"Lost & Found" ~ Part 6

SPOILERS: Set post-"Chosen" in my own little Joss-comic-free AU.
RATING: FR-M [mature situations, angst]

DISCLAIMER: Without Prejudice. Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and concepts are copyright ©1997-2002 20th Century Fox, WB Television, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN Television. No Infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission. While certain places herein are based on real geographical locations, the details are drawn purely from my own imagination. No resemblance to any real place and/or its populace intended. My original characters are not based on any real people, and no resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, is intended.

Part Six

Later that night, Buffy stood at the French doors that exited from her bedroom out onto a small, private balcony facing the west side of the Council-owned estate, watching a knot of dark clouds roll in until they had blotted out the stars. Now that her anger had cooled, the only thing she had left was the utter, aching misery of being in love with someone who didn't love her back. Part of her regretted taking the easy way out and telling Giles a boldfaced lie about being homesick. She did miss Dawn, but it wasn't the reason she was leaving. That brave and proud part of her had wanted to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that she had decided to go because it hurt too much to stay. She wanted to tell him how much he had hurt her, how he'd callously ripped her heart out with a skewer, if not for the fact that it would first involve her admitting how much she cared.

Believing a clean break was best for them both, she'd opted for a lie. After all, she'd done this dance before, learned this lesson with Angel, when sex had turned him into something he wasn't. Only this time, with Giles, she didn't even have sex as a reason for why his attitude toward her had so dramatically changed, why he'd pushed her away, become so cold and aloof. If it was because of the actions she'd taken out on the deserted Welsh moorland to save his life, then she wished he'd just get angry and tell her she'd overstepped the line when she removed his wet clothes. If it was because of the delightful way she'd awakened with him the next morning, nearly naked and snuggled together under the sleeping bag, then she could apologize for invading his personal space and start anew.

Instead, Giles wouldn't even talk to her.

Tearfully turning from the closed French doors as the night sky grew angry and the breeze picked up, Buffy returned to the soft, warm, comfort of her bed. Her gaze fell on her packed suitcase waiting by her door. Tomorrow, she'd walk out of Giles' house for the last time.

Restless in her bed, she eventually cried herself into an exhausted, heartbroken sleep, until a clap of thunder so loud that it shook the glass in the old wooden windowpanes startled her awake. Propped up on her elbows, Buffy rubbed the sand from her eyes and blearily looked at her alarm clock. It was just 4:00am, and since the last time she'd looked it had been around 3:30am, she flopped back on her pillow with a groan of weary despair. Not only was she miserable, but now she was tired and cranky, too.

A flash of lightning drew her attention to the French doors. Such was the force of the wind now rattling against the old latch that one unexpectedly blew partway open. Rain pelted down in buckets, drumming noisily on the concrete and gravel outside below. The sheer curtains, which hung ceiling to floor, billowed wildly in the sudden breeze, dancing like demented ghosts.

Wearily climbing out of bed, Buffy crossed to shut out nature's unwanted intrusion, the rug nearest the threshold of the blown-open door already feeling damp beneath her toes. As the curtains settled, and the muted rain once again beat harmlessly against the glass, Buffy hugged herself against an unexpected chill. She looked out at the storm raging so violently overhead . . . and thought of Giles.

When she'd found him that night out on the moorland, he'd been absolutely petrified of a storm just like this. He'd never explained why, his reason for choosing to risk his life by cowering in the mud instead of taking shelter in the back of the dry and cozy Range Rover. Beyond briefly touching on the subject the following morning, she'd never brought it up again. It only made her realize that there were so many things she didn't know about him, simply because she'd never taken time to find out. And now she never would.

Wiping away persistent tears, she let the lightning and thunder distract her from her melancholy mood, and instead wondered how Giles was faring during this particular thunderstorm. Was he cowering in his room even now, hiding like a frightened child under the bedcovers? Was that a side of him that no one knew, like his fun-print boxer shorts, because there was no one in his life who cared?

No one except her. Despite the way he'd treated her in the last few days, she still cared a lot.

Having witnessed his terror firsthand, Buffy had no reason to believe Giles' present state of mind was any different. She may have decided to leave England as soon as possible for the sake of her own wounded heart, but the image of him so scared and alone and vulnerable made her compassion slowly eat away at her resolve.

Because leaving him didn't lessen how much she loved him, and it never would.

