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"The Long Goodbye" an epilogue to "Lies My Parents Told Me" by Koala

PAIRING: B/G
RATING: FR-AO
SPOILERS/TIMELINE: S7's "Lies My Parents Told Me"
SUMMARY: Tension has been build between Buffy and Giles; they finally have it out.
DISTRIBUTION: KoalasPlace.com, GylzGirl's HeadQuarters, DWord's theLIST.
DISCLAIMER: Without Prejudice. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER characters and concepts are copyright ©1997-2003 20th Century Fox. No Infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission. It's Joss' sandbox, I just like playing in it!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic begins right at the end of the ep, just as the credits roll. Since it's told from Giles' pov, expect some Spike-bashing. The title comes from the Ronan Keating song of the same name, found on his CD, "Destination." Read the lyrics. As the title implies, there is no happy ending.
DEDICATION: To Donna, you know why. To my CL squad, for your unfailing support. Thanks!
DATE COMPLETED: April 7, 2003

Giles stared at the closed door in front of him, until his open-mouthed shock dissolved into something closer resembling real anger. He had expected, right now, to be consoling his distraught Slayer over the loss of the vampire she had foolishly come to love, again reiterating the necessity of the deed for the greater good. Instead, he unexpectedly found himself on the receiving end of the night's snafu, shut out of her life as easily as the way she quietly shut her bedroom door in his face.

His fists clenched at his side as he drew in one breath after another, trying to let the incident pass . . . like he always did. Buffy's unwillingness to see right from wrong frustrated him no end. No one was a bigger fool than he, always giving in to her . . . but, damn it, not this time. This time, her judgment was irrationally clouded by emotion, her motives purely selfish. This was war, and they should be stockpiling their strengths and eliminating their weaknesses, not coddling them. It galled him to know that she would sacrifice any one of them in a heartbeat, if they proved detrimental to her cause, but flat-out refused to apply those same hard rules to Spike.

What he had told her in the graveyard was true; the vampire was a liability. The possible harm he could cause her--both physically and emotionally--if triggered by their enemy, far outweighed any usefulness she believed he brought to their sorry little band of would-be warriors. But, no. Instead of listening to the voice of reason, Buffy had stubbornly shut him out. Again. Sometimes Giles just wanted to take hold of her and shake her until her teeth rattled, force her to see what was so bloody obvious.

Of course, there were other reasons, things left unsaid, feelings that had been bottled up for way too long, to provoke such ire in Giles. He'd tried to tell her, recently, that she should move on, that Spike was not the man for her. But she would have laughed in his face if he had told her why. He'd tried, of course, not to love her, telling himself that she would only keep breaking his heart, but that was an exercise in futility. All he wanted, all he could ever hope for, was for her to find real love and be loved in return, even if it wasn't with him. Provided the man she chose had a pulse, he would cope, somehow . . . from a different continent and with a cellar full of the best single malt he could afford. Anything but the thought of her spending her life in perpetual night.

Spike had needed to be dealt with, one way or another. The consequences of Wood fouling up the attempt had never occurred to Giles, such was the principal's bravado. Yet this miscalculation, in allowing Wood to eliminate the possible threat within their ranks while Giles occupied Buffy with a meaningless 'lesson' on patrol, had proven a costly mistake. It had driven a stake, firmly and finally, between Watcher and Slayer.

It had killed the wrong relationship.

Standing alone in the upstairs hall, the rest of the household fast asleep in the hours after midnight, Giles glared at the closed bedroom door. Buffy had chosen a demon over duty and common sense--and him--for the last time. She wanted Spike? So be it. She could have him, and all the unpleasant baggage that went with him.

But the hell she was having the last word on the matter.

With nothing left to lose, he grabbed the door handle and pushed into Buffy's bedroom, unannounced.

