"Matched Set" ~ Epilogue

SPOILERS: loose Season 5, after "The Body" but before "The Gift"
RATING: FR-T for mature themes, mild violence, language.
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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. The story and all other characters are mine.

Epilogue

'Wise men say, only fools rush in,
But I can't help falling in love with you.
Shall I stay, would it be a sin?
If I can't help falling in love with you.

'Like a river flows, surely to the sea,
Darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.
Take my hand, take my whole life too,
For I can't help falling in love with you.'

Giles held the last note and let the chord died in the acoustics of his living room. He sat quietly for a moment in the silence that followed, a melancholy smile on his face. It was a pity he had missed 'Elvis Appreciation Night' at The Espresso Pump, and even a greater pity that he would never sing those words to the woman who had stolen his heart. He could still feel her resting in his arms, her head on his shoulder as she slept the entire flight home. Sleep, however, was not a luxury Giles allowed himself while Ethan Rayne was onboard, no matter how amicable their recent alliance, or how unthreatening Ethan appeared with his broken hand. It was outside the terminal at Sunnydale, while arranging for a cab to take them to Revello Drive, that they lost track of him, undoubtedly to resurface sometime in the future when they least expected it.

Three days had passed, and Giles had not seen nor heard from Buffy since they parted company that evening. When she told him, on her doorstep, she was going straight to bed and staying there for a week, it took every ounce of his willpower not to answer the invitation in her eyes and join her. Her sister thwarted the kiss he tried to give her in the darkness of her front porch, although in hindsight, it was all for the best. Dawn had been frantic with worry and beside herself with relief after Buffy's cellphone call from the jet, and the two of them needed some time to catch up. In spite their offer to come inside for a while, Giles thought it best to take the waiting taxi back to his place, where he stood under a hot shower then poured himself a good, stiff drink.

Three long and lonely days. Dawn had called to check on him at least twice in that time, Xander and Anya too. Willow and Tara had stopped by for a personal visit, bearing a pot roast of all things, everyone happy and relieved to have him home despite his injuries. His life was back to 'normal', a category self-summarized as meaning 'forever lonely.' Taking the bad with the good, he clung to the memories of their ordeal, specifically to those involving sleeping with the love of his life in their cozy bedroom cell. But to lie with Buffy, to hold her as she slept and greet her when she woke, was a pipe dream only within his reach for that one brief, stolen moment.

Here, in the real world, it could never be.

Putting aside his guitar, Giles wondered whether Buffy's lack of communication was simply the result of her needing time to heal, time to resettling into her life as guardian to her younger sister, or because she had actually come to her senses about falling in love with a broken down old fool who Fate foretold would never be able to make her happy. Despite having hit the books the morning following their return, he had not found a way for them to be together. The prophecy in the Codex was iron clad. There was no way he could love Buffy without fulfilling his part in a destiny that had already been written.

With a heavy sigh, Giles pushed to his feet, the emptiness inside him wide and bleak and seemingly insurmountable. He almost wished she would change her mind about loving him. It would be a far better thing for her to hurt him, to reject him, than he be the one forced to break her heart.

He grimaced as he stood, his body still stiff and sore from his backwoods adventure. Determined to shake off his melancholia, he returned to the task he had begun before seeking solace in his music. His living room had looked like a disaster area upon his return home, chiefly with books strewn every which way and chocolate mashed into the rug, and, with his research, he was only now just bringing order to it.

Half an hour later, he was down to re-shelving the last of homeless books, when there came a knock on his door. He turned quickly, forgetting his aches, and paid the price with a painful twinge.

*KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.*

"Yes, yes, I'm coming!" Giles called, cross at himself for his enforced tardiness. With a book still in hand, he hobbled across his living room, hoping to answer the front door before his impatient visitor was forced to announce themselves a third time. Lord knew what he would do if it was Willow with another ghastly pot roast.

She stood in the lamplight of his porch, looking as fresh and lovely as a dewdrop on a spring morning, and for a brief but pleasurable moment, his world was lit with the sunshine and grace that was . . . "Buffy."

"Hi." When she blessed him with a smile, he foolishly fell in love with her all over again.