Turning, Buffy collected her robe from the foot of her bed, and headed barefoot for the door of her room.

The heavy wood clicked closed behind her in a surprisingly quiet fashion, not that there was another living soul in that section of the manor house who could have heard her, not even if she'd marched a brass band down the center of the faded carpet runner. She moved out into the lonely darkness of the hallway, cinching the belt of her robe and looking to her right as lightning flashed through the large, arch-top window at the far end. It spread its flickering light across the recessed panels and various doorways that fronted onto the hall, momentarily casting angular shadows over the many portraits of the manor house's previous tenants, men representing generations of Watchers--Council Directors--who had lived there, and perhaps even died there.

As a low growl of thunder chased across the estate grounds outside, Buffy headed to her left, to a connecting hallway that ran behind the top of the main staircase as part of the balustrade leading to the eastern wing of the manor house. At first, she'd been happy to choose her room in the opposing wing for its privacy and seclusion. Now, she hated the distance, and the fact that she couldn't reach Giles' bedroom faster.

Stubbing her toe on the protruding leg of one of many small, half-circle tables jutting out from the walls, she wished she'd had the foresight to bring a flashlight. Settling, instead, for plotting her course in the frequent flashes of lightning, she hurried towards his door. It was closed, thwarting the immediate access she wanted, which she knew, as she stopped before it, was probably a good thing. Despite her urgent need to rush right in and go to him, Buffy had to ask herself if Giles would welcome the intrusion, the comfort and companionship she brought with her in light of her decision to leave, or if her presence would provide the source of one last embarrassing moment for him.

Deciding that it didn't matter, that it wouldn't change anything because she was leaving anyway, she rapped lightly on the wood with a knuckle, just as the thunder boomed again. "Giles?"

No answer, at least nothing she could hear over the sound of the storm, so she tried the antique brass handle. It clicked softly under a turn of her wrist, so she edged open the heavy paneled door until she could see inside his room.

Unlike hers, Giles' bedroom was awash in a soft orange glow from the embers behind the screen of his fireplace. His bed was empty, but the covers were disheveled as if he'd recently lain there, and his glasses sat upside down on a hardcover book on the bedside table. In a flash of lightning, Buffy spied his silhouette, standing in front of the closed French doors on the other side of the room. With his back to her, wearing flannel pajama pants and a soft cotton t-shirt, Giles watched the thunderstorm rage over the well-kept grounds of the Council-owned estate.

She assessed his emotional state in the space of a single heartbeat. There was no sign of the terrified little boy she'd seen the other night, just the strong, brave, compassionate man with whom she'd fallen hopelessly in love without even knowing it, admiring--even enjoying--the furious best that Mother Nature had to offer.

It occurred to Buffy that she could quietly close the door and move back out into the hall, and he would never know she'd even been there. But something inside her made her stay, the same something that had kept her in England, at his side, long before she'd figured out why. "Giles?"

Startled by the sound of her voice, he swiveled to face her as the thunder rumbled away. "Buffy . . . " He frowned, at the unorthodox hour of her spontaneous visit. "Is there something wrong?"

Shutting the door, she moved into his bedroom while absently rubbing the gooseflesh from her arms, brought on by the temperature difference between the chilly hallway and the subtle warmth inside his room. The lightning flashed at the glass behind him. "You tell me."

Giles glanced toward the French doors in time to catch it fade, then back at her. "I'm not afraid of the storm, if that's what you're thinking."

"Really," she said doubtfully. "'Cause I kinda had this real good reason to think otherwise."

"Those were justifiable circumstances," he said, immediately defensive. He gave a weary sigh of defeat and waved an absent hand, turning back to regard the storm. "Stemming from a very long and tedious childhood story, which I'm sure you have no interest in hearing."

Put off by his unapproachable attitude, Buffy hugged herself and looked at the floor, the small spark of hope that he'd actually welcome her company irrevocably dashed. "Okay, well . . . goodnight, then."

She backed away toward the door.

"Buffy, wait."

Looking up, she watched Giles leave the French doors and hesitantly approach. He stopped on the other side of his bed, one hand on the corner post. Their eyes met over the top of the rumpled covers. The window at his back, and the lightning that continued to flash at semi-regular intervals, cast him in shadow, making it difficult for her to read the expression on his face. His tone, however, revealed all.

"Would you have stayed?" Giles asked softly. "Had I said I was scared?"