Buffy wheeled at the unexpected intrusion, her eyes widening first in surprise, then in embarrassment of her present state of undress. Although still in her jeans, her sweater was in her hands rather than on her person, as she stripped in preparation of going to bed. Giles quietly closed the door behind him, not wishing to wake the household despite the fury roaring through his blood, or the thud of his heart as he stopped to regard her. His head titled back a little as he took in her disrobed form bathed in moonlight, somehow looking past the fact that she was almost half-naked before him; a fantasy made real.

"Did you forget how to knock?" Buffy asked accusingly. She threw her sweater on the bed and faced him with her arms folded beneath her sports bra, choosing to be angry rather than self-conscious. "Well?"

"No, I haven't forgotten how to knock," he replied, his icy calm revealing his inner rage. "I was simply following your example . . . that courtesy, respect, and regard for others didn't matter anymore."

"Is that your proper British way of calling me a bitch?"

"In a word, yes."

Her temper riled; he saw it flash in her eyes. Clearly, she hadn't expected such blatant honesty. "How dare you--"

"And I wasn't finished with our discussion," Giles said brusquely, cutting her off.

"Discussion?" Buffy asked, almost incredulous. "What discussion? You tried to murder Spike! There's nothing to discuss." She shook her head, disgusted by his part in what she perceived as betrayal. "You and I . . . we're done, Giles. Period." She turned her back, pulling down the covers on her bed in a gesture that signaled she had already dismissed him.

"Not quite." A couple of quick, angry strides carried him to her. Grabbing her by the arm, Giles yanked her around to face him. "You may think you have nothing more to learn from me, Buffy, but--God help me--I have one last thing to teach you."

Since words had gotten him nowhere thus far, it was time to let his actions speak. Her brow creased at his uncharacteristic physical display, but before she could shrug free or even comment, he pulled her against him and kissed her.

Hard.

Giles packed everything he was into that kiss; all his love and anger, all his frustration, and the pain of his disappointment. It was neither tender nor loving; nothing how he dreamed their first kiss would be. It was simply a non-verbal declaration of his feelings, an expression of the turmoil in his heart and in his head, caused by her. The lesson he taught was clear, although it had no articulation beyond the physical. The depth of his hidden passion would, as promised, be the last thing she ever learned from him, because he knew in a heartbeat that it was also goodbye.

Much to his surprise, Buffy didn't push him away, at least not right at first. She didn't respond either, so he held her to him in firm hands, having no qualms about hurting her or forcing himself on her, knowing that she was quite capable of ending it anytime she wanted. The very fact that she didn't gave him false hope, which was thoroughly dashed when she struggled for release with more strength than was actually necessary.

"Are you crazy?"

Giles hesitated. Not exactly the 'helplessly falling into his arms' scenario he had envisioned after finally working up the courage to kiss her, but at least she hadn't slapped his face. He suddenly regretted his rashness for allowing his heart to rule his head, just this once, despite the thrill that still raced through him like an electrical jolt. Buffy added several paces to the gap between them before she faced him again. They both waited for the other to begin.

Neither moved a muscle. They just glared. Buffy was demanding to know why he kissed her, but at the same time, her belligerent expression forestalled any would-be confessions of love. Giles smirked at the very idea of ever telling her the truth, when the look on her face promised only more rejection and ridicule. He was just not that much of a masochist.

Frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair. The world may be going to hell in a hand-basket, but it could bloody well go there just as easily with him back in England. He didn't need this grief, the misery in his life that was now all-things-Buffy. And she certainly didn't need him. In fact, the only thing Buffy had done in the time since he'd arrived with the first batch of Potentials was make it abundantly clear she no longer wanted, or required, his counsel or support. She hadn't even realized he was corporeal! What the hell had happened to them?

"Goodbye, Buffy," he said levelly, heading for the door before he said or did something he'd really regret. He didn't care that his farewell wasn't clear, that she might not realize he meant he was returning to England in the morning. She'd find that out soon enough . . . if she bothered to notice he was gone.

"Oh no . . . you do not get to barge in here, do that, and then leave without a damn good explanation!"