Covering the emotion, as he had become so adept at doing over time, Giles managed a wry look. "Since when do you knock?"

"Since I figured out your privacy needs to be respected. Can I come in?"

"Of course."

He moved aside, grimacing again at the discomfort of his many aches. He shut the door on the crisp fall evening, turning to watch her removed her jacket, then wander though his living room as she had done so many times before. There was something amiss about her body language, though, warning him that this time things were very different. She was apprehensive, nervous, and he immediately thought he knew the reason. She had come to tell him that she had made a mistake; that when she told him she loved him, it was simply because they were the right words at the right time.

'It's better this way,' he glumly reminded himself, his heart already breaking.

Putting on a brave front, Giles started with some nice, safe, small talk. "Um, how are you feeling?"

Buffy twirled to face him, still grinning and radiantly beautiful. "Better than you, obviously. Still sore, huh?"

"Only when I move," he noted dryly, shuffling over to join her. "And your broken ribs?"

"Thanks to Slayer super healing, not broken any more." Buffy folded her arms, giving him the once-over. "Pity there's no such thing as Watcher healing."

Moving past her, Giles placed he book he still carried on the bookcase. "Yes, I must admit that would have been a beneficial perk."

"Oh, you got them back!" Buffy exclaimed, referring to his refinished bookcases, returned from the furniture specialist just that afternoon. Noting that his living room was conspicuously devoid of the leaning book towers that had occupied every bit of available space during her last visit, she ran an appreciative finger over the newly varnished surface. "Hey, nice work."

Giles nodded in agreement. "They did a splendid job." He indicated the short stack beside the coffee table. It was the same stack Buffy had knocked over the night before Halloween, and the only one to have survived Ethan and his pet demons' forced entry. "I was just putting away the last of them now."

"I'll do it."

"There's really no need--"

"I wanna help," she insisted, picking up a large old volume from the top of the pile. "Please let me help?"

Giles smiled hesitantly, sensing this small task was somehow important to her, although why still escaped him. "Very well. If you insist."

"I do. You just sit," Buffy instructed, taking his arm and pushing him backwards until his legs hit the front of his armchair. He promptly fell into it, slightly bewildered by her behavior. "And I'll have these all put away in a jiffy."

"Buffy--"

"Then I'll make you a nice cup of tea," she promised, sliding the book into position in its new home. "Although I'm gonna have to draw the line at attempting to bake scones. I know, how about a nice massage instead? Bet it would do those sore muscles a world of good."

The thought of her hands roaming freely over his bare skin caused a reaction that made him very glad he was sitting down.

"From now on," Buffy said happily, returning another book to its place, "there is nothing too good for my man."

Watching her retrieve another book from the stack, Giles suddenly understood what she was doing; why she had dropped by so unexpectedly and what she wanted. It wasn't to leave him, quite the opposite actually. She had come to seduce him. A lance went through his chest. Letting her down after confessing his feelings was not going to be easy . . . on either of them. Things had been said in the woods, things that only made reality all that much harder to live with.

"I'm . . . not your man."

"Sure you are."

"No, Buffy, I'm not. I can't be, and you know why."

She stopped, still as a statue, frozen by his rebuff. She looked down at the cover of the old tome in her hands, stretching the silence into minutes. Giles' breath caught in his throat as he followed her gaze and realized just what had captured her attention. She was looking at the cover of the book that had come between them; the Pergamum Codex.

"We need to talk," she said, her gaze finally coming up to find his.

Swallowing the raw lump in his throat, Giles rubbed his hand over his eyes. God, how he wanted to just take her in his arms and give her everything she wanted. If only it were that simple. Instead, he couldn't even bring himself to maintain eye contact, because every time she looked at him like that, all he wanted to do was fall at her feet. He had to be strong. He had to turn her away, despite all the love he had welling up inside him. For her own sake.

"I rather think we've said far too much as it is," he told her bluntly.

Shelving the Codex, Buffy moved to crouch beside his armchair. "No," she told him, lifting one of his hands to her cheek, forcing contact. "I'll never regret telling you that I love you. Because I do. I love you so much. Don't you believe me?"

