

This waiting, now, was almost identical. The big What If. Buffy remembered the feeling well, waiting to be diagnosed 'normal' all over again, even though this time she knew something was amiss.

So lost in dire thoughts of terminal illnesses, she jumped when Dr. Paxton finally reentered the room. "Sorry," she said, as the doctor took her seat behind her paper-cluttered desk. "Just a little . . . nervous."

"Completely understandable. It's a nervous time in a woman's life. The waiting. The not knowing."

Dr. Paxton offered a smile. Buffy had always liked her because of the way her smiles put her instantly at ease. Giles liked her because she was British, and had found with her common ground about their mutually missed homeland. Sometimes, they would get into conversations using words and phrases so foreign sounding that Buffy thought they were talking in a completely different language.

"Yeah, waiting," Buffy said, trying on a smile of her own. "Although I'm hoping you're going to tell me something of the good."

Putting the test results folder on the desktop in front of her, Dr. Paxton clasped her hands on top of it and delivered her diagnosis. "I suppose I should be the first to say . . . 'Congratulations.'"

It was the last thing Buffy expected to hear. "Huh?" she asked, monotone.

"You're going to have a baby."

Buffy's monotone didn't change, nor did her question. "Huh?"

Smiling at the look on Buffy's face, Dr. Paxton attempted to explain. "You're pregnant. About six weeks, and doing fine. And before you ask, yes, everything's perfectly normal."

"How?" Buffy blurted. "We didn't . . . I mean, we did--obviously--but we always used a . . . that is, we never did it without . . . well, except maybe the first time, but that was . . . I mean . . . how?"

"Accidents happen. Didn't you notice you were late?"

"I did, but . . . I've been under a lot of stress lately, and I know that can have an affect on . . . I never thought that I might be . . . "

Pregnant.

Buffy's voice trailed off, unable to say the word. After all, she and Giles hadn't exactly been wearing out the bedsprings lately. It had never even occurred to her!

She sat back in her chair and stared at her hands, which had involuntarily twisted her purse straps into a knot that would have done a boy scout proud. Looking past them to her belly, she suddenly imagined the tiny life that was now growing inside her. She and Giles had come together and created something very special, something that was uniquely theirs, and no one else's.

All of a sudden, it sunk in.

"OHMYGOD!" Buffy squealed in delight. She looked up with a huge grin on her face. "We're having a baby!" She couldn't wait to call Willow. No wait, Will was on her honeymoon with Xander, probably not the best time to announce that she was pregnant.

"Well, I'm pleased you're pleased. And Rupert? How will he take the news?"

Her gaze slid from the woman doctor across from her, her elation dissolving as quickly as it had come. Buffy was 26-years-old, she loved kids, and she was suddenly very certain that she was more than ready for the responsibility of having one of her own. Her formative years had not been terribly kind to her, dealing her a truckload of death and destruction before she was even twenty. Even love, true love, had escaped her until after her college and Slayer responsibilities were over. Now, she and the man she loved more than anyone else in the whole world had created a tiny new life. What could be more perfect, or more precious, than that?

Not long ago, she would have said that Giles would be absolutely thrilled by the prospect of fatherhood. Now, she honestly didn't know. They were undeniably going through a rough spot in their relationship, and this news could either be the thing to bring them back together . . . or complete drive them apart.

"He's gonna be . . . surprised," Buffy admitted quietly.

Suddenly apprehensive, she found she was not at all looking forward to discovering Giles' reaction. He had already started looking elsewhere, if that 'Jenny Calendar's twin' deal was any indication. What if this made him turn away completely?

Buffy tuned out most of what Dr. Paxton went on to tell her about the early months of her pregnancy, including tactics to combat her morning sickness, so much that when she left the doctor's office fifteen minutes later, she really had no idea of her next course of action. Her mind was too preoccupied with the question of whether or not to tell Giles. Sitting behind the wheel of her sporty little Geo Tracker, she gently touched her still-flat belly. Even if she didn't tell him right away, sooner or later it was going to be pretty darn obvious. But the timing was all wrong. Maybe in a few weeks, after he found another job, and forgot about Ms. Doppelganger.

'And Mom?' Buffy pondered, as she started the car and nervously headed for home. Her mother, who did not approve of the living arrangements at Giles' house, much less the sleeping arrangements, was going to have a full-blown fit. And that was putting it mildly.

Maybe the best thing was not to tell anyone just yet.

'Yeah. Not yet.' It would be her little secret . . .

Unbeknownst to Buffy, Dr. Paxton did not possess the same qualms about immediately spreading the news of her pregnancy. As Buffy drove off, the woman doctor moved away from the office window and went directly to pick up the phone on her desk. Asking for an outside line, she dialed a long digit number. When a voice finally answered on the other end, she wasted no time with pleasantries or excuses, despite knowing the time difference between California and London.

"This is Margaret Paxton calling for Quentin Travers," she said, her tone all business, completely the opposite of the warm, caring one she used while talking to her patient. There was a moment's pause as her requested party was put on the line. "Sir, good news. It's even better than we planned. Not only has first contact been made with him, but the little bitch was just here. And you'll never guess, sir. She's pregnant!" Pause. "That's right, his." Pause. "I completely agree, sir. Now would be an excellent time to proceed with Phase Two . . . "

* * *

Thursday afternoon saw Giles preparing dinner, as had become his norm whenever the opportunity presented itself. His joy of cooking, of messing about in the kitchen, was a holdover necessity from his bachelor days that he discovered he actually enjoyed. Buffy's teaching position at Sunnydale Elementary usually put her home well before dark and in time to prepared a meal herself, but since she had never possessed what one might call 'culinary skills', it suited them both for him to cook whenever possible.

And this past week, he'd had plenty of practice.