He stopped, her irate tone challenging a comeback. If he honestly had to explain why he kissed her, then he meant less to her than he ever imagined. "Now you want to talk?" he retorted, back to being angry. "I suppose the real question is . . . are you ready to listen?"

"Only if you change the record and actually say something useful!"

He drew his shoulders back, standing tall while his heart silently broke. "I'm leaving, Buffy. Permanently. By morning, I'll be out of your hair for good."

They regarded one another for a long moment, at this distance neither really able see the other's eyes in the darkness of the room. It didn't matter. Giles knew the expression ruling her face; the cold indifference he'd been seeing a whole lot of lately. In hindsight, he realized that kissing her hadn't been one of his better ideas.

The silence between them grew palpable, the turmoil inside him begging for release despite his outward calm. When Buffy failed to speak, too incensed even to bid him a final farewell, he turned his back and reached for the door. All he could do was walk away with whatever dignity she allowed him, and never look back.

He'd only opened the door a couple of inches, spilling a thin slice of hallway light into the darkness of the bedroom, when she slipped in front of him and slammed it closed.

"So this is an ultimatum," Buffy announced evenly. "You or Spike. Let me just take a moment to remind you how much I hate ultimatums."

Despite the banter, he could tell she was livid. "I never said--"

"No, you just kissed me instead."

"For which, at this point, I am extremely regretful," he said scathingly. "Please move."

She didn't. She just glared up at him, the rage on her face evident in the moonlight. "You know, you really have the suckiest timing."

Sarcasm became his defense. "Oh yes, because you've bothered to take so much notice of me in the past few weeks you would, of course, have good reason to perceive this argument as the fault of my own limitations."

"Why do all the men in my life pull this crap? Leave when I need them to stay?"

"I wasn't aware that I was," he answered, doubting she even realized what she had just admitted.

"Was what?"

Evidently not. He sighed. "I'm 'just Giles' to you, Buffy. Your ex-Watcher-high-school-librarian-magic-shop-owner. You certainly don't see me as 'a man', and try as I might since I've been back, you simply won't allow me to be part of your life."

She glared daggers at him, sending him back on the defensive.

"As to why they leave," he continued haughtily, "I expect it's because you treat them like dirt, use them when it suits you, and then discard them like yesterday's rubbish."

"You arrogant son of a--"

"Except, of course," Giles cut in, his temper ready to explode despite his effort to remain cool. He practically spat out the rest of his sentence, "For your boyfriend."

"At least he's sticking around!" She frowned accusingly. "And Spike is not my boyfriend."

"Really."

"He has nothing to do with why you kissed me . . . with us."

Unable to hold back, Giles thumped his hands flat against the door, either side of her head. She jumped, startled, but recovered quickly. His tone dropped to an icy whisper of hatred as he leaned down to speak to her. "Spike has everything to do with us."

Her eyes grew wide, dancing with his as she put it all together--his anger, his kiss, his interest in removing his rival from the equation. "Oh . . . my . . . God!"

Her honest shock forced him to back off. He straightened, slowly, as Buffy brazenly faced him in only a sports bra and a pair of unbuttoned jeans; a living, breathing figment of many an illicit dream. Standing so close, he watched her breasts rise and fall with each heated little breath she took. She shifted under the weight of his stare, foot to foot, uncomfortable with the truth of his feelings, the arm she threw across her chest meant to defend her virtue.

Giles smirked. The fact that she could shag a cold-hearted vampire senseless, yet find his unrequited love so utterly appalling, only further provoked his temper.

"That's why you plotted to kill Spike? Because you're--God--jealous?"

"Don't be ridiculous." He looked away, but the diversionary action betrayed the lie. While jealousy was not the primary reason he wanted Spike out of her life, deep down he was forced to admit that it was a considerable part of it.

"I don't believe this . . . " Buffy shook her head, the vehemence in her tone like a slap in the face. "You try to murder the strongest warrior I have, then you come in here and kiss me, in the hope of--what?--taking his place?"