"It's not a question of what I believe."

"I stole your heart. That's what you said. I still have it, don't I?"

"Buffy, you seem to be forgetting--" he began, but the soft kiss that she placed in his palm robbed him of all further speech and rational thought.

"Don't I?" she asked again. She held him spellbound with a look, turning the simple hold she had on him into a profoundly loving caress, the longing in her eyes so effectively feeding his steadily building passion.

"Forever."

She grinned, suddenly letting him go and getting to her feet. "Then I have something for you, too."

He had no idea what she meant, not even when she sat herself in his lap with a provocative little wriggle. Somewhere in his brain where all logic had been temporarily banished, Giles knew he should stop this behavior immediately, but he failed to construct an articulate sentence. In fact, his arms seemed to have acquired a mind of their own, too, as they rose involuntarily to find a natural resting place around her. Buffy mesmerized him again by raising her hands behind her head, her short, tight, tank-top providing the foundation for so many impossible fantasies. It wasn't until she had unclasped a chain from her neck and brought it to him on her palm that he realized her intent.

"My ring," he said, identifying the item beside her silver cross. He smiled at her, truly thankful. "I wondered where I lost it. It was a gift from my grandmother."

Buffy carefully threaded his signet ring off her chain. "You didn't actually lose it. Ethan left it as a calling card. I guess he wanted to make sure I tried to rescue you. And it worked." Picking up his hand again, she gently slid his ring home, then kept his fingers wrapped up in hers. "I didn't give it back before because . . . well, because I needed to have something of you all to myself." Leaning down, she affectionately rubbed noses with him. "Now I have you, and that's a whole lot better."

She smelled of lilac and honey, and as he searched her face, so near his own, he inhaled her until he felt punch drunk. "Thank you . . . for taking such good care of it."

"You're welcome," she said, studying his lips, as if trying to decide whether or not to taste them. Her eyes flicked to his. "Kissing is okay, right? Because I really wanna kiss you right now."

"Um, yes, it is," he reiterated in feeble protest, as she slowly lowered her lips to his. "Although perhaps not the wisest idea . . . "

She tasted sweeter than he ever imagined, and although reluctant to give up such a heavenly treat so soon, he pulled back after just a moment, breaking the kiss while he still had the willpower to do it. Sitting in his lap as she was, the situation had the potential to run wild in the space of a single heartbeat. He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers and smiled lovingly, hoping the gesture would convey all the things he wanted to say and do, but never could. Perhaps, provided things didn't get out of hand, he could permit himself to indulge in future displays of innocent affection . . .

Buffy pouted, evidently not satisfied with his meager offering. "You call that a first kiss?"

As chaste as it had been, he admitted that he may have well planted a perfunctory kiss on her forehead. He thought nothing when she took his glasses from the bridge of his nose, and set them with her necklace beside the bowl of leftover Halloween chocolate on the end table, but when she turned to him with a predatory smile, a little alarm bell went off in his head.

"This is a first kiss."

Her lips claimed his with gusto, her tongue finding his and inviting him to share a passionate dance. Even as the thought of pulling away entered his head, her hands clasped together at the back of his neck, her Slayer strength keeping him close. Buffy didn't hold back this time, and her enthusiasm quickly gave way to the wild abandon he feared. Giles had never been kissed in quite such a manner, and it was all he could do to stop himself from giving in to her sweet lips and tender hands. Eager as he was to match her passion, he was at the same time terrified of the consequences if he did.

Desire swelled within Buffy, driving her to take bolder and bolder chances. Still, Giles let her have her way, believing he had control of the situation and that he could stop it any time. In truth, he enjoyed her possession of him. He was, and always had been, hers, after all. But as her wandering hands traveled a little too ardently over one of his many bruises, a twinge of pain caused him to whimper and flinch.

Buffy instantly pulled back to arm's length, her expression one of horror. "God, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"You didn't," Giles admitted jadedly. "Sliding down a bloody mountainside hurt me."