After Saturday night, Giles had thought things were beginning to pick up again, until yesterday, when Buffy had arrived home in a decidedly surly mood. At first he put it down to the fact that she hadn't been feeling well--all that stress--but when her silence grew with the evening rather than abated, he began to wonder if he had unintentionally forgotten one of her 'anniversaries'.

At one time, he would never have regarded Buffy to be so sentimental about such nonsense, but over the years, she had garnered an extraordinary amount of silly 'firsts' for them, all requiring annual celebration, including, but not limited to, their first real kiss, their first trip to the grocery store as a couple, and their first mutually owned kitchen appliance. For the life of him, he had no clue as to which one he had neglected to commemorate and thus cause her evasiveness, only that tonight he was determined to make up for his forgetfulness by turning a standard meal into a incredibly romantic dinner for two.

Humming to himself, Giles placed a single white candlestick in the center of the table, then stepped back on his cane to admire the intimate setting he had expertly created. Seduction was the order of the day, with fine French cuisine as the first course, and, if all went well, Buffy as the second. He already had the champagne chilling, and two fluted glasses waiting on the nightstand by their bed.

Breaking into a slight frown at the thought of 'bed', Giles fastidiously readjusted the placement of the candlestick, then limped back to the kitchen to check on dinner. Despite Saturday night, he was aware that their lovemaking had not only become a sparsely exercised event, but a rather dull one at that. Whereas once, making love had allowed them to touch each other's very soul, nowadays it seemed they simply went through the motions. Knowledge of the problem, however, did not give him instant access to a viable solution. He was 52-years-old, not some hormonally charged 20-year-old, too old to invent new and exciting ways to satisfy his young lover.

Perhaps that, too, was part of their present problem. Perhaps, as Joyce Summers-Holbrook was always so quick to remind him, he was too old for Buffy, who at 26 was almost as spry as the day he met her. The injury to his leg hampered him greatly, and never more so than during intimacy. It put him in a position, literally, which required Buffy to do all the work. Not that she ever complained, but just once, Giles wished for the opportunity to love her the way she deserved. If only they had found each other while he was still able-bodied . . .

Satisfied at the status of his roasting vegetables, Giles closed the oven door and straightened with a cynical chuckle. At the time when he was able-bodied, Buffy had been a mere high school student. And while his true feelings had yet to step out from behind the pretense of paternal love, some of the things he had dreamed about doing with her, if put into practice, would have surely landed him in jail.

Casting a longing glance at the table setting, he set about making himself a cup of tea. Buffy would be home in half an hour, and since he had dinner timed to coincide with her arrival, he decided to take advantage of a few quiet moments to relax and revitalize before his big evening began. Settled on the couch with his cuppa in hand, he was rubbing his chin and debating a quick shave when the doorbell rang, demanding his immediate attention. Parking his cup and saucer on the coffee table, Giles limped across the living room on his cane as it impatiently rang again.

His surprise, upon opening it, made him completely forget his manners. "Joyce!"

He hadn't seen her in months, but from the look on her face, nothing had changed between them. Joyce Summers-Holbrook did not approve of him as the ideal man for her daughter, and as such, they rarely spoke. When they did, it was never very congenial, and this encounter was quickly shaping up to be no exception. For a long moment, all Giles and Buffy's mother did was stare defiantly at one another across the threshold like opposing generals across a battlefield, each waiting for the other to make the first strategic move before they formulated an appropriate counterattack.

Finally, Joyce pulled back her belligerent gaze, just long enough to speak. "I'd like to see my daughter."

Giles gathered his wits and put on a charming face. He knew how much it hurt Buffy to be estranged from her mother, and despite the animosity directed at him, had long ago vowed to try to smooth things over at all available opportunities. "I'm afraid Buffy isn't home yet." Although hesitant to put a damper on his seduction plans, he surrendered graciously and stepped aside in invitation. "But you are more than welcome to come in and wait."

Without moving, Joyce took in the romantic ambiance of the room behind him; the lowered lights and the intimate place settings on the dining room table. Her hostile battle mask returned as she glared at Giles again. "Is it just sex?" she asked him bluntly.

Her frankness caught him completely off guard. "Pardon?"

"Because if you honestly love her, why in God's name haven't you married her?"

He should have been outraged, but instead he was humiliated. Their unwed status was by Buffy's choice, not by his . . . not that he ever expected Joyce to believe that, or change her opinion of him regardless of legalities. Clearly, the woman was goading him out of spite, looking for fuel to add to the fire she had been fanning for four long years. It was her firm belief that he was nothing more than a 'dirty old man', handicapped, useless, and shacked up with Buffy for just one reason.

"That's really none of your business," Giles said coolly, refusing to be pigeonholed by false accusation.

Joyce smirked. "That's the problem, isn't it. She's my daughter, but I've never really had a say in any of it. You took Buffy from me long before she physically moved in with you. Here." She pushed a small bundle of white envelopes at him, neatly bound with a red elastic band. "You'd think, after four years, they'd stop using Revello Drive as her address."

Giles took Buffy's mail, automatically glancing at the top envelope. Sure enough, it was addressed to 'Miss Buffy Summers.'

'Miss.'

It hit hard; another glaring reminder of Buffy's steadfast refusal to share that part of his life, and another crucial victory point for her mother.

"I trust you'll actually tell her I stopped by," Joyce said acidly, sensing her triumph. The woman undoubtedly knew her daughter's work schedule inside and out, and had specifically come here, with Buffy absent, for the sole purpose of getting in a few cheap shots.

"Of course," Giles said, still trying to be civil, for Buffy's sake. But reconciliation was completely out of the question as long as Joyce insisted on these open displays of hostility. She hated his guts, and some small part of Giles' male ego pondered if her attitude was entirely the result of maternal protectiveness, or because of a little jealousy as well.