"Would you have wanted me to?"

"Yes."

Buffy felt the emotional tide surge within her at the memory of the morning they had awakened in the Range Rover, in the warm, safe embrace of each other's arms. She wondered if Giles had been watching the storm and remembering the same thing.

"Then yeah," she admitted. "I would have."

As the lightning and thunder flashed at his back again, Giles moved around the foot of his bed toward her. Barely managing to stand her ground, Buffy hugged herself tighter, knowing that in all probability she should go before she revealed something that would just make leaving in the morning even harder. But Giles hadn't paid this much attention to her in days, and she realized--rather pathetically--that she was unwilling to give up what little interest he paid her now.

"Then I need to tell you that I am, indeed, deeply afraid," he said, stopping just beyond her arm's reach. "Not of the storm, but of never seeing you again."

Buffy shuffled, unsure. "You'll see me at breakfast," she said lamely.

"You know that's not what I mean."

Looking at her bare feet again, Buffy nodded. She, too, secretly feared that walking out of his house tomorrow morning truly meant walking out of his life, forever. The notion that she would never see him again was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I know," she admitted. Her eyes bravely sought his again, now revealed to her in the dying glow from the fireplace. The anguished look on Giles' face tore at her heart. Her decision to leave was hurting him almost as much as it was hurting her. "That part scares me, too."

"Buffy, I have something to tell you. Lord knows, I've spent all night warring with myself over whether or not I should, but I need to, for my own peace of mind. I don't expect it to influence your decision to leave, and well it shouldn't, if you're returning home for the reasons you said." He smiled thinly. "Then again, it may just send you fleeing back to your bedroom in horror, unable to find the front door fast enough."

Despite her misery, Buffy managed a slight smile. "With all the shit we've been through over the years, I seriously doubt there's anything left you can say that'll cause that reaction in me."

"I hope not. It's just that . . . " Giles hesitated, stalling by running a hand through his bedraggled hair. "This is far more difficult to say than I imagined," he mused uncomfortably. He met her gaze again, lifted the shutters, and allowed her to see inside his heart. "Perhaps because there are so few people in my life to whom I've actually said it. What I'm trying to tell you, what I want you to know in the event that we never again have a chance to speak with each other in private, is that . . . I've fallen in love with you. Deeply, hopelessly, painfully in love with you."

He looked more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him, unsure of her reaction, ready to apologize. Buffy's lower lip trembled and tears of joy unexpectedly filled her eyes. Everything she thought she'd lost, she suddenly found right there in Giles' candid, heartfelt confession. Emotionally robbed of speech, she flung herself into his arms and began sobbing happily against his chest.

"I love you, too," she managed to reply. She squeezed him as tight as she dared, never wanting to let go again. "God . . . I love you so much."

But instead of returning her desperate embrace, Giles awkwardly patted her on the back. "I know you do."

Clearly, he hadn't heard her tearful declaration the way she'd intended. Lifting her cheek from his chest, she looked up at him, wiping the wetness from her face. "No, wait, see, I mean . . . I really love you."

For his part, Giles just looked down at her, his expression going from baffled, to hopeful, to incredulous, then back again. Encouraged, Buffy realized how incredibly stupid they'd both been, and how not talking to each other had only made things even worse.

"There's something you should know, too," she said, pulling away from him. Determinedly sucking up her emotions until she made him understand, she put a couple of steps between them before turning around with a rueful look. "I wasn't exactly honest when I said I wanted to go home because I miss Dawn. Although I do." She offered a little grin. "Sometimes."

"I don't understand."

"Okay, confession time." Buffy paused, backtracking. "See, I thought I needed to leave my slayer past behind so I could get on with my life, and that you were the reason I couldn't. Only on my quest, I found out you weren't the problem, Giles, you were the answer. The future. My future." She took a desperate a step back towards him. "You make me who I am, who I want to--need to--be. The real reason I said I was leaving you is because . . . " Her eyes misted sentimentally, as she poured everything she had into a declaration that came directly from her heart. " . . . because it hurt too much to stay when you pushed me away like that, and I love you this much."

"You mean . . . ?"

"I mean, I love you," Buffy emphasized with feeling. Wiping the stray tears from her cheeks again, she crooked a shy, awkward grin at him. "How many more times do you want me to say it?"

Watching the slow realization begin to dawn on Giles' face, her smile widened further, mirroring the wellspring of love that unexpectedly opened up into full bloom inside her.