His tone dropped again, the fire in his eyes revealing his barely contained rage. "Don't you dare compare me, or my actions, to that . . . that . . . monster."

Buffy bristled to his attitude, her own temper flaring. "Why not? It's why you came in here and kissed me just now. Why you're so jealous, and eager to get rid of him." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "You dirty old bastard! You just wanna get in my pants!"

"Buffy," Giles returned, close to being exasperated despite the affront to his moral character. "I want Spike out of your life for your own good. A decision you're apparently incapable of making."

"Oh, so now I'm incompetent?"

"No, just the most infuriatingly stubborn woman I've ever met."

She smirked. "Face it, Giles, you want Spike gone because you think I'm having sex with him . . . and that just gets you where it hurts."

"And I suppose you're--again--going to tell me that you're not," he said, having heard all this before. He scowled, and got in her face again. "You honestly expect me to believe that you're not shagging that bastard behind my back? How else could he have such influence over you?"

"Spike does not have any influence over me," she insisted, fuming. "And I am not sleeping with him."

"Of course," Giles scoffed. "And I'm not in love with you, either."

Of all the things he'd said, he immediately wished he could take back that single sentence. But the confession, however backwards, was out there now, hanging in the air between them for the entire world to know; for Buffy to know. They searched each other's eyes, both recognizing the truth despite the heated words of denial.

Still furious, Buffy continued to glare, but she lowered her tone to his overly close proximity. Despite her anger, her inflection suggested she thought exactly the opposite of what she was saying. "Good. Cause that would be . . . insane."

"Quite," Giles agreed, falling under a similar spell. He returned her glare with equal fury, suddenly burning up in the heat of her presence, drawn to her wrath like a moth to a flame. His eyes raked over her nearly half-naked form, longing to touch, her scent intoxicating his senses. "Not to mention bloody inappropriate."

"Yeah." She raised a tentative hand, and let her fingers stray up his chest in a searing caress. She met his eyes at close range, seeking approval and finding it. "And just plain wrong," she said, lifting his glasses from the bridge of his nose and putting them aside.

Breathing hard, his face lowered inexorably closer to her upturned lips. "Dear Lord, Buffy, you have the most deplorable taste in men." Closing his eyes, he declared his love in a crushing kiss.

Suddenly, she was in his arms, summoning forth all his unbridled passion and returning it with wanton enthusiasm. Her arms went around his neck, holding him close as she hungrily devoured him. His went around her, his palms burning under the assault of skin finally on skin. The craving they unexpectedly shared was heady, powerful, and all consuming. Giles had wanted this for so long that he couldn't think straight. Instead, he let hedonistic pleasure rule his common sense, backing her up against the door as his mouth and hands greedily took as much as she was willing to give. Buffy hopped up and locked her legs around his thighs, forcing him to cup her delightfully firm rear end lest they both topple to the floor. He groaned against the softness of her persistent mouth, as her molten core nestled against the hardness of his unfettered desire.

No longer able to form a coherent thought, let alone process the fact that she actually wanted this--wanted him--Giles turned and took a few rushed steps back toward her bed. He dumped her on it with little ceremony, following her down in a smothering kiss and full body caress. Even a second away from her searing touch was too long to bear. Buffy's arms and legs were still wrapped tightly around him, and from the tenseness in her muscles, he knew she wasn't going to let him go any time soon. She was right; this was insanity, but it was the sweetest madness Giles had ever known. He was quite willing to lose himself in the sort of delirium she was offering--consequences be damned.

Anxious and impatient, Buffy began pushing his coat off his shoulders, and somehow managed to get each of his arms and roving hands untangled from his sleeves without her lips leaving his for more than the space of a heartbeat. Her kisses became wilder, bolder, more frenzied, as her passion responded to his and spun completely out of control. Need took over; raw, primal need that he finally recognized with some trepidation. Testament to her superior strength, she effortlessly flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips to gain the dominant position. With no pretense to foreplay, she yanked the hem of his sweater and t-shirt up to his throat to expose his chest.