With a smirk of his own, he knew that if nothing else of his Watcher career went down in the annals of Council history, then his infamy surely would; the first Watcher, ever, to bed both the Slayer and her mother.

Looking like she wanted to slap the smirk off his face, Joyce left without saying goodbye. Quietly, Giles closed the door behind her, his ego still musing how this bitterly hateful woman was the same one he had found so utterly attractive while under the influence of some tainted band candy.

Giles gave the bundled letters one last dubious look, before placing them on the sideboard for Buffy to find later. Joyce's antagonistic visit, which fairly trounced his mood for seducing Buffy, was not without its merits. It got him thinking about marriage again, and, as he headed to the bedroom for his electric razor, a new stratagem began to come together in his mind.

* * *

Buffy's concentration, while attempting to put the words 'Sweetie, I'm pregnant' into a sentence she could say without inducing a coma, slowly crumbled under the assault of Giles' slow hand running up and down her leg. They were sitting in bed, hungers sated from the scrumptious meal that had obviously taken him all afternoon to prepare, and although she was aware of the champagne glasses on the nightstand and the gleam of a different sort of hunger in his eyes, she was doing her best not to acknowledge either just yet. He seemed in a really good mood--a really good receptive mood--and despite her decision to keep her secret to herself, Buffy was just busting with urge to tell him.

The pile of mail her mom had brought over provided the necessary distraction, even though it was clearly not the after dinner activity Giles had in mind. His hand, as it slid beneath the hem of her satin nightshirt, confirmed as much, but when his caress dipped, uninvited, between her thighs, Buffy foiled his initiative by trapping this hand under hers. He pulled back, propped on one elbow and looking at her with confused yet hopeful-puppy eyes.

"Sweetie, I'm . . . um . . . I'm reading. And you're being very distracting."

Giles broke into a lewd grin, one she was glad he had kept well hidden from her in the early days of high school. "I'm hoping to be a lot more than that."

His hand began to roam again, and after a short moment, Buffy was again forced to stop him. Before they went any further, she needed to tell him her secret. "Giles, stop!"

With a frown, he retreated to his pillow, folded his arms across his pajama shirt, and swore under his breath. "Why am I not surprised that you find your bloody mail more exciting than me?"

Unsure how to answer that, Buffy studied him with a sidelong glance. True, most of it was junk mail that could have been thrown in the trash unread, but it was her only feasible diversion from the topic she dearly wanted to, but didn't want to, discuss with him. There was only one piece of actual correspondence in the bunch, the invitation she had just opened, informing her of a ten-year class reunion at Hemery High this coming Saturday night.

Looking for an icebreaker, Buffy was just about to broach the subject of them attending together, when Giles mistook her 'stop' as her final answer for the evening. Using his elbows as leverage, he tossed himself back onto his side of the bed, leaving a gap between them that looked something like a demilitarized war zone.

"Goodnight," Giles said gruffly, and turned out his light in a way that only added to the finality.

Guiltily watching him close his eyes, Buffy put her mail on her nightstand. She glanced down, finding her free hand already resting, instinctively, on the new life growing inside her. Giles' baby. The one she wanted to, but just couldn't bring herself to, tell him about.

God, sometimes she just longed for the 'good old days', when Giles played a tweed-clad Watcher and she a teenage vampire Slayer. At least then, despite the risk to their lives as they fought the forces of darkness night after night, never knowing what big-ugly-nasty was coming at them next, everything had been far less . . . complicated.

Snuggling down into bed, Buffy crept onto Giles' pillow, and studied his profile while he pretended not to notice. But he did notice, she could tell; Giles sensed her close proximity, and her scrutiny. Finally, he gave in, and rolled over meet her, nose to nose on his pillow. Neither said a word. For the longest time, they simply lay watching each other in the soft glow of Buffy's bedside lamp, listening to each other breathe and wondering what the other was thinking.

And feeling.

Reaching out to touch his cheek, Buffy suddenly realized that those 'good old days' weren't so good after all. Because what she had here and now was priceless, and to lose the life she had forged with Giles, was to lose, period.

"Sweetie, I'm . . . I'm . . . " But she completely lost her nerve. Desperate to escape his now questioning green eyes, she buried her face in the side of his neck. Why was this so hard?

Giles shifted slightly, and the next thing she knew his arms were around her, gently encouraging her into his embrace. Buffy went willingly, scared to death, and clung to him as if her life depended on it.

"You're what?" he asked eventually, unable to hide the fearful note that had replaced the anger in his tone.

When she failed to answer, he lifted her chin to bring her gaze back to his. His eyes were troubled now, worried both for and because of her. She had lost her chance; this was not the right time to break the news of impending parenthood.

Faking a little smile, Buffy said, "I'm sorry . . . about wanting to read my stupid mail instead of paying attention to you."

Unconvinced of that being all there was to it, Giles continued to search her face for the truth, until the sincerity she plastered there finally won him over. Returning her hesitant smile, he said, "I'm sorry too. I had no right to snap at you, or to assume--"

"Yes, you did," she contradicted. She moved a little closer, stretching out in his arms for a bit of full body contact. "You must've spent hours on dinner, and you were right to expect a little compensation for it."

"Compensation?" Giles asked, ever so hopeful that it brought a genuine smile to Buffy's lips.

"Mmm . . . " She lowered her head to nuzzle his neck again, resisting the impulse to climb over his hips and start things in earnest. If there was one thing she had learned from Giles in the years they had been a couple, it was that intimacy, like any other expression of love, was best experienced slowly. With that in mind, she placed a lazy kiss on his throat, allowing her lips to linger enticingly on his smooth skin. How sweet, he even shaved for her. "Besides, you are definitely a lot more exciting than junk mail."

"Am I?"