"Um, several dozen, I expect," he answered, looking totally flabbergasted, and more than a little ashamed for his behavior of the past few days.

Already having forgiven him for that, Buffy reached for his hand, held it in both of hers, and dutifully repeated, "I love you I love you I love you . . . to the nth power. Convinced?"

For the first time since she'd come into his bedroom, he blessed her with a smile so full of genuine love and affection that it crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Getting there."

"How about if I promise to say it at least ten times a day, every day, for, like, ever?"

"I believe that might work," Giles agreed, finally coming to terms with the truth. Raising his free hand, he gently brushed her damp cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Mrs. Pendleton was right, I've been an absolute git. I shut myself off from you because I was so afraid you had discovered how little I contribute to your life these days. I wanted nothing more than to be near you, yet I dreaded every conversation, every moment alone with you, because I feared you would tell me you were leaving. Mrs. Pendleton finally made me see how my actions, my detachment, actually forced you into making that very decision. That's when I went to your room and found you packing a suitcase, and . . . and . . . Can you ever forgive me?"

"We had a misunderstanding, Giles, a lack of communication. That's badness-plus for any relationship, so let's not do it again, okay? Ever."

"Agreed," he said with a smile that turned into a curious frown. "Um, relationship?"

Buffy shrugged. "Well yeah, I'm kinda hoping you might wanna start a new one with me now that we have all the badness out of the way. And since we've done the Watcher/Slayer thing, the friends thing, and the domestic living together thing, whatta you say we go for something a little different this time?" She gently squeezed the hand she still held. "Y'know, with some kissing and cuddling and stuff."

His voice dropped to a low, sexy tone that she'd never heard before, sending shivers racing down her spine. "I particularly like the sound of 'stuff.'"

"I hear 'make up stuff' is the best kind."

The hand caressing her cheek turned to cup her face. "A theory we should definitely test."

"Definitely," Buffy agreed, suddenly breathless with the expectation of being kissed by him for the very first time.

Giles grew serious, and for an extended moment, he just stood there in the fading firelight, his hand still cupping her face. His expression was full of such genuine adoration that Buffy felt extraordinarily special and completely loved, her insides turning to a puddle of goo, with just that look. Then, as the lightning flashed and the thunder roared, he slowly drew her to him.

Their lips collided in an explosion of passion, in a storm equal to that of Mother Nature's dazzling display outside. It was one of the most crushing, unrestrained, turbulent kisses that Buffy had ever experienced. Yet for all its intensity, Giles somehow made it all about her, how much he loved her, how much he wanted her, all without demanding anything in return.

When it ended, he lifted his head to smile at her, his hand still cupped around her cheek and his thumb gently caressing her skin.

Keeping her arms around his neck, Buffy languidly grinned up at him in the dim orange glow of the fireplace. "Wow . . . I could get used to that."

"And it's not even the best part," Giles confirmed, playfully scooping her up in his arms.

She squealed at the chivalrous act, and laughed as he carried her a few steps to his bed. But by the time he had gently laid her down on the rumpled sheets, she wasn't giggling any more. She watched him pull off his t-shirt, then, in a flash of lightning and a growl of thunder, he came to her, bare-chested.

Nose to nose, she whispered a soft greeting. "Hey . . . "

"Hello, my love," Giles said, finally finding her.

"I know you. You're the man I woke up with in the back of the Range Rover. The man I fell in love with without even knowing."

"The man who utterly, irrevocably, steadfastly loves you in return," he said, punctuating the vow with three little kisses on her lips.

Unable to believe how fast she'd gone from the depths of despair to the heights of pure elation, Buffy moaned and closed her eyes, while Giles explored down the side of her throat and along her collarbone where her robe had slipped from her shoulders. Her skin tingled and her blood rushed to wherever those soft, tantalizing kisses fell, making her forget all about the sorrow and heartache of the preceding days and instead anticipate the promise of ecstasy. Her fingertips traveled up and down the furrow of his spine in a slow caress, stirring a male response in him that, after a few short minutes, she felt as a solid length pressed against her thigh.

When his adoration finally led him back to her face, he lightly kissed her lips one last time, then hovered above her with a loving smile. The moment grew serious again, as the consequences of what they were about to do hit home for them both. By mutual consent, they were about to change what they meant to each other, the roles they played in each other's lives, forever. There would be no going back to 'friends' if this didn't work; even their professional relationship would suffer damage in the fallout.