Reality kicked back in with the jolt of cold night air that assailed his skin. Buffy didn't love him, he knew, and yet he still hungered to partake in what she offered, his appetite so fervently whetted.

"Buffy," he said in a breathless whisper, torn between responsibility and potently male need. "This is . . . we can't . . . "

"Shut up," she snapped angrily.

"But we can't possibly . . . " Giles moaned as she raked her fingernails over his flesh, hard enough to leave red welts.

"Why not? I thought you wanted this?"

"Yes, but--" The words stuck in his throat as she licked her way up his bared chest in one long, wet, hot lap that made him shudder all the way down to his toes.

The conclusion of her action left them nose to nose, her face flushed with the heat of her passion. "No buts, Giles. No regrets and no commitments."

Sitting up, Buffy tugged the Lycra sports bra over her head, allowing her breasts to tumble free. There was no titillation in the act, and no shyness in baring herself to him for the first time. She was simply undressing. She unzipped her jeans, and then stood beside the bed to remove them and her panties. Stepping out of her clothes, she faced him unashamedly. Completely nude, she was an angel in the moonlight, and he couldn't stop his eyes from drinking in the heavenly sight of her.

"Take your pants off," she ordered brusquely, returning to bed.

He jumped reflexively, when her fingers brushed his tented trousers while in search of his belt buckle. "Buffy, wait!"

"You want me, I want you. Old slayer adage: want, take, have."

Giles hesitated. It was all happening too fast, and from her own admission, he realized Buffy was simply following her hormones. He watched her in the moonlight, her gaze focused on her task, wondering if she had any feelings for him at all, or if he were simply the man 'available' to service her needs. If they continued, he knew tomorrow morning would bring many repercussions, regardless of the hollow promises she made here tonight. And yet, he also knew he was well beyond the point of no return. He did want her, with an intensity that was undeniable.

But not like this.

The snap on his trousers proved little trouble for her. When her fingers found his zipper, and she was about to reveal him for her own pleasurable purposes, Giles put his hand on hers to stop her. "Wait."

Buffy scowled, frustrated by his apparent unwillingness to continue. "You started this, Giles, so you'd better damn well be prepared to finish it."

His hand cupped her cheek, turning her hostile gaze to his. "I do want you," he confessed, "but I also want this to last. I want it to mean something . . . to us both."

"Mean something? Geez, did you just step out of a romance novel? We're in the middle of fighting a war. There is no time for love . . . just sex. Take it, or leave it."

He pulled her down to disagree with the gentlest of kisses. Her intentions may be to take him hard and fast for her own satisfaction, but he could never be so callous. If he was going to make love to her, then he was going to do it with all the tenderness he had to give.

Buffy instantly pulled away. "Spike never needed to be asked twice," she said, trying to goad him into playing rough. "All I had to do was look at him, and he'd scratch that itch 'til it bled. Or bruised. Or both. Whenever, wherever, he was always ready to hurt me."

Giles' temper flared into life again. "For God's sake, I don't want to hear how much he abused you!"

His eyes roamed her face, searching for the woman he loved but finding only a stranger looking back. Once, Buffy had asked him if being the perfect slayer meant being hard on the inside. He saw the coldness in her now, stripped of the spark that made her truly alive. Spike's doing, no doubt. Of all the things the vampire had taken from her, most unforgivable was that he had taken her ability to love.

"And I'd never, ever treat you like that, no matter what you perceive as my motive for wanting to love you, or how much you try to provoke me."

Ashamed, Buffy glanced away. "Fine. Just do it then," she said bluntly, her fingers returning to work on his fly. "Just get it over with--okay?--so we can both find some peace."