Buffy lifted her head. She had intended her last statement as a joke, but she saw a serious fleck of doubt cross his face. Attempting to allay his unfounded fears, she combed her fingers through the graying hair at his temples. "I love you. You know that."

Giles, looking relieved by her declaration, attempted a half-smile. "Perhaps I just . . . enjoy hearing you say it."

Guiltily, she pulled back. "Guess I haven't been saying it too much lately, huh?"

"Buffy . . . " Giles took her hand and kissed it. "I'm as much to blame for this mess we're in as you. I love you too, even though I never seem to tell you as often as I should." Growing serious, he added, "Perhaps, what we need, is some--"

"Counseling?"

"I was going to say 'stability.'"

"Oh." Unsure, Buffy met his gaze in the lamplight. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, I'm aware we've covered this ground before, but given the current state of our relationship, I can't help believing that it's a decision that would only be for the best." He paused, then said, "Darling, will you marry me?"

Buffy's heart just about broke. This was just so typically unfair! 'He wouldn't be asking if he knew you were pregnant! He'd be running for the hills, like any other normal guy!'

Running into the waiting arms of Jenny Calendar's twin . . .

"I . . . I can't." She looked away, unable to deal with the disappointment in his loving eyes. Her answer was always the same, even if her reasons for it had completely changed in the past twenty-four hours. She didn't want Giles to feel trapped, which he would, if she said 'yes', and then told him about the baby. Buffy didn't think she could handle going through a divorce and a pregnancy at the same time. "I just . . . can't."

Giles let go a long, frustrated sigh. He threw one arm above his head, knowing better than to pursue the matter. "I suppose I should have anticipated that, too," he said, a touch bitter.

"Maybe what we need," Buffy suggested, desperate to change the subject, "is some . . . time. For ourselves. Just the two of us, you know? Go someplace where we don't have to deal with anything but each other." And she could work up the courage to tell him he was going to be a dad. "Like Los Angeles," she added quickly.

"Wonderful," Giles said, employing that dry British wit of his, "I ask you to marry me, and all you want to do is take in Disneyland. Would it help if I wore mouse ears?"

Buffy ignored his sarcasm. "I was thinking we could go somewhere for a weekend. Say . . . this weekend."

"What?"

She retrieved an envelope from her nightstand and showed it to him. It bore the Hemery High School crest in the top left corner, with her computer printed name and her mother's address on the front. "This was in the stuff Mom brought over."

"From your old high school?" Giles took the folded note card and read it quickly.

"It's an invitation to a class reunion," Buffy explained unnecessarily.

"This Saturday night?" Giles lowered the invitation and looked at her. "Rather short notice, don't you think?"

Buffy shrugged. "So who knows how long Mom's had the thing sitting on the kitchen table?" She returned it to her nightstand, warming to the idea of getting away from their humdrum lives for a few days. The change might just be the ticket they needed. "Doesn't matter, there's still time. We can drive down tomorrow afternoon, after school. And since tomorrow is the last day of class, we can stay Monday, too, if you want. Or longer." She grinned. "Maybe we will do Disneyland, after all. Ooh, and Rodeo Drive! I hear the shopping--"

"Buffy," Giles managed to squeeze in, stopping her enthusiasm mid-flow. "Need I remind you that . . . you burned down their gym. For which, I might add, you were expelled. I'm not convinced they're as anxious to have you back on campus as you seem to imagine."

Buffy pouted. "Ouch, Giles. Harsh much."

"I just meant--"

"I know what you meant," she grumbled, although she grudgingly conceded that maybe he did have a point. "But they invited me," she said aloofly. "So I'm going."

"A computer invited you. Bulk mailing lists don't know the difference."

"Oh, like you're so the computer expert now! Just because you use one at work. Correction: used one at work." The sudden animosity in her tone made him look at her, startled. Well, what did he expect? It wasn't like she had a choice in the gym-burning thing, which never mind had been full of vampires at the time. And it wasn't like she had asked to be the damn Chosen One and disrupt her life in the first place.

"That," Giles said, still testy about his job termination, "was unnecessary."

"Look, if you don't want to go, just say so."

Giles held her gaze for a long moment, then finally confessed. "Very well. I don't want to go."

Hurt lanced through her. Buffy had never really expected him to say 'no', rather to give in graciously, the way he always did, and take her to Los Angeles. Of course, Giles had every right to voice an opinion, and as an adult she should have respected that. But she was reading between the lines now, and there was more at stake here than just some silly class reunion. Giles could have easily used this stupid invitation as an excuse for a romantic weekend getaway. He could have accompanied her to LA, where they could have splurged and stayed at some really posh hotel with quality room service and a private hot tub, and they could have never even left their room. Reunion be damned!

He could have tried a little harder to tear down the barriers between them, but instead he seemed intent on building new ones.

Angry now, Buffy flopped over, turning her back to him. After extinguishing her lamp, she cuddled into the bedcovers in lieu of his embrace. "Fine. I'll go alone."

For several minutes, there was only darkness, as if the matter were closed. Then the bed bounced, and a pool of light spilled over her, this time from Giles' bedside lamp.

"No, it's not fine," he said, leaning on his elbow and looking down at her, unwilling to leave the matter unresolved.

Even without turning, Buffy could tell his temper was riled. 'Well, he started it.' Doggedly maintaining her defensive posture forced him to speak to her turned back.

"Buffy, the reason I don't want to go is because . . . " His voice hardened. "Because I don't want to spend the entire time explaining to everyone that I'm not your bloody father."

She rolled her eyes. 'God, this again.'

"Well, okay, I could introduce you as . . . as . . . " She hesitated, and was working up the guts to say, 'as the father of my baby', when Giles jumped in and took up the slack.