Looking up into his hesitant green eyes, Buffy realized that Giles was just as nervous. Not of making love, but of what tomorrow, or next week, or next month would bring. Experience had shown that Buffy Summers and Lasting Relationships just didn't go hand in hand, but her fear that she would somehow screw this up was tempered by the fact that Giles evidently felt the same way about his own less-than-stellar track record in the love department.

Together, they could get it right. Together, they could make it work.

Running her fingertips through the attractive gray hair at his temple, she decided to lighten the moment with some good-natured teasing. "So, what fun-print boxer shorts await my viewing pleasure this evening?"

Giles' serious expression turned into a shy grin. "None, I'm afraid. I'm not wearing any."

"Giles!" she yelped, pretending to be scandalized.

"I was going to bed, Buffy, not strolling around in public."

"Yeah, but . . . " She pouted. "Now you've completely ruined my next line."

"Which was?"

"Asking to see."

The look that crossed Giles' face was one she could only describe as drop-dead-sexy. "In that case, I'd still very much like to show you."

In their own time, after all items of clothing had fallen away under slow hands and cherishing kisses, they made love with the lightning and thunder as their sole accompaniment, until the fervor inside the bedroom rose to rival the frenzied pitch of the storm outside. It was fast and wild in their desperate need for each other, after which they rested in each other's arms, then loved again, slow and tender, as a brand new day began to dawn.

Eventually, they cuddled, spoon-fashion, talking quietly while the rain fell lightly outside the French doors of Giles' bedroom. The storm had abated with their spent passion, but the lingering clouds made the morning gray and gloomy--perfect for staying in bed.

"So, you gonna tell me?" Buffy asked, enjoying the blissful afterglow. It was almost criminal to feel this happy and loved. The thought of ever leaving him now made her laugh hysterically on the inside.

"Tell you what?"

"About the storm on the moorland . . . the lightning." She looked over her shoulder at him. "In particular, why you were so afraid of it then, but not last night."

Giles smiled tightly and diverted his gaze. "That's a very dull story."

She reached a hand to his unshaven cheek, encouraging his eyes back to hers. "But I wanna know. I wanna know everything about you . . . the big things, the small, the exciting, and the dull." Rolling over to her other shoulder, she faced him on their shared pillow. "I wanna know you like no one else has ever known you, Giles. I wanna be your world, just like you're mine."

He held her earnest gaze for a long moment, before breaking into an affectionate smile. "I believe I just fell in love with you all over again." The hand still resting on her bare hip moved in a gentle yet hesitant caress. "Very well, then . . . "

Buffy waited. Giles was about to share a secret part of himself with her, a memory so private that there was no one else on earth who knew it. That, more than anything, even more than the tender way he'd just made love to her, made her feel extremely special. It made her feel . . . his.

After a lengthy pause to gather his thoughts, Giles began to speak. "When I was a boy, before my father told me of my destiny to be a Watcher, I wanted to be a fighter pilot in the worst sort of way. I spent all of my free time, not to mention every penny of my pocket money, on model aeroplane kits, and loved nothing more than to waste hours upon hours laying in our backyard, 'flying' them around the sky." He grinned at the memory. "I was involved in some spectacular enemy dogfights."

Buffy laughed. "I bet you always won, too."

"Of course, I'm British." With a kiss to the tip of her nose, Giles continued his story. "One such afternoon, I was deeply involved in single-handedly downing an entire squadron of Russian Migs--the scourge of my collection, I might add--continually ignoring my father's orders that I come inside to address my studies, and then my mother's request for the same when the clouds turned dark and threatening. By the time it started to rain, it was too late. The door was locked, and my pleas for entrance went unheard . . . much, I'm sure, to my mother's distress. My father taught me a hard lesson that day, one I've not forgotten."

"Your dad locked you out in a storm?" Buffy asked, the maternal side of her appalled. "That's beyond harsh."

"You must understand, Buffy, he was a devoted family man and a loving father, even though he lacked the aptitude to physically express it. Father wasn't a man given to open displays of affection. He was fair, just very, very strict. He brooked no nonsense from his disobedient son, of that I can assure you."

"And that's why the lightning scared you so much out in the moorland? But why didn't you just get inside the Range Rover?"