"No," he said more firmly, taking her hands in his. They were trembling with the force of her anger, but she roughly jerked them free. There was only one thing she wanted from him right now, and it wasn't his compassion. "Not like this," he insisted.

"I told you, there is only 'like this'. It's all I have to give."

"I don't believe that. I refused to believe the Buffy I know is so irrevocably gone." Gently, he added, "I'm not Spike."

She let out a roar of frustration, incensed by his noncompliance, and slithered up over him to start things herself. Leaning forward, she grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, and crushed her lips to his in a bruising kiss.

Giles tried to push her away, but she was far too strong. She was the one in control, the one calling the shots. He could do nothing but hang on and ride it out with her, persevering under her violent attack and doing his best to return her brutality with all the sweet love he possessed.

The need for oxygen eventually drove them apart. Buffy pulled back to express her fury at his unwillingness to engage in aggressive, loveless sex, landing a fist on his chest that made him flinch. "Damn you! Damn you for ever starting this!"

Then her mouth was back on his, just as harshly, although this time with her hands wedged between their bodies as she launched a full tactical assault on the front of his pants.

Grunting under her none-too-gentle groping, Giles had finally had enough. Taking control, he flipped her over without breaking her kiss, following her down to cover her naked body with his own still-clothed one. Of course, he knew there was no way he could win the battle if she truly opposed him, and he was well aware of the fact that she possessed both the strength and the present temperament to inflict some real damage. Fortunately for them both, Buffy allowed him to have his way. But if she thought it was because he was finally playing by her rules, then he was about to teach her that she was wrong.

He continued to cherish her with all the love that was his to give, and in spite of her demands for roughness, he turned her harsh, clinical kiss into something far more intimate. When they were again forced to part, he gave her little opportunity for another physical attack. Instead, his lips began blazing a slow trail down over her face and throat, while his hands moved to discover the secret softness of her. She angrily batted them away once, twice, and again, but he persisted, gently, until she finally gave in and accepted his touch.

Slowly, he set to work weakening all her resistances, and as they fell, one by one, his confidence in the rightness of what he was doing grew. He continued to explore with his mouth and hands, optimistic for a little turnabout but nonetheless prepared to go it alone. If Buffy chose to lie apathetically beneath him while he did all the work, so be it. At least she wasn't fighting him anymore.

With great care and patience, Giles quelled Buffy rage with all the tenderness and love she deserved, successfully winning her over, little by little. Much to his delight, after many long minutes of his selfless devotion, she actually let out a little whimper. It was almost inaudible, and clearly unintentional, but enough to confirm her pleasure, and most of all, her approval.

Finally, he found his efforts well rewarded, when his lips moved back up to hers and she responded with such honest, gentle warmth that it reached right down to his soul.

Her hands came to rest on the back of his neck in a simple caress. The fact that she now wanted to touch him, participate, brought renewed hopes. The Buffy he knew and loved was coming back to him. Through the act of love, he was leading her out of the dark place where she had been lost; a place where Spike had taken her and left her to rot.

When Buffy purposefully ended their most meaningful kiss since the one that started it all, it was with great reluctance that Giles lifted his head. Silent, he regarded her in question. Her fit of rage had completely passed, and now that it had, part of him feared she had come to her senses about what they were doing and no longer wanted it--no longer wanted him. This was, after all, his fantasy made real, not hers.

"Shall I . . . stop?"

Buffy was silent for a long, indecisive moment, glancing away with pursed lips that foretold her decision. Guessing her answer, Giles prepared himself for rejection.

So when she offered him a shy smile and shook her head, his heart skipped a beat. "It's just that . . . experience tells me that one of us is way overdressed for the occasion."

She blushed a little, a subtle reminder that while she was completely naked and a joyous vision unveiled beneath him, he was still fully clothed.

"Yes. I see what you mean." He kissed her quickly, almost giddy in his eagerness to continue, then pulled away.