"Oh." Relieved, she picked up his hand again, entwining her small fingers with his. She spent a moment massaging his hand, either deciding on her next move or mustering the courage to carry it out. Then, with a sultry look that made his breath stick and his heart skip a beat, she asked, "So . . . where does it hurt?" Maintaining eye contact, she placed a sensuous, tongue-tasting kiss on the back of his scraped knuckles. "Here?"

Giles watched, aware of her intentions but too captivated by the overt sexuality of her actions to dissuade her, or pull away. Finally, he found his voice, although pitched slightly higher than normal. "Buffy, a-as much as I am enjoying this, I believe it would be in both our best interests if you stopped now."

She wasn't listening. Shifting her weight forward again, she planted another lingering kiss on the purple bruise above his eye. "Here?"

He swallowed hard. His verbal request may have been for her to cease, but his body's response was completely the opposite. "Buffy, please . . . we can't . . . "

"Here?" she asked huskily, kissing the sensitive flesh in the hollow of his throat. She stayed there, snuggled under his chin, nuzzling his neck with tiny, moist kisses that were an unstoppable barrage on his senses.

His pulse began to throb beneath the soft pressure of her lips, his breathing quickening. He was barely able to form a coherent thought as her eager hands continued their amorous exploration into previously uncharted territory. "The prophecy--!"

"I told you, I don't care about that." She sat up to look into his eyes again, her heartache and desire as plain as night and day. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together, like we always do. It's not like you're gonna turn into a homicidal vampire or anything."

The comparison to her disastrous one night affair with Angel hit him like a slap in the face. Curse or prophecy--was it Slayer's luck to never know love without a catch?

Buffy grew silent and still, and then spoke from her heart. "I know you want to protect me from everything within your power, as well as everything that's not." She smiled fondly. "I get that. It's one of the things I love about you. But I also know I don't want to be alone anymore. I've given this a lot of thought in the past three days, and . . . I could die tomorrow--"

"No." He looked away, hating to hear her talk about her death. All Slayers fell in the line of duty. They perished alone, more often than not after violent and all too short lives.

"I could die tomorrow," she insisted. "The Xazax was right about us being a 'matched set,' Giles. We belong together . . . although not in the way she had planned." She touched his cheek, bringing his gaze back to hers. "Don't deny me this. Don't make me give up my chance of living life because you're afraid of what might happen to me. Please. Let me love you."

Looking into her eyes, he knew he was lost. When had he ever been able to deny her anything? Her caress sent a tremor of desire rushing through him. He automatically fought to contain it, but the battle was lost even before it began. There was no way back from this point, no road leading to a safe retreat. There was only now, and the decision his heart had already made . . . one that would tempt Fate.

Their eyes met in a candid moment, his love and desire for her completely unrestrained for the very first time. He raised his hand to cup her cheek, just the act of touching her sending the heat of desire though every part of him. In the past few minutes, his need had grown very evident, and sitting where she was she could hardly have missed it.

"No more chocolate kisses," Giles promised, remember a time when he thought that was all he would ever be able to give her.

Buffy smiled. It was an invitation she accepted gladly, melting into his waiting embrace. As their lips met again, her tender kiss set his passion free. No longer imprisoned, two hearts finally found each other and beat as one.

* * *

It was still dark when Giles stirred, his bedroom loft bathed in soft swaths of moonlight and shadow. Pleasant, idle thoughts of how damn near impossible it was to exhaust a Slayer brought a lazy smile to his lips. Trying had almost killed him, especially in his present condition, but he couldn't think of a more delightful way to go. She had taken him to heaven and beyond, and he felt indescribably wonderful despite all his physical aches and pains.

Sleepily rolled over, he reached for her, needing to touch her in order to feel complete. But he embraced only empty sheets.

"Buffy?" Giles immediately rose to his elbows in search of her, but she was gone, as if she had never been there. He was suddenly wide awake, his fear of the prophecy in the Codex giving rise to some very real panic.

"Oh Lord . . . " he murmured, rising to hurriedly pull on a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt left discarded on the floor. Something had happened. Something he had initiated. He could feel it. Such was his haste that he almost tripped down the stairs on his sore legs, catching himself by the rail at the bottom. "Buffy!" he called desperately to the darkness of his empty living room.