"Because that's precisely what I did when I was eight-years-old. I climbed inside the family sedan parked in the drive, seeking shelter in what I thought was the safest place around."

"Only it wasn't?"

"No." Giles paused again, a crinkle in his brow, his eyes distant as he recalled the night from his childhood. "No, far from it."

"'Lightning never strikes in the same place twice,'" Buffy quoted. "That's what you said, what you kept repeating, over and over." Her eyes pricked as she realized why, the real reason behind the paralyzing fear she'd witnessed in him firsthand. "The car you were in got struck."

Giles nodded. "Bloody antenna on the roof for Father's two-way radio acted like a lightning rod. I've never been more terrified before or since . . . until the other night." His eyes found hers again, so full of apprehension that Buffy regretted having pressed the issue and forced him to relive it. "I knew hypothermia was a very real risk, and I knew I needed to get inside the Range Rover to avoid it. I just . . . couldn't."

Her heart turning over, Buffy gathered him into a hug, the likes of which she guessed his father had never given him--information that more than accounted for the stuffy, tweedy, Brit she'd first met in Sunnydale High's library. Glad he had opened up since then, she pressed his rough, beard-stubble cheek to her bare breast and kissed the top of his bed-rumpled hair. For several long minutes, she gave wordless comfort in her gentle embrace, until Giles felt composed enough to pull away.

He settled his cheek back on their shared pillow, eye to eye with her again. "It was extremely foolish of me, I know, and part of me wishes you had never seen that side of me. The only good thing," he concluded, touching her face with a tender hand, "the one consolation I have . . . is that it brought you to me."

Taking his hand, Buffy turned a kiss into his palm. "I love you so much," she said simply, no less sincere for the ease of which she spoke it.

"I love you, too."

Realizing that was the first time she'd actually heard Giles utter those three immortal words, Buffy donned a wry smile and demanded, "Say it again."

"Pardon?"

"Say it again."

Giles' smile turned warm and genuine. "I love you," he dutifully repeated, initializing a long and passionate kiss that thoroughly confirmed it.

When it ended, they resumed their spooning, content to waste as much of the morning as possible watching the rain, listening to it drum steadily on the gravel surfaces below. Unfortunately, the numbers on Giles' alarm clock told Buffy it was already past the hour she normally rose, more approaching the time she usually found her place at the dining room table in search of one of Mrs. Pendleton's amazing breakfasts.

"I wish we could stay here forever," Buffy voiced the thought aloud, mentally denying the fact that if they didn't get out of bed soon to shower, dress, and eat, then they'd both be late for work. While she was ready to 'call in sick,' she knew Giles, like his father, was a disciplined and dedicated man. Given the present circumstances, it disappointed her, but in the overall big picture, it was one of the traits she admired in him. He'd always been there for her, just like he was now there for all the girls under her supervision.

"It would be nice," Giles agreed, his fingertips again tracing a feathery circle on her hip. "Although perhaps a tad impractical."

"Not really," Buffy mused, idly warming to the idea. "I mean, if we're bed-bound, we wouldn't need clothes or money any more, so we could both quit our jobs." She nodded at the smaller inner door to the left of the fireplace. "And you have an en suite bathroom to take care of all the messy stuff."

With a wanton moan, Giles dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. "An activity I hope to introduce you to very soon."

Buffy smiled lazily at the idea of them bathing together, eagerly looking forward to then getting a whole lot dirtier before they got clean. "So if we could just get Mrs. P. to deliver food to the door three or four times a day, we'd be all set."

Giles chuckled. "And just how, pray tell, would we explain our continued absence around the house to her?"

Looking back over her shoulder at him, Buffy grinned cheekily. "Honestly? I'm not sure we have to. I bet she already knows."

Whatever reply Giles was going to make was interrupted by a brisk, business-like, knock on the bedroom door.

"Speak of the devil," he said, raising a slightly annoyed eyebrow. With a parting kiss to her shoulder, he turned over in preparation of getting out of bed to don his flannel pajama pants and dismiss the housekeeper at the door. "Don't move, I'll be right back."

Snuggling into the softness of his pillow, Buffy closed her eyes, feeling utterly content. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised. "Ever."