His sweater and t-shirt came off together. Next his shoes, and then, as his hands went to his trousers, his eyes flew to Buffy's. She was watching, attentively, anxious for a glimpse of the prize she had vainly fought so hard to obtain. He undressed for her pleasure, his ego stroked when she ogled his equipment, primed and ready for use, with definite appreciation. His socks followed the rest of his clothes to the floor in hurried silence, before he returned to her in bed.

For a moment, he stood at the side, gazing down upon the angel who now beckoned him with nothing but love. Their eyes met candidly, and any awkwardness or hesitation that should have been associated with this particular moment evaporated like it had never been. Buffy parted her knees, inviting him into her warm embrace. Giles eagerly accepted, and settled himself on top.

No more words were spoken; no more words were needed. Soon, by mutual accord, they were moving together as one. The only sounds in the room were those of their joyous union; their staccato moans of pleasure; the soft slap of flesh against flesh; the rhythmic tap of the headboard as it bumped against the wall.

When she cried out her glorious release, the sound of his name on her lips brought instant elation. He allowed himself to follow her over the edge, both of them panting, and moaning, and reaching for each other as they rode the sensations of ecstasy on toward completion. Finally, there was only the two of them, clinging together in the moonlit darkness of Buffy's bedroom. Then came silence, and the peace and tranquility of simply being loved.

Buffy reached to drag the bed covers over her sweat-chilled skin, but it was Giles who completed the action. He gathered her into the warmth of his embrace with a kiss to the side of her head. She settled in his arms with her back against his chest, spooned against him as if they'd been sleeping together all their lives.

He let go a deliriously happy sigh as he closed his eyes. To have shared such an incredible experience with the woman who had long ago stolen his heart was more than a dream come true; it was a blessing from above. He cherished the moment, deciding he simply didn't want to think about what came next; specifically how they would feel about their new relationship in the morning. It wasn't until her body shuddered against him that he realized something was dreadfully amiss. The unimaginable fear that she would, come tomorrow, regret giving herself to him, appeared to have fast-forwarded to the here and now.

She sputtered; she was crying. Fearing the worse, his hand moved to trace feathery circles on her hip in an unspoken question.

"You must really hate me . . . "

Giles frowned, confused. He thought he had just demonstrated rather well to the contrary. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"Because I don't deserve to be loved." Buffy turned over to regard him with watery, red eyes. "By you, least of all."

Her expression tore at his heart, prompting him to offer comfort with the stroke of his fingertips against her cheek. "Everyone deserves to be loved, Buffy." 'Everyone with a pulse,' he amended to himself.

"But the way I treated you . . . the horrible things I said . . . "

"Yes, well, you were right about me being a 'dirty old bastard,'" he said, trying to lighten her disheartened mood.

Buffy winced upon hearing her insult repeated. "Ouch."

"No 'ouch.'" He smiled gently, catching the last of her tears with his thumb. "I've wanted to make love to you for a very long time. I just never, in my life, believed--"

"I know, me neither. I never even thought about it." She dipped her eyes in embarrassment. "Well, not until Spike put the idea in my head. Then I turned it over--I dunno--maybe one or two gazillion times."

"Spike?"

She looked at him apologetically. "He thought we were lovers."

Giles chuckled. "Did he indeed." As much as he despised the vampire, he dearly wanted to see the expression on his face when the truth came out. Then the rest of Buffy's sentence sank in, and he looked at her in something akin to awe that she had ever really entertained the notion of them being more than just friends. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"(A) you weren't here, and (B) you weren't here." Fresh tears threatened to spill onto Buffy's cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Giles. For everything. I just . . . I'd forgotten how to love."

"Shhh," he hushed her gently, taking her sweet face in his hands to kiss away her tears. "There are no need for apologies because . . . " He paused, looking into her eyes. For so long he had wanted to whisper these words, now the moment had arrived. "Because I love you. With everything I am, and everything I'll ever be."

Giles waited, hoping to hear her respond in kind. But only silence spoke to him, and a phantom echo, ringing in his head from a distant dream.