'She will draw life from the one who watches and protects, and he will be her undoing.'

"No," he muttered in denial, quickly checking the kitchen and then the bathroom down the hall. "No . . . no . . . no . . . " He never should have allowed her to seduce him. Never. He should have kept his head, damn it, not followed his heart. Because if he had caused--

He paused mid-thought, spying the back door ajar. He wasted no time going though it, taking the steps down to the outdoor courtyard two at a time. At the bottom, he stopped suddenly, as if he'd slammed into an invisible brick wall, his heart in his throat.

She stood by the fountain, its languid babble loud in the nighttime silence. Her back was to him as she stared at the waning moon still visible above the courtyard walls, one of his shirts providing inadequate protection against the chilly November air. She heard his arrival, her head cocking in his direction, but didn't turn to acknowledge him visually.

Fear froze Giles to the spot; fear like he had never felt before. "Buffy? What is it?" He took a tentative step, unsure if he should go to her, unsure if she wanted him to. "What's happened?"

"The prophecy happened." Slowly, she turned to face him in the moonlight, shivering slightly and hugging herself against the cold. "My . . . 'undoing'."

He closed the small distance between them with a just few strides, intent on giving comfort, warmth, love--anything and everything. But when she made no move at all, he screeched to a halt, unable to tell if she wanted him . . . or blamed him. When she looked up out of the shadows, he saw the telltale wetness painted on her cheeks, evidence of the tears that tore him in two. "Oh dear God . . . "

"I felt it," she said softly, still making no move toward him, yet holding him captive with her tear-glazed eyes. "Like something was ripped from my soul."

A lone tear slipped from the corner of his eye. His arms rose to hold her, but fell uselessly to his sides again, empty. "God, Buffy, if I've done this to you--"

"You did, Giles. But you don't understand." Sniffing back her tears, she wiped her sleeve across her face before continuing. "I'm not crying because I'm hurt or in pain or anything. I'm crying because I'm . . . happy."

That fazed him as surely as a left hook coming out of nowhere. "You're right, I don't understand."

"It's gone," she tried again.

"What is?"

She fell into his arms, snuggling against him, drawing his warmth and love into herself as he embraced her with a heavy heart. "My bloodlust. That dark, primal instinct that woke me in the middle of the night, made me leave my lover's bed, and hunt vampires for the sheer hell of it. I've been standing out here for half an hour trying to feel its call . . . but I can't anymore. It's really gone."

There were no adequate words to describe his relief, as he finally comprehended what she was telling him. Once again, the prophecies of the Codex had been fulfilled, only this time the result was not gloom and doom, but something positive. The 'undoing' he so feared would bring her harm, had been nothing more than her losing touch with the dark legacy of the First Slayer, something he knew, from their time spent trying to overcome it, Buffy never wanted--or needed--in the first place.

Giles drew a ragged breath and kissed the top of her precious head, his tears flowing unchecked down his face.

"So thank you," Buffy said quietly, her cheek against his chest. "For loving me."

He sputtered once, his head delirious and his heart bursting with joy, and simply hugged her tighter. Never again would he let her go. Never again would he need to.

Pulling out of his arms at his non-verbal response, Buffy looked up at him. Surprised by the sight of his tears, then amused at the manly way he immediately tried to cover them, she raised a hand to wipe them dry. "Hey . . . you okay?"

"Yes, yes," he said quickly, holding back further embarrassing waterworks. "It's just that . . . you make me feel . . . "

She raised a wry eyebrow. "Happy? Sad? Like a cappuccino and a jelly donut at four in the morning?"

He smiled. "Just 'feel', actually." He took her hand and kissed it, seeing only a mirror image of his undying love reflected in her eyes. Gently, he tugged on her fingers. "It's cold out here. Come back to bed."

"Only if you promise not to warm those on me, mister," she said, indicating his bare feet.

Giles laughed, happy, content, and blissfully in love. "Look who's talking. I thought I was sleeping with ten little ice cubes."

Sharing his laughter and now his life, Buffy allowed him to lead her home. Hand in hand, they climbed the courtyard steps, heading back inside to rewrite destiny their own way.

T H E     E N D