Giles wasn't even halfway out of bed, which was a good thing, when his bedroom door abruptly opened and Mrs. Pendleton strode in, carrying a large breakfast tray. Startled by the unexpected intrusion, Buffy and Giles both modestly jumped to cover their naked selves with the bedcovers, momentarily fighting each other for the bigger half of possession. Buffy reasoned that Giles didn't need to cover his chest because he was a guy, therefore she needed more sheet than him, lest her boobs be exposed for all to see.

"Good morning, dears," Mrs. Pendleton called cheerfully, hardly looking at them as they fussed. She carried the tray over to Giles' cherrywood bureau and put it down.

As she turned, Buffy and Giles stopped squirming and tried for nonchalance as they shared the covers, but Mrs. Pendleton's attention was not on them. Without so much as a glance, the housekeeper returned to the hall to retrieve two folding wooden bed trays, and set about opening the legs of the first. To this, she added a plate of hot food, toast, silverware, and a folded linen napkin from the larger serving tray, as well as a cup and saucer, which she filled with tea from a steaming china pot before adding a splash of milk.

She repeated this action to set up the second bed tray while Buffy and Giles' embarrassment grew. They exchanged mortified looks. Since they were both in their birthday suits and obviously bedraggled from sex, there was little they could do but stay put until the housekeeper did her duty and withdrew.

One hand clutching the sheet to her bare breasts, Buffy mouthed a silent, 'See?' at Giles, a question in reference to Mrs. Pendleton's seemingly omnipotent knowledge of, and casual acceptance of, the new sleeping arrangements.

Giles, to her amusement, actually blushed.

"Here you are, dear," the housekeeper said as she moved around to Buffy's side of the antique four-poster bed to serve breakfast.

Buffy modestly held the covers higher as the elderly woman settled the tray over her legs. "Thanks, Mrs. P." The scrumptious aroma quickly persuaded her that she was actually hungry, no doubt due to the calories she'd energetically burned last night. Eager now, she looked over her food--eggs, toast, sausages, and . . . "Ooh, Bubble 'n' Squeak!"

"No, dear," the elderly woman said. "For you this morning, genuine American hash browns. I found a recipe on the internet."

Buffy grinned happily. "You're the best, Mrs. P."

Accepting the compliment with a fond smile, Mrs. Pendleton turned away to retrieve Giles' tray. She settled the feet of it over his similarly bedclothes-covered legs, expertly avoiding the stern look on his face the entire time. Giles' initial humiliation over the invasion of privacy had turned into something approaching outrage. As the housekeeper moved back to collect one last item from the serving tray on the cherrywood bureau, he finally spoke his mind.

"Now see here, Mrs. Pendleton," Giles began firmly. "I don't pay you to--" The smaller plate she placed on the top corner of his breakfast tray abruptly rendered him mute again.

Curious, Buffy watched his mouth jog open upon recognition of the contents, his irritation dissipating as quickly as the steam threading upward from the surface of his teacup. The look he tossed at his housekeeper was decidedly self-conscious, but Mrs. Pendleton simply gave him a knowing wink and a warm smile, before turning to collect her emptied serving tray from the top of the bureau.

"Enjoy your breakfasts, dears," she said, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Buffy was still watching Giles as he studied his food in abject mortification, in particular the new item on his tray. Her gaze fell to it, the small plate containing, of all things, a slice of hot pound cake smeared with melted butter. Hardly qualifying as breakfast food, it was identical to what Mrs. Pendleton had served with her evening cup of tea last night, while she'd been packing her suitcase.

"What was that all about?" she asked, trying to coax him from silence.

Giles suddenly seemed to remember he was supposed to be angry. "Why that meddling, nosy, matchmaking, old--"

"I think she deserves a hug," Buffy interrupted, meaning it. If not for Mrs. Pendleton's well-meaning interference, she and Giles would not be where they were right now, nor would they have just shared the most incredible night of passion of their lives.

Without warning, Giles broke into a grin, then a resigned chuckle. "Dear Lord, I suppose you're right."

Shaking his head, he cut a bite of pound cake and stabbed it with his fork, then held it out to her. Echoing his smile, she opened her mouth and accepted his odd breakfast choice.

"We're lucky to have her," Buffy said, swallowing, reiterating something she'd said over breakfast in a Welsh restaurant days ago. Until now, she hadn't realized just how true that statement really was.

"We are," Giles said, looking at her with love shining in his eyes. "Remind me, later, to raise her salary."

"I will," Buffy agreed, leaning in to claim a quick kiss. "Much, much later."

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