"As what?" he asked resentfully. "I'm not your husband--God only knows you've made that abundantly clear. I'm obviously not your ideal boyfriend either. And since you definitely won't win any peer points by introducing me as your handicapped lover, an activity, which of late, has been as engaging as watching grass grow, then what, Buffy? What the blazes am I to you?"

When his tirade was over, the bedroom reverberated with the harshness of his raised voice. Buffy had tears in her eyes by the time he finished, but stubbornly sniffed them back. No way she would cry in front of him. Keeping her back turned, she defiantly wiped her eyes dry. Giles rarely lost his temper, but when he did . . . well, battling a Hellmouth demon, blindfolded, weaponless, and with both hands tied behind her back was far more appealing.

"Sometimes," she answered in a tight whisper, "sometimes you're a real bastard . . . "

With an angry growl, Giles swung back the covers. Buffy felt the night air assault her exposed skin, and the bed move as he sat up. She dared glance over her shoulder at him as he struggled to get to his feet. Leaning heavily on the chair by the bed, he reached for his robe and cane.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep on the bloody couch. You obviously don't want me here."

"Oh, no, you don't!" she countered, throwing back her covers and jumping to her feet. Hands on hips, she traded killer glares with him across the unmade bed. "You think, just because you're the guy, you get to leave?"

"What?"

"Well, I'm just as important in this relationship--or present lack thereof--as you!" That said, Buffy scooped up the coverlet and her pillow. "I'm going to sleep on the couch."

Miffed, Giles reached for his own pillow. "No, you're not. It's my prerogative."

"Says who, Mr. I'm-Suddenly-A-Male-Chauvinist?"

"Buffy . . . "

"Okay, tell you what." She smiled wickedly. "Race ya."

It was a low, but effective, blow--as low as his earlier crack to her about the gym. Neither moved. They continued to glare resentfully at one another, until Buffy turned and triumphantly stomped out of the bedroom. She had won, although on reflection she wished she hadn't.

The couch was way harder than she remembered, and she didn't sleep a wink all night.

* * *

Buffy had already left the house by the time Giles, dressed casually in jeans and a dark gray Henley, made his appearance in the living room the following morning. While showering, he thought he heard her rummaging through their armoire for clean clothes, although she gave no reply when he called out. Now, as he threw one glance at her pillow and robe, discarded sloppily on the couch, one at the empty mug leaving a ring on the coffee table, and a final one at his wristwatch, he knew her evasion had been deliberate.

It was 7:12am. School started at 8:00, and since it was less than a ten-minute drive, Buffy was obviously avoiding him. Not that he blamed her. Last night he had been a total prig.

As he limped to the kitchen to brew some tea, Giles experienced another guilt-ridden pang. Her refusal of his marriage proposal should not have come as a surprise, and, although hurt, he should not have lost his temper. Undoubtedly, the earlier encounter with Joyce had been the thing to set him off, her cheap shots lighting his fuse, which smoldered until Buffy's rejection ignited the explosion.

'Pillock. You're completely undeserving and lower than pond scum.'

Setting the kettle to boil, Giles yawned, weary from a restless night. He missed sleeping with her, never more so than when reaching out for her brought only the empty embrace of cold sheets. Not even while everything was being silently shot to hell had they been reduced to sleeping in different beds. He missed waking with her, too, either spooned against his chest, or tucked into his side with a fan of golden hair splayed across his shoulder, the first heavenly image to which he opened his eyes each morning.

He missed her, utterly and completely.

Hindsight was a wonderful thing, and while laying out his cup and a saucer, Giles knew he would, of course, accompany her to this blasted reunion in Los Angeles. For some unfathomable reason, attending meant a great deal to her, and so he would swallow what was left of his shredded pride, and give in.

But first, today. Today would take some heavy-duty wooing and doing to patch things up--

Giles straightened, shocked at himself. Good Lord, how she had influenced his vocabulary over the years! So much of Buffy was second nature to him now; he could no more give her up than he could delete half of himself.

Taking his tea back through to the couch, Giles sat next to Buffy's discarded robe. He stared at her pillow, which still bore something of her imprint and the scent of her perfume, and contemplated his options. Flowers, certainly, seemed in order. Perhaps a single red rose, the age-old symbol of passion and love. Nothing said 'I'm sorry' or 'I love you' to a woman like a beautiful long-stemmed rose. Tonight, dinner. Someplace fancy, but intimate if possible. And later, if Buffy would have him, he would take her to their bed, and tenderly worship her in the moonlight for as long as his battered old body could manage.

With the shake of his head, Giles chased the wanton thought from his mind. 'But first, today.'

Since it was still early, he had the entire morning to kill. But there were restaurants to consider, reservations to make for both tonight and the coming weekend, and a trip to the local florist, all in time to make the lunch hour break at Sunnydale Elementary. It was time to get down to the serious business of winning back his beloved's heart. Giles had done it once, after all--he had made Buffy fall for him without even trying. Surely, if he put his mind to it, he could make her fall in love with him all over again . . .

* * *

Buffy felt awful.

"That's very nice, Alicia," she commented, her burbling stomach making her warily straighten from leaning over her student's shoulder. The young girl continued to happily paint her family portrait in stunning purple watercolor, completely unaware that her teacher wanted to barf. Bigtime.

'Just my luck,' Buffy thought. She had only officially been pregnant for a couple of days, and already she was dealing with more morning sickness than she could handle. Her hand went to her stomach as it again shifted queasily. Numerous doses of ALKA SELTZER hadn't helped combat the nausea. Nothing had, short of the few blessed minutes of calm after a serious bout of retching. She had already thrown up twice since arriving at school, and in the past fifteen minutes had been fighting mightily not to do it again.