When Buffy diverted her gaze, he resigned himself to the cold, hard fact that he was never going to hear her say it, in spite of what they just shared. Jadedly, his hand traveled to her knee, visible to him beneath the rumpled bedclothes. He watched his fingers caress her smooth white skin, then glanced up to find Buffy watching the very same thing, the significance of the act not lost on her. Before tonight, he had never dared touch her this way. After tonight, he may never be asked to do so again.

Nothing--and everything--had changed between them. They were still the same two people they had been an hour or so ago, preparing for a battle that could cost one or both of them their lives. Spike was still an unpredictable bastard, and just what the future held was still so very uncertain. And in the midst of all this craziness, he had somehow found a missing piece of himself that he hadn't even realized was so abysmally lost.

Buffy, although sensing his pensive gaze, refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she picked up his hand from her leg, and entwined her fingers with his. She appeared to be trying to hold on to him physically, but emotionally, Giles knew she had already let him go.

"I know you want to hear me say that back to you," she began quietly, "but I can't . . . because I don't want to hurt you anymore."

Crushed by her admission, Giles looked away. "Yes, well . . . " He tried to clear his throat of its sudden constriction. "I knew, before, that you didn't love me."

"That's not true." She touched his face with such unexpected tenderness that his eyes flew back to hers, full of forlorn hope. "I do love you. I just . . . I can't afford to let myself be in love with you right now. Maybe after, but . . . " She broke eye contact again, instead turning her attention to his hand she still held. "I know I have no right to ask this, but I need you to do something for me." She paused to gather her thoughts, her gaze still on their entwined fingers. "What I told you before was true; I am in the fight of my life. One I'm not even sure I'll survive."

"We'll finished this together. Like we--"

"No, just listen. I need you to understand that. . . " She looked at him again. "That however much you hate the idea, Spike is still the one I want standing by my side."

It was Giles' turn to regard their joined hands. In some perverse way, he supposed he should be thankful to the vampire, without whose presence in Buffy's life this incredible night would never have happened.

"He's changed," she insisted. "He's not the same man he was before."

"If you say."

"And neither are you." Her frank observation again drew his gaze back to hers. "Giles, I don't love Spike--I don't think I ever really did--but I do need him. He's a strong fighter."

"And me? Is there anything left for me?"

"If you'll stay." She squeezed his hand. "I need you to be here in my life . . . tomorrow morning, and the next day, and the day after that . . . even after all the crap I'll probably throw at you in the coming weeks. I guess . . . what I'm trying to say is . . . I need you to be patient and wait for me." She looked at him, desperately wanting him to accept her decision. "Will you do that? Will you wait for me, 'til all this is over?"

"For as long as it takes." He smiled gently at her, lifting their joined hands to kiss her fingers.

Looking relieved, Buffy wiped the last of her tears from her eyes and did her best to smile back, but the truth of what she was really telling him was written all over her face. There were no certainties in love or war, no golden promise that she would ever find a permanent place for him in her life, even when this was all over. Things happened in war--some planned, others unexpected. Circumstances changed, so did feelings, especially those feelings for comrades-in-arms . . .

Buffy had already made her choice, whether she knew it or not.

He encouraged her back into his arms, and they settled together beneath the covers, sharing what remained of this special night in the comfort of each other's arms. Tonight they were lovers, but tomorrow, they would be back to dealing with the pending apocalypse as simply Watcher and Slayer. These few short hours were all they had.

She slept soundly, contentedly, at peace with herself, Giles suspected, for the first time in months. At least, he decided as he watched her in the wee hours, at least he had given her that. She would never know of the silent tears he cried inside his heart, the tragedy of knowing that one night spent with her, no matter how heaven sent it seemed on the surface, was the beginning of the end.

Whatever did or didn't transpire in the coming weeks, whatever the outcome of the battle ahead, only one thing seemed ironclad to Giles.

Tonight was just the start of a long goodbye . . .

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