A phone call to Dr. Paxton, after admitting to herself that she had not been listening the other day, brought mixed feelings and little relief. The woman doctor's advice to 'avoiding the smells that trigger the nausea, get extra sleep, and eat small but frequent meals' were just not things that made up Buffy's usual daily routine. She would adjust, though, just as long as she didn't think about having to face another six to eight weeks of Puke City.

Anxious for a break and the chance to go outside for a several deep breaths of fresh air, Buffy cast an eager glance at the clock on the back wall of her classroom. She was relieved to discover it was only a few minutes until lunch break, less so enthusiastic when the defining word 'lunch' taunted her already unsettled tummy. She had not eaten breakfast, but promised herself she was going to try to keep something down at lunch. If not for her sake, then for her baby's.

Slipping back into full teacher-mode, she clapped her hands, demanding attention. "Okay, class, time to stop painting and start clearing up."

Over the protesting moans of her 6-year-old Picasso wannabes, she heard a soft voice beside her. "Miss Summers?"

Buffy looked down. A small boy with large round eyes offered her a single, long-stemmed rose. Surprised, she took it from him. "Well, thank you, Joshua," she said, a little dismayed by the rather extravagant gift. All she usually got were apples.

"It's from him," the boy clarified, pointing to the open door at the front corner of the classroom. Mission accomplished, he darted away before she had even turned around to look.

Buffy immediately found her gaze captured by the man who stood, unobtrusively, out in the hallway. For a moment, they just looked at each other, unsure, with a myriad of possible outcomes of this scenario playing in their minds. Finally, she gave her admirer an acknowledging little smile.

Giles, wearing blue jeans, a sports jacket, and the dark gray Henley shirt she had bought him for his birthday last year, smiled back. His eyes were full of so many things; love, desire, apology to name a few. Buffy recognized them all, and felt more than a little guilty about the stupid fight which had brought them both here, to this. Last night's sleepless hours, while tossing uncomfortably on the slab Giles insisted was a perfectly functional couch, had afforded her plenty of time for serious thought. She had thrown some tough questions at herself, out of which she had drawn some equally tough conclusions.

Forcing her gaze away, Buffy again told her dawdling class to put away the painting materials, and moved across to the open classroom door to speak to the man she loved. Idly parking a shoulder against the doorframe, she kept her eyes on her rose.

"Hey," she said tentatively, the butterflies fluttering to life in her stomach momentarily taking control of her nausea. The decisions she had made last night were not pleasant, but necessary, about herself, about Giles, and about the life they shared together. And he was not going to like any of them.

Giles shifted nervously on the other side of the threshold, making Buffy pretty sure the tense line of his body was not because he was worried about disrupting her class. "Darling," he greeted her, planting a swift kiss on her cheek before she could protest. "Please forgive me. My behavior last night was utterly appalling. All I ask is for the opportunity to try to make things right between us again."

Apprehension hung in his tone. Resolutely, Buffy stared at her rose. Giles wanted forgiveness, and although part of her was ready to immediately grant it and lose herself in his kisses and loving embrace, another part of her knew she needed to remain distant and aloof, if she wanted to maintain the courage she needed to tell him the things she had to say. Buying time, she raised her rose to her face, but unfortunately, the floral fragrance up close triggered a tidal wave of queasiness.

She felt herself teeter as the world took an unexpected lurch to the left. God, she was going to hurl again!

"Buffy?" Giles asked in sudden concern. She felt his hand on her arm, steadying her, as she closed her eyes. "Are you all right? You look . . . frightfully pale."

In response, she thrust the rose at his chest, scattering red petals onto the checked tiles of the recently polished hall. "Stay," she managed to say, before clamping her hand over her mouth and setting off for the bathroom at a wobbly run.

* * *

"Buffy!"

Giles took a step down the school hallway after her, but her order to 'stay' sank in, and instead he slowly turned . . . to find twenty-seven pairs of 6-year-old eyes staring at him in astonished silence.

"I-I, um . . . hello . . . " he floundered, stepping inside Buffy's classroom. He limped over to her desk, depositing the ruffled rose beside her computer. Her command to watch her class in her absence immediately made sense, but after that he was completely on his own. "Miss Summers will be . . . back in a moment. She had to . . . um . . . "

"She's gonna puke again," a little girl at one of the front desks told him, matter of fact.

"Again?" Helpless, Giles cast a glance in the direction Buffy had taken, then looked back at the class, feeling much like the proverbial fish out of water. Teaching a bunch of rowdy high school seniors had never rattled his self-confidence the way the unwavering stares of a classroom of first graders did. "S-she's done this before?"

Most of the kids just looked at him blankly, a few nodded, fewer still continued to neatly clean their paint palettes as previously instructed. One little boy, the same one he had employed as his accomplice to give Buffy the rose, demanded his attention by pulling on the leg of his jeans.

Giles looked down, terrified by the sudden thought of the child asking to use the bathroom. "Um, yes?"

"Are you Miss Summers' daddy?"

Giles just gritted his teeth in a tight smile.

* * *

"Thanks for the soda," Buffy said gratefully. Giles watched her take tiny sips from the can of 7?UP he had wrangled from a cantankerous vending machine outside the Teacher's Lounge. "Feeling much better now," she added, as much for her own benefit as his.

"Are you sure?" He sat with her on a bench under a playground tree, both hands resting on the handle of his cane and his lame leg stretched before him. The carbonated drink had helped settle her upset stomach, but he was still concerned about its original cause. As near as he could tell, this had been going on since Sunday. "One of your students said you'd been ill before, too. Perhaps a trip to see Doctor Paxton would be in order."

Buffy shook her head, immediately dismissing the idea. "I'm fine. Really. It's just stress." She nailed him with a heart-stopping smile, and for that instant, the earth could have stop rotating and Giles would never have noticed. "You worry about me too much."

"You're mine to worry about," he returned automatically.

Smile fading, Buffy looked away.

Giles lowered his gaze, too, well aware that she wasn't his--not officially, anyway. Not until Buffy finally accepted one of his marriage proposals . . . which she was not likely to do as long as he kept insisting she was something he wanted to own. Damn. He'd put his bloody foot in it again.

Covering his awkwardness, he threw a quick glance at his wristwatch, and was startled to discover the time. Although they had been sitting out in the fresh air and sunshine for the better part of an hour, no more than a few overly polite words had passed between them. Now, time was short. The kids were still running about and playing on the nearby Jungle Jim and swings, but the bell signaling the end of lunch was undoubtedly set to ring at any moment. Sidetracked by his genuine concern for her health, Giles had yet to broach the subject of Los Angeles. He had spent the morning on the phone making arrangements for their romantic weekend getaway, and longed to surprise her with this news, not to mention with his more immediate plans for tonight.

"Don't let me detain you," Buffy said, sensing his impatience with time.

He looked across to her, sitting a good two feet away on the same bench, his smile strained. "Buffy--"

"I'm fine now, Giles, really I am. And see? I'm even eating some of my lunch." To prove her point, she swapped her soda can for the half-eaten sandwich she had toted from home in a plastic baggie. "So if you have an elsewhere to be . . . go."

Her dismissal stung. Whether or not she had intended it to wound remained unclear, although after his abysmal behavior last night, he thoroughly deserved it.

Thoughtfully, Giles watched Buffy chew bird-sized bites from the corner of her crust, forcing herself to eat without still really having the stomach for it. She seemed determined to keep her gaze front and center, well away from him, and maintain a distance between them as if he were contagious. Her eyes, when she did glance his way, were unreadable behind the dark lenses of a pair of designer sunglasses. Despite sitting next to him, Buffy was definitely still avoiding him.

Studying the ground again, Giles said, "I, um . . . I've taken the liberty of making dinner reservations for tonight. If you're feeling up to it, that is. I thought we could--"

"I can't." Putting the remains of her sandwich and its baggie on the bench beside her, Buffy finally looked over at him. "I bought my bus ticket to LA on the way to work this morning. It leaves tonight. I need to you to drop me at the bus station by seven."

Giles mouth dropped open in shock, but words refused to come out. Pursing her lips to prevent herself from showing a reaction, Buffy glanced back at the kids playing nearby.

"But," he finally managed, "but just last night, you wanted me to accompany--?"

"I know, and I'm sorry, okay? I changed my mind."

"Buffy--"

"You're the one who didn't want to go. You should be happy you're off the hook."

"Yes, well . . . sometimes I can be a foolish, misguided, old man . . . "

"I'm going alone, Giles," Buffy insisted, her mind made up. "I already called my dad and made arrangements to stay with him. And as you know, he hates your guts only marginally less than Mom. Trust me, you don't want to be there."

Giles didn't know what to say. While he may have still been sitting on the shady schoolyard bench in the same position as he had been just two minutes ago, Rupert Giles had actually shattered into a thousand numb little pieces and scattered all over the ground. At least, that was how he felt, upon realizing what Buffy was actually telling him. She wasn't just leaving for LA, by God, she was leaving him.

His world ended. He fought to breathe. "I-I see."

"No, you don't." Buffy looked at him again. Her eyes were still hidden, but this time a teardrop painted a telling wet track from under the rim of her sunglasses. "I love you, more than anyone else in the whole world. I just need to . . . God, I need to get away from you for a while. I was right when I said we needed time, but wrong about spending it together. I need space, Giles. Time alone, to think. Please don't ask me to explain it any other way than that."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed a sizable lump of emotion and his eyes glistened brightly. Giles struggled to hold it together in the elementary school playground, the noise of happy children an absurd soundtrack to his nightmare.

His heart wailed in protest at what his head told him to do. Staring blankly at the ground, Giles quietly gave her what she wanted. "And it's because I love you, and respect you, that I let you go."

The tears finally broke free and cascaded down Buffy's face. Still, she fought them, swiping angrily at her cheeks as they ran out from beneath her sunglasses. Knuckles turning white on the handle of his cane, every inch of his being screaming at him to take her in his arms hold on forever, Giles expended emotion by drilling the tip of his cane into the earth at his feet.

The bell rang, signaling the end of far more than just lunch. Neither moved. Only the kids seemed to understand the simplicity of what it all meant. After a long minute, Buffy pushed to her feet and gathered her things.

"I have to go," she said, although Giles wasn't sure if she meant for now, or forever. She took a step away.

"Promise me," he began shakily, stopping her with his words. But he still did not trust himself to look at her. His self-control would be shot to hell if he did. "Promise you'll come back to me."

Lips pursed, Buffy continued across the playground without answering.

Giles finally lifted his head, watching as a couple of her kids clustered around to walk her back to class. He knew why she hadn't given his plea any verbal guarantees, why she had not told him the words he was so desperate to hear. It was because Buffy Summers was not the sort of woman to make promises she wasn't sure she could keep.

* * *

The LA bus station hadn't changed much in the past decade. In fact, it hadn't really changed at all. It was still a hub of dank, dirt, and dinge, a place no one would willingly visit in the middle of the day, let alone like now, in the middle of the night.

'Why were bus terminals always in the worst part of town, anyway?'

Accepting her nylon sports bag from the driver unpacking the luggage, Buffy walked quickly across the tarmac toward the squat, gray-bricked building, dodging the other bus passengers being greeted by their friends and/or loved ones who had come to meet them. Passing a dumpster that smelled of urine and vomit, Buffy wished she really had called her father and made arrangements to stay with him for the weekend. Then he might have been here, too, waiting to take her someplace decidedly more pleasant. But then again, her dad had never been very reliable when it came to things like that, and the older he got, the less reliable he seemed to become. More than likely, she would still need to find a working telephone to call for a taxi at--she looked at her watch--at ten minutes to midnight.

The bus she had arrived on started up its big diesel engine behind her, sending a noxious cloud of exhaust wafting across the pavement. There was no one headed back at this time of night, but schedules were schedules, and so it pulled out of the LA depot after a quick turnaround, bound again for Sunnydale. Part of Buffy, as she pushed open the glass door and went inside the terminal, immediately wished she was still on it. She was tired, hungry, and ready to curl up in bed and sleep for about twelve hours . . . none of which was going to happen until she found somewhere to stay.

The inside of the building smelled even worse, but it had working lights--well, some anyway--and with light came a sense of security against the darkness of the LA night. Specifically, against the creatures that lurked in the LA night. Buffy may no longer have been a vampire Slayer, but that didn't mean the vampires no longer existed. True, the majority had packed up their blood bags and left after she and Giles had permanently sealed the Hellmouth, but that, for the most part, was in Sunnydale. Los Angeles still had its own denizens of evil and creatures of the night. For safety sake, it was best to stick to well-lit public places.

Gagging at the odor of stale cigarette smoke and unwashed bodies, Buffy stopped to take in her less-than-pleasing surroundings. To her right was a ticket office that didn't appear to be manned at this hour, its frosted glass window down and barred. Before her, rows of broken plastic stadium chairs ran front to back across a filthy tile floor, their garish green color standing out like puke against the aquamarine decor, and to her left--bingo!--a bank of pay phones against the wall.

The third one she tried actually had a dial tone, so she plunked in her next-to-last quarter and called the number listed for the cab company on the front of the information panel, which was only just legible under the graffiti and--oh, ick!--whatever that nasty-looking black goop was.

Fifteen minutes, she was told. Fifteen long minutes. Aware of her situation, that she was an ordinary young woman sans Slayer abilities, Buffy found an unbroken seat in the row closest to the front window, which afforded her an unobstructed view of the parking lot outside. With her luggage on her lap--it was bad enough the soles of her shoes had to touch this floor--she settled down to wait for her taxi.

She had a vague idea of where she was going to tell the cab driver to take her, since she had grown up in the suburbs and did part of high school at Hemery, back in the days when her mom and dad actually still lived together. There had been a Best Western on the corner of the main road not far from the school, and it if still existed, it would be central to everything she wanted to do this weekend.

Buffy smiled sadly. Thoughts of her mom and dad together, living and loving the same way she lived and loved with Giles, brought a heaviness to her heart, a sort of bittersweet pang of regret. Their marriage had ended in divorce, with her father leaving her and her mother . . . and part of Buffy wondered if perhaps that wasn't really why she was sitting there, alone in a totally gross LA bus station in the middle of the night. She loved Giles, with a passion she knew she would never again be lucky enough to find in her life, but she had subconsciously left him before he could leave her. 'Like dad left mom.'

Only Giles would never leave her, and he was nothing like her dad. He was Mr. Reliable for starters . . .

The hair on the back of Buffy's neck started to crawl, fear breaking into her thoughts. She was the only female in the place and, despite her musing, caution made her keep wary tabs on her three male acquaintances. One, a dirty-looking man in a dirty-looking overcoat, sat happily chugging on a brown-bagged booty--clearly more threat to himself than her. Another guy, her age or possibly younger, was awkwardly stretched out across the stadium seats, his head on his lumpy-looking backpack as he tried catch some sleep. It was the third man who bothered her most. There was something about him, something almost familiar, despite the fact that his face and features where hidden behind the Metro section of the LA TIMES.

His clothes, maybe? Buffy wasn't sure . . . but who wore a suit to a bus station anyway? Other than that, nothing obvious jumped out at her, just a hinky feeling that she once would have attributed to 'spider sense'.

Giving him a sidelong study, she convinced herself he wasn't a vampire, since vamps rarely wasted prime hunting hours hanging out in bus stations reading the newspaper. But old habits died hard, and in case she was wrong, she had a wooden stake tucked handily inside the top of her bag. Possessing the strength and dexterity to use it with any success, however, was another matter entirely.

The slow, almost rhythmic, sound of him turning the newspaper pages made Buffy want to turn around and stare at him, but she didn't, even though his mere presence evoked the sense of vulnerability and helplessness that she would never get used to feeling. Instead, she nervously looked at her watch again. Where was that cab?

Eagerly looking back to the parking lot, she noticed something odd. There was a car out there, pulled nose first into a spot out by the curb. She had seen it on her way inside, a dark, late model sedan with county plates, but since it was parked, she had simply assumed it belonged to someone on the bus terminal staff. As she sat there waiting for her taxi, Buffy spied a tiny orange flame, flickering into life and briefly illuminate the interior of the mysterious car. Apparently, it was not as empty as she perceived, for someone in the front seat had just lit a cigarette.

Someone waiting. Someone watching.

Behind her, Newspaper Guy rustled another page like clockwork, giving the impression that he wasn't really reading. Unsettled, Buffy shifted nervously in her green plastic stadium chair, and wondered, not for the first time, if maybe this whole deal wasn't shaping up to be a really bad idea. Coming to LA for a weekend without Giles was one thing, but getting herself raped or killed in the process was not supposed to be part of the itinerary.

"Hey toots, can ya spare a few bucks?"

Buffy literally jumped out of her seat, spinning around and clutching her sports bag to her like a shield. The dirty drunk guy was just feet from her, and it really wigged her that she had been concentrating so hard on defining Newspaper Guy, that she had not even smelled his approach.

"Sorry, I--"

The other man lowered his newspaper to observe the encounter, briefly catching Buffy's eye. He was mid-forties, with slightly graying hair and dar